Lethal Dosage

Distance (II)

The bell didn't just ring; it tolled consistently. As the overhead fans whirred to clear the metallic tang of ozone and spilled chemicals, the students began to pack their bags in stunned silence, but mostly in awe. Most even brought themselves to glance as they passed the two. The air was thick with what hadn't been said. Mailel Thorne stood in the room, his back to the class. He was meticulously cleaning a glass slide, his movements in jerky - sharp contrast to his usual surgeon-like steadiness. He couldn't bring himself to look at Abigail as she tucked her notebook into her ba, her fingers still tingling from where his palms had pressed hers against her beaker.

"Class dismissed," Mailel said, his voice deep as a stone dropping into a deep well. "Review the stoichiometry of protein synthesis. I expect no more .... deviations in the next session." Abigail moved towards the door, her head down, trying to navigate the proxemic minefield of the room. But as she reached the hallway, a shadow cut across her path.

"Abigail. Wait up. " She turned to see Justin who was running up into her line of sight. Justin, sun etched, and wearing a hoodie that smelled of laundry detergent. He looked genuinely distraught, his face flushed with a boyish shame. " I am so incredibly sorry," Justin said, catching his breath as he reached her. He didn't lean into her zone with predatory intent unlike...; he hovered at a respectful distance, his shoulders hunched. "My hand just...slipped. The condensation on the beaker was worse than I thought, and when I reached to steady the stir ba, I just — I nudged it. I could have seriously harmed you". Abigail softened as she saw a genuine tremor in his hands. "It's okay, Justin, luckily, it was caught just in time, no harm done." " I am so grateful I didn't just catch it; he looked like he was ready to tackle a linebacker get his student own of harms way" Justin remarked, a flash of curiosity crossing his features "I've never seen a professor like that. Although he usually seems so... icy. But hey, to make it up to you — for almost melting your shoes — can I take you to the coffee shop on the corner? Friday afternoon? I'd love to actually talk to you outside a scientist-confirmed prison," Justin mustered in a sincere tone. It was a sincere request. A safe frequency. But Abigail felt the heavy weight of the "safety violation" summoned into her pocket. " I... I'll let you know, Justin, I have to check my lab hours. Justin beamed, a brightness that felt like a lifeline he could hold on to or fight for." Cool. Just let me know. I definitely owe you a drink," Justin mustered again as they parted ways for their next class.

Inside the professor's office, Mailel wasn't alone. His lead assistant, Julian, was busy calibrating a spectrometer, when the echo of the door shutting caused him to shift his attention to Mailel, who was now sitting. His eyes were now fixed on Mailel, who was now staring out the window at the campus greenery. "That was quite the incident.... The Freshman.... What is her name, by the way?" Julian asked intently. "Abigail Vance," Mailel replied. "She looks like a good student. Fast reflexes." Mailel didn't turn but immediately responded, "She was reckless." "Was she?" Marcus stepped closer, his voice a probe. "Justin Simmons was the one who bumped the glass. I saw it when I stepped inside. It was an absolute klutz move. But you... you reacted before the glass even hit the tilt point. It was like you had already turned into her coordinates." Knowing the situation, Mailel jaw tightened, the hard musculature of his shoulders tensing under his charcoal shirt. " I am responsible for everyone in that lab, Julian, I would have been held accountable if anything had happened," he said holding onto his cold stature one that Julian knew was a facade so much he decided to pick on an unfamiliar nerve. "Sure" Julian replied, a knowing smile tugged at his lips. "But you didn't just stabilize the glass. You held her for what seemed like eternity. I think the whole room felt it. Even Justin looked utterly confused. If you aren't careful, people are going to stop seeing a professor and start seeing the man I know." Julian ended with a known smirk on his face. " "That's enough," Mailel snapped his voice, silencing any follow-up remarks that were to continue after that.

The transition from the buzzing energy of the dorms to the hallowed, amber-lit sanctuary of the library felt like a descent into another world. Abiagil pulled her white ribbed sweater tighter against the evening chill as she crossed the quad. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a bruised purple that matched the "dried blood" silk of Dr. Cho's blouse. As she walked, the vocalic brightness of the campus began to fade. Students were heading to mixers or the dining hall, their laughter in jagged contrast to the velvet silence she was seeking. Abigail's mind was a metaphorical mess of chemical symbols and the memory of Mailel's grip. She kept seeing the way his shoulders — a lethal handsomeness that felt like a warning she was ignoring. She pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Sherman's Library. The air inside was still, smelling of old vellum and cedar wax. It was a space built of proxemic barriers and silent study, a place where she hoped she could find her way back to the neat, predictable career arc she had lost in the lab. She didn't stop at the main floor where the "Welcome Week" crowds gathered. She headed forth back, down into the Deep Stacks—Section QD: Chemistry. The fluorescents hum here was replaced by a low, rhythmic thrum of the ventilation systems. The aisles were narrow, towering monoliths of leather-bound journals that seemed to lean in, whispering secrets of kinetic limits and failed experiments.

Abigail wandered deep into the shadows of the organic chemistry section. She found a small wooden carrel tucked between two shelves of 19th- century research. It was secluded, an event horizon where the rest of the university ceased to exist. She reached up for a weathered copy of Principles of Organic Synthesis on the highest shelf. Her finger brushed the spine, but the heavy book nudged further back into the shadows. Just as she was about to give up, a long steady arm reached over her head, the sleeve of a dark shirt brushing against her shoulder. " It's a foundational text," slow, melodic voice rumbled from direct around her . "But the chapter on catalyst is a bit cynical." Abigail jumped slightly, spinning around to find Mailel Thorne standing just outside her intimate zone. He wasn't the "vocalic whip"from the lab ; he looked weary, his charcoal grey sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a smudge of ink on his thumb. He handed her book, his fingers barely grazing hers in brief, electric contact. " Professor," she breathed, her voice a soft confession in the silence. " I don't think anyone else studied in this section." "I find the silence here more.. Honest," Mailel replied. He leaned against the mahogany shelf, his posture losing its metaphorical stone ridgity. He looked at the stack of books in his arms. "You're studying ahead," he questioned in an impressed tone and asked to assist with the books that almost seemed to swallow her small stature. As they arrived back at the desk, Abigail couldn't help but notice that he had placed the books on a desk that already had his books on them.