16: Unwanted Attention
The Cognitive Psychology Lab was a study in stark uniformity, a place where the pursuit of the human mind felt strangely devoid of warmth. Rows of identical computer workstations hummed with a low, electronic drone, their cool, bluish light reflecting in the focused gazes of the students hunched over their tasks. Various pieces of experimental equipment – reaction time monitors blinking with digital precision, silent eye-tracking devices perched on adjustable arms – sat inert on the metal lab benches, lending an air of detached scientific objectivity that felt increasingly at odds with the knot of cold dread tightening in my stomach with each step I took into the room.
The morning's anticipation of the Cognitive Psychology Lab was heavy with unease, a disquiet that even the heady, illicit memories of Asher couldn't fully dispel. Those stolen moments were a vibrant escape, a marked difference to the unwelcome, clammy dread of Professor Davies's attention, whose subtle yet disturbing interactions and lingering gazes now made my skin crawl with a visceral revulsion, the opposite of Asher's desire-inducing shivers.
Previously, his comments had been couched in what could almost pass for enthusiastic mentorship, but with a disquieting, possessive edge. "You have a keen intellect, Cecilia," he'd said once, his gaze lingering on mine a moment too long after I'd answered a question about memory encoding. Another time, while discussing research proposals, he'd leaned in close, his breath warm and unwelcome near my ear, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Someone with your dedication could go far in this field," his eyes holding mine with an unnerving intensity that made me instinctively step back, a stark contrast to Asher's close proximity, which sent a shiver of desired anticipation, a nervous yet exciting flutter, through me.
He'd also started singling me out during demonstrations, his hand sometimes resting a fraction too long on my shoulder as he guided me through a procedure, a casual touch that felt anything but, a clammy, possessive weight compared to the memory of Asher's calloused fingers tracing the curve of my hip, a touch that ignited a forbidden warmth. He'd made seemingly innocuous remarks about my appearance, too, always framed within the context of my sharp mind, but the underlying implication left me feeling exposed and deeply uncomfortable. "A bright mind in a bright young woman," he'd commented with a knowing smile, a comment that had made Liv shoot me a wary, concerned glance, a comment that made me acutely aware of the delicate lace of my bra strap peeking out from beneath my shirt, a detail that only Asher's gaze had ever made me feel a thrill about, a secret, intimate awareness.
Today, the atmosphere in the lab felt particularly charged, the air thick with a silent, unseen pressure that made my breath catch in my throat. Professor Davies moved around the room, his polished shoes clicking softly on the linoleum, the sound echoing the nervous tap-tap-tap of my own pulse. His attention, however, felt less like oversight and more like a deliberate tether, pulling him inexorably towards me. He paused by my workstation, his presence suddenly looming, casting a shadow that felt heavy and unwelcome as I tried to focus on the flickering numbers, a poor imitation of the heat that danced behind my eyelids whenever I thought of Asher.
“How are you finding the task, Cecilia?” he asked, his voice a silken murmur that felt far too intimate in the sterile environment, a stark contrast to the low, possessive growl Asher had uttered against my skin just hours ago.
I forced a polite smile, my eyes glued to the monitor, the memory of Asher’s hot breath whispering against my ear a stark and desired contrast to the professor’s unwanted closeness. “It’s going well, Professor. The data seems… straightforward.” The word felt like a lie, my mind still reeling from the complex, thrilling data Asher and I had generated on my small dorm room bed.
He leaned closer, his gaze lingering on my face, his breath warm and cloying near my cheek, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end with a prickle of revulsion, a sensation so alien to the delicious shiver of anticipation that ran through me whenever Asher’s intense gaze held mine. “Straightforward… for a mind as capable as yours, I’m sure.” His tone carried that familiar, unsettling weight, a veiled implication that made my stomach clench, a stark difference from the possessive weight of Asher’s body pressed against mine. He then let his gaze drift down, a slow, appraising look that made my skin crawl, making me acutely aware of the soft swell of my breasts beneath my sweater, a sensation I only ever wanted Asher to notice, his gaze filled with a hungry possessiveness that mirrored the ache between my legs.
As I reached for the mouse, my fingers brushing against the cool plastic, his hand covered mine briefly, a light but deliberate touch that felt slimy and invasive. “Are you sure you’re interpreting the results correctly?” he asked, his fingers lingering for a fleeting second, a possessive pressure that made me want to recoil, before he finally withdrew his hand, leaving a cold, unpleasant sensation in its wake. The contact sent a jolt of anxiety through me, a visceral urge to wipe my hand clean, to scrub away the unwanted touch and replace it with the phantom sensation of Asher’s skin against mine.
Later, while I was struggling with a particularly complex statistical analysis, the numbers swimming before my eyes, he appeared beside me again, seemingly out of nowhere, his presence a suffocating weight. He leaned in so close that I could smell his faint cologne, a cloying, synthetic scent that made my stomach churn with a wave of nausea, so unlike Asher's natural, musky aroma that always stirred a forbidden desire within me, a primal, undeniable pull. “Having some trouble, Cecilia?” he murmured, his breath warm near my ear, making me instinctively recoil, a shiver of revulsion tracing its way down my spine.
“Just… working through it, Professor,” I replied, trying to create some distance between us, the memory of Asher's hot breath on my neck, a prelude to his possessive kisses, a completely different, desired sensation that made my core clench with longing.
“Perhaps I can offer some… personal guidance,” he suggested, his eyes holding mine with that unnerving intensity, a possessiveness that felt threatening. He reached out, his finger tracing a line on my screen a little too close to my hand, the casualness of the gesture feeling calculated, predatory, a subtle violation of my personal space.
Throughout the lab, his constant attention, disguised as helpfulness, felt like a violation, each lingering gaze and casual touch leaving a residue of discomfort. This subtle, relentless observation made concentration impossible. The sterile lab, meant for objective learning, now felt like a space where I was subtly, relentlessly watched, the knot of dread in my stomach a cold weight overshadowing even the lingering warmth of Asher’s touch.