Cleo James

January 01, 2020 7:23 AM

Help (tag Professor Xavier) by Cleo James

Cleo made her way towards the greenhouse. She had not been a very frequent visitor during the second half of last year, not outside of classes. It was something she vaguely hoped Professor Xavier would blame on the challenges and the step up to advanced classes, except she sort of knew he probably wouldn’t.

She’d missed a stint before. When she had first found out about being half-veela. And Parker and Professor Xavier had conspired to get her back then. Her friend had asked, and her Professor had sent her jobs to do. Ones that hadn’t insisted on human interaction but which had got her out of her room. She knew they cared. Sometimes that felt like too much responsibility. She thought she might not be very good at being cared about because she seemed to cause an awful lot of problems on that front. Except it had not been her fault. Maybe some of her reactions hadn’t been the healthiest. Maybe she could blame herself for those if she really wanted to find something, but she was trying hard not to. And to not be crappy, and to not be absent.

She had counted the greenhouses, and Professor Xavier, amongst her things to be thankful for during their fake Thanksgiving last year. She knew however long she left the greenhouse door shut, she would always be welcome to push it open again, and that she might not even need to apologise for being away. Not unless she’d left a project up in the air, gone off halfway through and neglected something. She didn’t think she had, though there were things like that which had been reduced to the importance of grains of sand in the grand scheme of things, and had slipped away from her. The period prior to last Christmas seemed like a distant and strange place.

There was also the future to avoid. Cleo would graduate this year. She would leave the little bubble of Sonora and go out into a wide world which she felt was hateful towards her and rigged against her. She knew that burying her head in the sand on that front was not helpful, but it was part of why she was back at the greenhouse. Maybe if she was lost, simply retracing her steps would help. Starting in the last place where she knew she’d had something, and working from there.

She knocked and pushed the door open.

“Hi Professor,” she stated, managing a ghost of a smile which faded as quickly as it had come. “Do you need anything doing?”
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