Alone again. Of course, it happens all the time. You say I should be honored that you trust me this much, but I'm not equipped to handle all this.
I'm your assistant. The fact that you couldn't handle all this yourself should tell you that I can't do it either.
I go through the motions, all the chores and tests that have to be done, but as I log the numbers, they all kind of run together.
I can't do this. Professor, you know that you mean more to me than anyone, but I just can't take this work you dump on me. You wonder why I'm worn out all the time, why I can't seem to draw anything anymore, why more often than not I have to run things twice because I did something wrong the first time. Professor, I just can't take this.
I see that picture you keep by the phone, the one of all three of us. I know I can't compete with her, and I don't blame her for all this. I don't think she notices either.
There's a sick feeling in my stomach, and I grab the picture from off the wall and plant it face-down on the couch. The frame cracks under my hands and I freeze.
Right then I know I'm stuck, because the only thought in my mind is 'Oh god, I need to fix this before the Professor gets home'.
Even when I'm angry at you, you're still the only thing I can think of.