The Fifth Science

by Exurb1a

I was proud of him, almost as a father might be of a son. Not long ago he'd been a pariah, convincing himself he didn't need company, when really it was a primitive cover for his own inadequacy. However. There is an innate nature to each being, built into the very architecture of his mind, and Berkhamsted’s nature was predisposed to the blackest strand of worry. Here he was then, in love, loved, sharing a private mental plain with this divine human, his wife, with whom all anxieties and longings and deliberations might be freely shared. If he were to break down like a baby, even, she would no doubt coddle him until he slept and he'd wake rejuvenated and ready once again to do battle with the great injustices of the world. Instead he just lived in constant fear that she’d leave him. He withdrew inside himself again after six months or so, when the marital routine had been deeply entrenched in them both. He spent longer hours at the university, then retreated to his study. He lived with a constant sense that he was deeply, deeply pathetic and if she were to find out she would take flight at once.