Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

16. Interesting Choice

"I fink you assume too much," she sneered, purposefully skewing her words, mocking me, "You know nothing about me."

"On the contrary I believe that I know a great deal more about you than you do yourself." Her paper still filled my mind, her voice narrating the passages.

"Oh dear Professor, please enlighten me."

"You're proud, crass, and crave attention-."

"Sweetheart, you're basically quoting every therapist I've ever been to. Try again."

"But you're far more vulnerable than you lead others to believe-."

"It's like I'm listening to a broken record. Bored now," she yawned, turning her back and heading towards the door.

"You blame your father for your mother's death," I called, my voice harder than I had intended, echoing throughout the thankfully empty hall, "You hate him for his alcohol addiction. You believe that if he'd spent more time at home and less time at the bar that he would have seen the signs, that he would have realised how sick she was-."

"Stop," her normally confident voice faltered over the word and her jaw locked. For the first time since I'd met the girl, Ren Grace seemed uncomfortable and her pause encouraged my ego.

"You're wrong though. She was suffering from Stage IV Breast Cancer," I continued, refusing to halt in spite of the ghosts haunting the darkening blue eyes across from me,"No matter how much money your father spent or how much treatment she received it wouldn't have made a difference."

I could see the emotion building behind her usually faultless mask, but I didn't stop. I stalked forward until I was less than a meter away. No mercy! My mind was screaming at me to stop, for me to look and see what my words were doing to her but I couldn't. I was deafened by my pride, it had taken full control.

"You cannot prevent the inevitable, Miss Grace. At best, you can merely prolong it."

"Stop. Fermes ta putain de gueule!" She cried, her words tumbling out so quickly that it was all but impossible to distinguish what she was saying, "You know nothing about my mother. You have no idea what I went through, what she went through. Elle était ma mère. Je n'avais que 13 ans! Aucun enfant ne devrait jamais perdre sa mère! Mon père aurait pu faire quelque chose. Je sais qu'il aurait pu, mais il était bien trop égoïste pour poser sa putain de bouteille et désaouler. Il détestait rentrer à la maison et la voir dans son état! Elle ne tenait même pas debout quand il l'a enfin emmené au médecin! Elle n'a pas tenu une semaine!"

"Don't you dare pretend that you know anything about me," She hissed, angry tears barely held at bay. My ears were still ringing, her voice echoing over and over again in my mind. Had she been speaking another language?

"Are you deaf now too? Dis quelque chose!""

"You speak French?"

"Mon Dieu!" She shrieked, raking her fingers through vibrant violet hair, "Je te déteste! Tu n'es qu'un salopard d'ignorant!"

"Wha-?"

"Je vais tuer Caleb," she muttered, storming away, "Ce putain de gosse! Pour qui il se prend? Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"

"Vas te faire foutre," She yelled before slamming the door to the hall behind her.

What the bloody hell just happened?

Harry Styles

Dumbly, I stared at my computer screen. I couldn't remember how long I'd been sitting there. It couldn't have been more than an hour and a half. I'd managed to finish maybe a page and a half in my Interactive Seminar paper. I had the entire semester to finish the assignment as I was supposed to report and analyse not only my performance in the classroom, but also that of my students and their response to my authority— whether positive or negative.