Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

15. You Speak French?

"You paint an interesting image, Renee," she chuckled, causing a slight heat to rise in my cheeks. I'd given one of my favorite professors a glimpse into my twisted sexual fantasies... Great.

"Your problem is l'orgueil (pride), both yours and his. you will both remain unsatisfied until you can put it behind you and be open with each other. Tu as un grand coeur, ma chérie. Il y'a bien assez de place pour lui à l'intérieur ." (You're heart is very big, darling. There is more than enough room for him inside.)

"Je ne parle pas d'amour (I'm not taking about love), Madame, I just need to get him out of my system."

"I said that about a man once too."

"What happened?"

"Je l'ai épousé," (I married him) she smiled, lifting one elegant hand bearing a simple gold band inset with pale rose colored sapphires.

"Honte à vous, ne jouez pas avec mo!" (Shame on you, don't tease me)

"Je ne plaisante pas, j'énonce simplement un fait (I'm not teasing, just stating a fact). It may seem confusing now, but if you were not truly interested in pursuing this man you would not be this torn up. Ne refuses pas toutes les possibilités, gardes l'esprit ouvert, Renee. Tu pourrais être surprise." (Do not deny all possibilities, keep your mind open, Renee, you may actually be surprised.)

Surprised? Yeah, I was surprised, alright. I never imagined him as the thieving type. Quiet? Yeah. Brooding? Sure. But thieving? All time low. It was taking everything in me to not go down there right now and chop his f.ucking dick off. Pride be damned. I was not going to be the one to fold first.

Even from behind closed lids, I could feel hard eyes following my every movement, his deep baritone still finding a way to break through the serenity of my Beats. I turned the volume up impossibly louder and struggled to drown out the rest of his "lecture".

Forty-five minutes later, I opened my eyes to an emptying lecture hall. The Dark Adonis stood behind his desk, casually stacking papers and replacing them in a rather feminine shoulder bag.

"Nice purse, I think Kim Kardashian has one just like it," I scoffed, taking my time to descend the rows.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Grace, although I'm not entirely sure you were made aware of the next assignment. I do hope that you enjoyed your nap."

"You know, I would have, but there was this obnoxious droning in the background. Really, the speaker sounded so self-righteous it was hard to relax with the amount of bullshit being thrown at me."

"Well, I do apologise, I'm sure that it was never his intention to disturb your precious sleeping pattern."

"And I suppose you also have an apology from him about his exceptionally sticky fingers?"

He didn't even blink, completely unsurprised, "Would you have rather gotten an incomplete?"

"F.uck yes! I chose not to turn in my paper for a reason. You do realize that I could press charges and have your ass fired and deported before you could even blink, yeah? You crossed so many f.ucking lines! How dare you?"

"How dare I? You're the one that shackled me to your bloody bed and left me there—for hours! I did you a favour! You should be thanking me."

"God, you're so f.ucking twisted. Do they not teach you about respect and common privacy in New Zealand  or where ever the fuck you're from?" I yelled, attempting the most ridiculous attempt at his accent I could muster, "You have to be the most ignorant son of a bitch I've ever met!"

"England, actually, and do you enjoy stereotyping and defaming an entire populous?"

"Does it piss you off?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, I quite enjoy it."

"Will you ever be respectful?"

"Will you ever get that stick out of you ass?"

"Miss Grace, you may not agree with the University's decision to place me in charge of this class. You may not particularly enjoy it but you will show me the respect I deserve."

"Like hell I will. You don't deserve shit. You're barely out of Abercrombie Kids."

"Is that the best you can do? Poor show, Miss Grace, I've come to expect more from you."

"I fink you assume too much," I sneered, fixing him with a pointed look, "You know nothing about me."

"On the contrary, I believe that I know a great deal more about you than you do yourself."

"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—." I feigned a yawn, readjusting my bag on my shoulder and turning to leave.

"You blame your father for your mother's death," his voice rang out loud throughout the entire hall, stopping me in my tracks, "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 realized how sick she was—."

"Stop," I whispered, struggling to support all of the walls that I'd constructed. I wasn't the same girl who'd lost her mother when she was thirteen. I'd left that girl behind me years ago in Louisiana. I was better now. I was stronger.

"You're wrong though. She was suffering from Stage IV Breast Cancer. No matter how much money your father spent or how much treatment she received, it wouldn't have made a difference. You cannot prevent the inevitable, Miss Grace. At best, you can merely prolong it."

"Stop. Fermes ta putain de gueule! (Shut your damn mouth!) 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!" (She was my mother. I was thirteen! No child should ever lose their mother. My father could have helped. I know that he could have but he was too goddamn selfish to put down a fucking bottle and sober up. He hated coming home and seeing how she was! She couldn't even stand by the time he finally took her to the doctor! She lasted a week!) Tears were threatening to stream down my cheeks and he stood there staring at me, mouth gaping open, flabbergasted.

"Don't you dare pretend that you know anything about me," I hissed. Still he made no move to respond, "Are you deaf now too? Dis quelque chose!" (Say something!)

"You speak French?"

"Mon Dieu!" (My God!) I shrieked, raking my fingers through my once expertly curled hair, "Je te déteste! Tu n'es qu'un salopard d'ignorant!" (I hate you! You're an ignorant bastard!)

"Wha-?"

"Je vais tuer Caleb," (I'm going to kill Caleb) I muttered, storming away, "Ce putain de gosse! Pour qui il se prend? Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" (That fucking child. Who does he think he is? My god. My god!)

As I stormed out, I swore I could hear the sound of all of the synapses that had been firing in his brain suddenly stop functioning. He had no fucking clue what had just hit him. "Vas te faire foutre," (Go fuck yourself.) I called over my shoulder before slamming the door to the hall behind me.