Page 43 of Petite Fleur

Interesting.

What's even worse is that this fuckhead professor has not only been doing nothing to stop these kids, but he's been encouraging it and joining in!

I can't imagine what he has against my girl; she's selfless, beautiful, smart, and smells like an angel.

If there's a single reason that Professor Turner has for singling out Maeve, it has to be some deluded version of events that made him think it was acceptable or warranted to target her.

It doesn't matter what the reasoning was, actually.

He made Maeve cry, and that's unacceptable.

So, that leads us here and now, to me waiting outside the lecture hall for Turner's last class to end and for him to come out.

When a rush of students barrel out the door and rush to their cars, I head inside to see Turner packing his bag while his teaching assistant cleans the dry-erase board behind them both.

“Class is over. I suggest emailing me if you have questions.” He states flatly without bothering to look up.

Fuck, this guy pisses me off.

He's too fucking smug.

“I'm not a student, but we need to have a conversation.” I say flatly.

I stare at his assistant, taking her sweet ass time cleaning the dry-erase board. It's as if she's trying to wait me out so the two can be alone, but I'm doing the same, and I can bet my patience outweighs hers.

Especially tonight after seeing my girl run from this class in tears.

I'll wait all fucking day if I have to.

“Then speak. Class is over; you don't need to be called upon.” He snaps.

Big mistake.

Big fucking mistake.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, not only begging myself to have patience but also to have the restraint to wait until his skanky little assistant leaves. “Alone.” I reply.

With a big sigh, Turner finally looks up at me before making eye contact with his assistant. “Very well, you have ten minutes.” He answers shortly.

The moment his assistant leaves and I hear the door latch behind her, I round the table until I'm standing next to Turner.

“So, who are you, and what do you want?” He asks in a harsh and impatient tone.

It's pissing me off that he hasn't even looked up again since acknowledging my presence here. No, he's shoving papers into his bag and looking anywhere but at me.

I grab his stapler and open it, slamming it into his hand until a blood-curdling scream rips from his throat, and his eyes finally meet mine.

“What the fuck?” He yells, but I'm no longer interested in his undivided attention, so I pick up the stapler and slam it intohis hand again, piercing the thin flesh with another staple and earning another loud scream.

“Shut the fuck up, Turner. Your chance to speak is done now. It's my fucking turn. You can have another in a little while.” I state.

I pull the stapler from his hand and push his bag onto the floor as I drag this fat piece of shit out the back door of the lecture hall. “Now keep that mouth shut, and things won't get much worse for you, do you understand?” I ask quietly.

With a pathetic look across his face and a few sniffles, he nods his answer and follows me to my car.

Not that he has a choice, but this is all a lot easier for me if I don't have to beat him up before dragging his limp body through the grass.

“In.” I snap, opening my back door for Turner and shoving him inside.