Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 73 Five minutes left. I prowl up and down in front of the massive board in the lecture hall, rolling a piece of chalk between my fingers. I can't help but survey the room again, as if it would magically fill the empty seat beside Parker. Or the equally empty one behind the desk where Kai normally sits. Five minutes left with these young, malleable minds, and all I can think about is how fucking ungrateful some people can be. I turn to the board, the chalk screeching as I draw a thick line under the word PAIN.

"When was the first time you realized someone else's pain made you feel powerful?" I glance over my shoulder, and spot more than a few of my students shifting uncomfortably in their seats. That's better. I chuckle, tossing the chalk up and down in my palm. "That first taste of dominance always hits the hardest, doesn't it?" My voice drops lower. "Maybe you were six when you first pushed someone off the swing set.

Maybe sixteen, when you let slip a tiny little secret that spread like a wildfire, obliterating someone else's reputation?" My gaze drifts over their rapt faces, fixating just a breath on whoever looks the guiltiest. They always look away first. "We've explored schadenfreude through various theoretical lenses this semester." I draw a lazy circle on the board under the word that I'm certain no one in class has memorized how to spell. The lecture hall door opens, and Deputy Thatcher steps in like he has every goddamn right to.

I do my best not to bristle, my mind scrambling furtively to pick up the thread of my lecture. And already running ahead to make sure I say nothing incriminating while he's here. Because why the fuck is he here? Thatcher pauses before taking a seat near the door. His presence ripples through my students, starting up a buzz of whispers that I silence with a bang of my hand against the blackboard. More than a handful of faces show shock. I've never had to use force to draw my students' attention back to me, and that just makes my loathing for Thatcher grow even stronger. Fuck it.

He wants a show? I'll give him a fucking show. "Savoring cruelty." I bang the board again on each word, as if that had been the plan all along. And I have to suppress a smile at how my students jump. My voice switches to something melodic, almost pleasant. "Deriving pleasure-" I circle the word PLEASURE on the board "-from another's pain." The stark underline becomes a circle too. "Nietzsche called it humanity's oldest festive joy. Modern psychologists label it a defense mechanism. I call it honesty." I set down the chalk, dusting off my fingers as I amble back to the lectern.

"Cruelty can be taught like a skill, if you're unlucky enough to have a tutor. But even in the absence of external sadism, it can still be uncovered through a type of...archaeology of the soul. Each layer unearthing something primitive." My voice drops lower, making everyone-even Thatcher-lean in. "We've all seen that video from the Rain Dance. Of the people shown in the video, who wrote something in their Activity Log the next day?" There's silence. Utter, thrilling, breathy silence. "Come on.

Show of hands." Parker doesn't raise her hand, she just blurts out, "I thought the point of these journals was to emphasize that cruelty was in the eye of the beholder?" I'm never caught off guard. Not before a certain dirt-poor Riversider crashed into my life like a fucking meteorite. Now all I can manage is an annoyed, "And?" "What's the point of speculating whether one of them found it cruel?" Thatcher isn't even looking at Parker. He's staring at me, as if he's waiting for my verdict. Why the fuck didn't I cancel class today?

Oh, right, because then I'd have to cancel Sutter's class as well. Only reason I didn't pull a one-eighty on Norma is because Haven takes that class, too. Took, past tense. She hasn't been in class this week. Because she hasn't left her and Kai's little fucknest by the coast. I've spent too much time in the past few days staring at that beach house on StreetView. I knew it had to belong to the Jordans or associates of theirs, but I looked up the property records anyway, because apparently the knife Haven stuck in my back isn't wedged in deep enough already.

When I went to Kai's frat house to find out what had become of my TA, those idiots told me he'd been kicked out. My pets have run off together. In my Land Rover. How fucking adorable. I was so damn tempted to go down to the station and report the car missing. But then I'd have to deal with Thatcher, and he'd undoubtedly want to know why Haven had my keys in the first place... If anyone should be thinking with their brain, not their dick, it's me. Would be a lot easier if I had something else to keep me occupied, so I wasn't constantly ruminating.

But I've already been blessed with two pets this term. I don't hold out hope of finding a third. "Let me rephrase, Miss Parker," I say, my jaw clenching with the effort of admitting it. "If you were in that video, would you have deemed anything worthy of your Activity Log?" I keep staring directly at her, and my unwavering gaze makes her shift in her seat. Not so glib now, are we, Parker? She rallies surprisingly well with a sharp, "From Haven's point of view? Obviously. And I'd have reported Ezra's to the police, too. That wasn't just cruel.

It was criminal." "You want the alleged perpetrator brought to justice?" I tilt my head, tracing my fingers along my bottom lip. "Of course!" "Even after he's already suffered what I assume was, and still is, an excruciating amount of pain at the hands of his brother?" Her mouth opens and then closes again. She shakes her head hard enough to make her sleek hair shimmer in the fluorescent lighting. "I know where you're going with this. But you're wrong. It doesn't bring me pleasure. It's just right." I step back to slap the blackboard.

Several students flinch, and one of them drops their phone on the floor. I hope the screen's busted. "Schadenfreude isn't merely about deriving joy from another's misfortune. It's about the delicious anticipation of inevitable consequences. The satisfaction we derive when someone who believes themselves above consequence suddenly finds themselves...chastised." "I never-" Parker begins, but I cut her off like she didn't even open her immaculately lipsticked mouth. "The Greeks understood something fundamental about human nature." I thump my fist into my palm like a judge banging his gavel.

"Hubris. Demands. Nemesis. In layman's terms, pride comes before a fall. And those who witness that fall often experience a pleasure so profound it borders on the erotic." I stalk back to the board to draw a line under all the words I'd scrawled on there during my lectures this week. SCHADENFREUDE PAIN = PLEASURE CRUELTY "This phenomenon is more than merely enjoying someone's suffering. It's the satisfaction of witnessing their pain as they realize just how powerless they are." I turn back to the class, soaking in their slightly glazed expressions as they try to process what I've just said.

The implications, not just for themselves...but for every person they've ever come into contact with. Some of them don't even jump when I clap my hands together to signal the end of the lesson. I love it when my students leave class with thousand-yard stares on their faces. There's some goddamn schadenfreude right there. "You guys ready for midterms?" I get the usual grumbled responses, except for Parker, who's staring at me like she's thinking up imaginative ways for me to be served some kind of karmic justice. Which she will then inevitably claim she didn't enjoy.

That it just 'had to be done.' "Good news. No test, no quiz. And I'm giving you a head start. I want a thousand-word essay about schadenfreude. Put a few past events from your life under the microscope. Guaranteed, if you look hard enough at the skeletons in your closet, you'll find a bone or two to pick with someone." Students trail out of my class looking several shades more depressed than when they walked in. Still got it. I head over to the TA's desk, forcing myself not to rush as I pack my things away.

Something Kai would do for me if he hadn't eloped with his fucking train wreck of a girlfriend. "Are all your lectures like this?" Deputy Thatcher asks as he comes to stand at my side, as if we're equals. His crow's feet deepen as he turns his brown eyes to the board, frowning a little harder at each word as he recites them. "Schadenfreude. Pain. Pleasure. Cruelty. Little heavy for a Thursday morning." I quirk a tiny smile. "If I don't prepare them for what's out there, could I really call myself a teacher?" "Oh, I'm all for real-world education." Thatcher chuckles.

"Just not sure this is appropriate." "Young minds have terrific potential. It's a travesty to coddle them." He glances back at the board, allowing me to study him as he toys with the edges of his name badge like he's making sure it's still straight. Brown neatly trimmed hair. Slightly messy, no doubt from taking off his hat. Carefully pressed uniform. Shoes shined. Handsome, but so fucking reserved I'd bet good money he's celibate by choice. Probably waiting for marriage, like a pastor's son.

Judging from the lack of a wedding ring, I'll bet good money he's scouring the church pews for 'the one' every Sunday. My eyes go to the bulge in his shirt pocket where he keeps his little black book and that damn pencil. I wonder if it's going to make an appearance? When my eyes snap back to his, he's watching me. The instant our gazes lock, he gives me a faintly bemused smile. "Isn't this a college-level class?" I just stare at him. Because what in the actual fuck? He chuckles again, a sound I now loathe. "No offense.

It's just that I remember covering schadenfreude in my high school psych class. Did you know the Japanese have a saying, 'The misfortunes of others taste like honey'?" His disarming laugh is anything but. What, suddenly we're friends? "What am I saying? A professor with a master's in philosophy, psychology, and anthropology knows a hell of a lot more than I do." He waves a dismissive hand toward the board and then shrugs. "I'm just surprised it's part of your curriculum.

Then again, Cinderhart High is a prep school in everything but name." I shove my laptop harder into its slot in my satchel than is strictly required, turning to face Thatcher with a stony face. Which is surely a better than a scowl. "Was there something you needed from me, Off-" I swallow down a growl of irritation. "Deputy?" He's back to staring at the board with a bemused frown. "Mm? Oh, yes. I was actually hoping to find Miss Lee in your class today." You and me both, pal. "And?" I prompt. Icily. As I glance at my watch. Because Christ, don't they teach cops how to read the fucking room?

"Do you know where she is?" "I don't keep tabs on my students." "No, of course. I just thought-" Thatcher purses his lips, like he's reluctant to admit it "-since you're almost single-handedly responsible for Miss Lee's scholarship, you'd be keeping a close eye on her. Surely her attendance is...important?" The beat of silence that follows turns the air to lead. "You seem very interested in Miss Lee," I mutter, when I can't think of a single fucking thing to say. "Am I missing something?" Thatcher looks away, mouth twitching, then back with something approaching resignation.

"I don't make a habit of leaking information, but since you'll be reading about it in the papers tomorrow anyway..." He bows his head. "A body was discovered yesterday evening." He's still looking at me. Watching oh-so very closely. "That's unfortunate," I say. "Someone Miss Lee knew?" Thatcher nods. "I'd have preferred to notify her in person before she reads it in the paper, but the Sheriff's department can only keep a crime of this magnitude out of the public eye for a day or two at the most." "My God," I whisper, shaking my head. "That poor, poor girl.

As if she hasn't suffered enough in this goddamn life." I slide a hand over my mouth to hide the smirk threatening to show up. Thatcher says nothing. He's reserving all his energy for catching the tiniest hint of something he doesn't like on my face. It's my turn to look away, suddenly reticent about what I'm about to share. "Look...it's really not my place..." I expect Thatcher to grovel for whatever sliver of information I have, but he just waits. Calm. Impassive. For original chapters go to findnovel.net Fucking infuriating. "My T.A.

Kai-" I cut my eyes to the empty desk "-has been AWOL the entire week. Turns out he's been kicked out of his frat." It felt like desperation, knocking on NEX's frat house door Tuesday afternoon, asking if anyone had seen my T.A. Thankfully, the kid who'd answered the door and told me about Kai's predicament seemed as nonplussed as I was pretending to be. Thatcher frowns. "What does that have to do with Miss Lee?" I frown right back. "You didn't know they were in a relationship?" Thatcher blinks. Not surprised, but as if something just clicked into place in his head. Good man.

Now run off and play detective somewhere else, and for fuck's sake, leave me out of it. "You find Kai, I'm pretty sure you'll find Haven, too." I slide the strap of my satchel over my shoulder, and gesture toward the door with a wave of my hand, like I'm shooing a horse. "Now, if you'll excuse me⁠-" "Actually-" Thatcher begins, cutting off when my cellphone vibrates in my satchel. "I'll let you get that." While you eavesdrop, of course. I glance at the screen. The Eden House? Jesus fucking Christ, what now? Did my mother forget what year it is again?

I thought she paid these people to remind her. "This is important," I snap, knocking shoulders with him in my rush to leave. I don't even plan on answering the call, but it's a long way to the door, and my phone just keeps vibrating in my hand. I glance back to catch Thatcher's frown. It's not the cutesy 'aw shucks, is this a bad time' expression he normally wears. There's a sharp, calculating light in his eyes. I like it even less than the tic in his jaw when he clenches his teeth. Which all disappears the instant we lock eyes. He gives me a faint smile, and a half-shrug.

Watchya gonna do, huh? Movement forces me to look away from him, to where Parker is still packing up her things. And just like that, Thatcher is walking over to her. Christ. Now I'm wondering if I've ever said or done anything inappropriate around the girl. What about Haven? They're friends. She must have spoken to Melissa about me. That dress I sent Haven? Parker could have been there when she opened it. What if she told the girl about our visit to Laramie? Did that lead to a conversation about all the other times we spent together?

Haven seems to be a private person, but what about after a few drinks? Some molly? What if that tongue of hers⁠- "This had better be good," I snap into the phone as I answer, if only to pluck my mind out of its catastrophizing spiral. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Roo⁠-" "Professor," I cut in. "Cut the bullshit. I told you not to call me unless it was urgent. So what's it this time?" There's a stunned silence. "I, uh...it's Evelyn. She...she passed." I stop in the middle of the hallway so abruptly that a student veers out behind me with a muffled curse.

When they glance back at me, though, contrition quickly replaces annoyance before they scuttle away. "What? When?" "It happened so quickly, Mr.-Professor-" She cuts off. "About half an hour ago. The paramedics⁠-" She cuts off as if she's expecting me to say something. To burst out sobbing. To wail and gnash my teeth. When I don't, she adds a mumbled, "Are you still there, Professor Rooke?" like I might have gone into shock. It's not shock. I'm just...waiting. Waiting to feel something. Pain. Guilt. Remorse. Any fucking thing. But there's nothing there. "I am so sorry, Professor Rooke.

I know how close you were to Evelyn." We both know it's a lie. I struggle to keep the mirth out of my voice, because I know how poorly that will be received. "I'm not sure why you called. Is there paperwork for me to sign?" She makes a choked sound. "No, uh, I mean, yes. If you could let me know when it would be convenient for you to come through so we can make the necessary arrangements⁠-" "Thought that was all part of her package. Food, diapers, her decaying corpse?" I know I've gone too far, but I can't help it. I'm finally feeling something. And it's motherfucking rage.

Aware that a few of the students streaming past me on their way to their next class are side-eyeing me, I stalk down the hall and slip into the alcove on the first floor landing next to the stairs. The exact spot where I touched Haven for the first time, brushing that spot of ink from her lip. Eden House's representative is rambling now. "-it states she wishes to be cremated, but we can schedule a wake either before or after⁠-" "I won't be attending, so it's really no business of mine," I tell her coldly. "As to her body?

Burn her, throw her in a wood chipper, turn her into a piñata, I could care less." I end the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket as Parker comes into view. She's headed for the stairs, a small frown on her face. "Parker." She glances left, right. "Parker!" When she turns and sees me in the alcove, she hesitates, her lips working like she's biting the inside. "Professor?" she says, standing at least three feet away from me. "That was a smart observation back there." I keep my eyes fixed on hers. Not intent, just focused. Her gaze darts away a second before returning, locking on.

"Not everyone who takes your class is an idiot." "You think only idiots take my class?" I keep my tone light, but spots of pink appear on her throat and cheeks. She doesn't defend herself, or take the bait, and I don't know whether to be impressed or irritated. "I think most of the kids in this place are only here because it's expected of them," she says. "It's not expected of you?" "It is. But I'm also here to learn." "And take drugs." Those pink spots turn crimson as she throws a harried look over her shoulder, as if to check if there's anyone in earshot.

When she turns back, I'm surprised at the anger in her eyes. Did I look like that a few minutes ago? "Loosen up. If I report you, I'd have to report everyone, then I wouldn't have anyone left to teach." I should let her leave. Instead, I glance out the alcove's window, frowning. The Witch is dead. I should be relieved, but I'm just fucking pissed. A career that's circling the drain. A deputy who smiles like he knows where the bodies are buried. And the two people who understood the darkness inside me-gone. After everything I gave them. Everything I taught them. Everything I made them feel.

My jaw clenches so hard it aches. There are so many things I should be doing with my time this weekend. Planning a new class, getting my car detailed, hiring someone to fix my fucking doors-the glass one, and the wood one where Haven's bullet is still lodged. But I feel too malicious and empty to care. I could try filling the hole with liquor. With coke. With sex. From experience, I know there's only one cure for this particular void. I need to break something pretty again, and soon. Need to hold it down as it struggles, my ears ringing with its desperate moans and pleas.

Need to watch it bleed. Could have been us, Haven. Could have been us, Kai. Now I guess it'll have to be Parker. Parker shifts uncomfortably when my gaze lands on her again. Clearly wanting to leave but too polite to just walk away. Such a good slut. "I'm holding a small, invitation-only study group this weekend." "How many people are going to be there?" "Only those I find worthy of my time." When she says nothing, just watching me warily, I add an annoyed, "Five, maybe six." "At school?" "On a Sunday?" I scoff.

"At a coffee shop, most likely." When she still says nothing, I exhale loudly and head for the stairs, our shoulders brushing when she doesn't get out of the way in time. The halls are empty now, only a handful of stragglers on the first floor dashing for their classes. "Have your secretary call me to confirm after you've checked your schedule," I mutter. I don't even get halfway down the stairs. "Professor!" I pretend I don't hear her. Even when she appears at my side, I keep staring ahead. It takes a tug on my sleeve before I turn to her.

But when our gazes lock, I give her all my attention, like the world ceased to exist. And when I see her flinch, reeling from the intensity of it, I know she's mine. "I can squeeze you in for an hour. Two at the most," she says, trying to sound glib, but her voice is too unsteady to pull it off. "Two hours won't be enough for what I have planned. Then again, most students don't have the stamina." Her eyes go wide. "For longer study groups," I add, smiling ruefully. "Mind out of the gutter, Parker."