A Ruling Passion – Chapter 1806

Arianne was starting to see red. Smore’s worldview was a little too awry for her liking. “Aristotle Tremont, what is the meaning of this? A toy can be shared with everyone, whether anyone can play with it or not shouldn’t have anything to do with how rich they are! Also, you started hitting people first, young man, and that makes you firmly in the wrong. If someone else started this, I wouldn’t have asked you to suck that up, but this isn’t the case now, is it? You hit someone first, and that makes you wrong, period!” she chided. “You know what I’m getting from you? I’m seeing a brat who’s so spared by the rod he’s turned spoilt. Just you wait, that will be rectified tonight!”

Tiffany quickly moved in and yanked her friend’s shoulder. “Whoa, whoaaa! Ari, chill! Smore was only trying to help my son because they are homies; ya know that, right? Now turn that frown upside down and y’all talk about this calmly when y’all go home, okay? No smacking,” she said appealingly. “I know you’re super pissed right now, hon, so let me treat you to dinner tonight, okay? Just think about it, if Mark was the one who’s gotten bullied, do you think Jackson’s could’ve held himself, stand there, and not rearrange that no-good-punk’s face right there and then?”

She might be right on one hand, but that did not absolve the fact that Smore was wrong in his method, especially when said method was “punching a young kid in the nose.” The more the idea settled in Arianne’s mind, the more exasperated she became, there was always someone at home protecting Smore from his just deserts, and now, out here, Tiffany was doing it too. Arianne had no predilection for Violence, and honestly, it pained her to be rough with her son. But a timely, interventive discipline could save several heartaches down the road, especially if those heartaches were from Smore being an arse who could do everything he wanted beyond reproach.

“Fine, damn it! Stop shielding him already. What, afraid I’d beat him to death or something? I just don’t want my son to be some rich, sorry arse in the future,” she retorted darkly. “My hands are off. I’ll leave him to Mark.”

After a while, Tiffany and Arianne went to the hospital with their kids in tow. Worried that a heated rhubarb might break out, the teacher followed suit.