Page 32 of Reckless Temptation

Dad lifted his hand from the table, shooting her a slightly scolding look. “Melody. Sabrina should be proud of who she is and never be ashamed of her body?—”

“But Dad,” I interrupted. “That’snotme. I never posed like that. I don’t…” I shook my head.

“Then how would this artist be able to make it look like you?” Mom asked, still on the hunt for blood. She wouldn’t accept this form of bullying. Her incredulous tone proved that she was unaware that I was bullied at all, and that was my goal. I tried so hard to never let them know that I was targeted, often because of them. It would break my heart if they had to worry about my being bullied. I could turn the other cheek, let it in one ear and out the other. I was made of sterner stuff than to cower at some bullies making me miserable.

“Do you know him?” Dad asked. “One of the photos has been shared over a million times.”

Nick, you are a fucking asshole.I cleared my throat, holding my head high. “No. I don’t know him.” It didn’t feel like a lie. I was aware of who Nick Grant was. And that he’d chosen me to be the target of his bullying. Beyond that, I had no clue who he was, what he wanted from me, and what his game was.

“Just know it’s not me,” I repeated. “I’m sorry if people at work see it, but you can tell them I didnotpose for any artist. Not like that. Or at all.” A hysterical bark of laughter bubbled up from my throat and escaped before I could stop it. “When could I? All I do is study and work with you two here. When the hell would I have had the time to pose like… that? Or at all?”

They sympathized with me as I struggled to get a few bites of breakfast down. I had to eat. I needed the energy for the longer walk that awaited me. But my appetite was gone. The hurt, the shame, the anger, it all coalesced in my stomach throughout breakfast, churning with anxiety.

Mom and Dad didn’t understand why someone would try to harm my reputation like this, oblivious to the bullying I suffered. Instead of telling them about how others treated me on campus,I downplayed it as a cruel joke, something that was likely to happen to anyone.

Deep inside, though, my anger burned hotter and hotter all morning.

By the time I reached campus and got to class, I was fuming. But no one could tell. I refused to show it. Even when Tiffany and Rachel laughed at me. When other students smiled and clearly reacted to seeing me in the room after the very public scandal of my being painted in a provocative way.

I took my seat, sighing at the relief of not being on my feet after that long walk.

“You okay?” Maxim leaned in to whisper. He frowned with concern, and I felt touched that he’d be sensitive toward my plight. Even he had seen it. I bet it was truly viral now.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”Not.

“So fine,” another student teased loudly, making a crude gesture at his dick. “You’re so fine, Sabrina. So fine that I’m going to?—”

“Enough,” Professor Angus said. She stared at me, though, almost as if she were furious with me. “Miss Rosario, before we proceed with our class, is there anything you’d like to say?”

I shook my head.

“Not even an apology?”

I furrowed my brow, walking a thin line between this calm I forced myself to project and the simmering frustration I harbored about this situation. “An apology to whom?” I challenged carefully but firmly.

“An apology to the department. The faculty. The university. Your classmates.” She crossed her arms and rested her hip on the desk at the front. “Your little publicity stunt tagged all of us. While you may decide to welcome debauchery into your life on your own time, your association to this program should not mean that we are all dragged through the mud with you.”

“Through the mud?” I raised my brows. “How was that painting a problem? Hmm? What is so wrong about a woman owning up to her sexuality, unafraid to embrace it?” I never let my feminism show too much because there was still clear sexism in the field of law. Right now, though, I couldn’t stop.

I stood, setting my hands on the desk as I stared her down. “Iowe no apology because I’ve done nothing. I never posed or sat for any artwork. I never voluntarily approved or welcomed my likeness to be used in any such artwork.”

Professor Angus tipped her chin up, giving me this chance to speak up. And I damn well would take it. This didn’t fit in my strategy of turning the other cheek or ignoring the bullying, but I was on a roll.

“Had I chosen to participate in any such artistic experience, I would stand by the freedom to express myself however I see fit, just like any other woman in this country should. The freedom of speech, of expression. The freedom from being censored by those who might not be mature enough to understand that just because a woman dares to show herself doesn’t mean she’s morally gray.”

“Yeah!” A classmate, someone in the front row, clapped. “You tell ’em.”

Professor Angus smiled slightly.

I wasn’t done, though. For a couple more minutes, I turned this scandal into a chance to share my thoughts about the topic. Of the patriarchy ruling over women’s rights. Of the careful balance of censorship in art. Of the bravery many women face in so many situations all over the world, each and every day.

It wasn’t often that I had the opportunity to speak unscripted like this. But I took it. Standing tall, I shot down the idea that I should be ashamed. Even though I’d never posed for any artwork, I stood up and rallied against the stigmatism that anything sexual had to be inherently bad or biased in artwork.

The irony killed me. I was defending Nick’s artwork when I was the target of his cruel stunt. But as I spoke up in class like this, championing women’s rights and the freedom from patriarchal censorship, I had to wonder why he’d done it. I grew more curious about what was in it for him to want to try to hurt me like this. I’d never done anything to him. Sure, I’d slapped him when he pushed me too far at the food bank by calling me a slut, but that was nothing more than putting him in his place.

Finally running out of breath from the nonstop ramble in the vein of self-defense, I sat down and tried to rein in my emotions. It was a rush to speak up like that. It was rejuvenating. This spike in adrenaline woke me up, and I was damned proud that I’d said my piece like that.

Professor Angus watched me for a moment after I sat. Then she smiled slowly as she nodded. “Very impressive, Sabrina.”

---