Because mine just might have.
I press my face into the pillow, not even bothering to let the sob catch in my throat before it breaks loose. Hot tears soak into the fabric, and all I can think is how stupid I’ve been.
How did I let this happen?
I’ve always been careful, usually overly so. I don’t make reckless choices. I don’t jump at shiny promises. But losing my job knocked the ground out from under me, and Mom’s healthcare bills kept climbing. Suddenly, every day came at me with a vengeance, like it had teeth.
So when Victor messaged about an opportunity, I listened. But I should’ve known it was too good to be true. It’s as if somehow he knew my life had hit rock bottom. That I was desperate for a miracle. Leaving me prime to be taken advantage of.
From the moment I walked into his studio, something felt off. I expected a hum of electricity, anticipation over the photo shoot. Clearly, I’ve watched too many movies.
The space was quiet in a way that wasn’t peaceful. It felt like I’d stepped onto a stage and missed the rehearsal. My shoulders were tense, my stomach tight, my instincts whispering that I should turn and run.
But I didn’t.The allure of $10,000 to help my mother was too strong.
Victor had smiled easily as he greeted me. He spoke fast, telling me my skin tone was “perfect,” my complexion ideal for skincareeditorials. He said he worked with a lot of publications and that he was confident the images would go for top dollar. In hindsight, it all sounded vague. Too vague. Like a used car salesman. And I knew it. Yet I didn’t want to consider the possibility that this was anything short of an answer to prayer.
My heart rate picked up when Victor handed me a white satin robe. The thing was so sheer it was almost translucent. He instructed me to remove everything and put on the robe, explaining that undergarments would show through once the camera flashed. He rattled off the directions without missing a beat, as if this was common sense. And in the modeling world, it probably was.
Just not my world.
I should have left right then.
The shoot started slowly. I sat where instructed, moved when he asked. The camera clicked again and again, feeling stiff and awkward. I was painfully aware of every inch of myself, exposed beyond comfort. It’s beyond unnatural. I didn’t have the first clue what I was doing. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who belongs in front of a lens.
And now, I have no desire to ever be again.
Brad used to prod me to model. “You could make so much money, babe. It would be easy, babe.” It was utterly ridiculous. I’m not tall. Not striking enough. I know I’m pretty, but not enough for all of this. I’m simply an average girl.
Run of the mill. Boring.
But despite this, the camera kept snapping.
I gave a strained smile. Then stopped. Not knowing what to do with myself. I tilted my head, straightened my shoulders. Every movement felt wrong. Forced. Like I was pretending to be someone else in a body that didn’t quite fit the part.
This is it,I thought. Just push through. After this, I’m done. I can take my money and go.
Then Victor directed me to sit on the edge of the bed. He said he just needed a few softer shots. Something more natural. He asked meto let the robe fall beneath the sheet so they can get a clear shot of my shoulders.
My stomach tightened. Everything screamed no. This was more than simply being uncomfortable in front of the camera. My instincts screamed louder with each flash of the bulb.
Yet before I could decide how to end this, Victor’s assistant’s hands were on me, lifting my arms overhead, adjusting my posture unnaturally. The camera starts flashing again. It was all too fast, too sudden, the room starting to spin like I’d lost control of what was happening.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I tried to pull away, to grab the sheet and pull it tight around me to no avail. My breath was shallow, caught in my throat as I lay exposed. The sensation akin to drowning in my own humiliation. I bolted for the dressing room without saying a word. All I could think was:
Get me out of here.
By the time I locked myself inside, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely get dressed.
And the questions that haunt me now: How could I have been so stupid? How could I have allowed this to happen? What did this man just take from me?
Because it’s more than naked photos obtained without consent. It’s my innocence, my dignity stolen.
And I can’t help but wonder… will I ever get it back?
23
BEN
