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Leaders live and grow and learn. They run into dragons, get burned by them, temper their swords in the fire, and take them on.
That’s what I want to do. That’s who I want to be. Not this girl cowering in her father’s office.
I want to be fierce.
So I stand up, too. I plant myself in the middle of his rug, cross my arms to match his. I let my eyebrows draw in, the corners of my mouth fall, and I ask him, “What do you mean by this?”
“Sorry?”
“You said, ‘Is this the behavior of a leader of men?’ What do you mean? Are you asking me if leaders have consensual sex with their long-term monogamous partners? Yes. They do. Are you asking, are leaders ever betrayed? Yes. All the time. The question is—”
“The question is one of judgment,” he interrupts. “There’s a reason you’ve never seen a sex-photograph scandal involving the president of the United States, Caroline, and it’s because—”
“It’s because Monica Lewinsky didn’t have an iPhone, Dad. Are you kidding me with this? Do you know how many senators have been caught sending pictures of their penises to staffers?”
Author: Robin York
“Enough that you should have known better. ”
That catches me up short. Catches my breath in my lungs.
I should have known better.
Of course I should have. Things with Nate were never quite right, and I should have known that I liked him for the wrong reasons, that I had to work too hard for his regard, that he didn’t care about me the right way. I think that was always part of his mystique—the sense that I might never be quite enough for him, that he’d picked me out but I was a little too brainy, a little too naïve, and I needed to prove myself in order to make his deigning to go out with me worth his while.
I figured it all out eventually. I broke up with him because it wasn’t working, because at Putnam I had more confidence that I might find someone better. Someone like West.
I just didn’t figure it out soon enough.
Be careful what you put on the Internet. I’ve heard it a hundred times. Be careful what you do in this digital age. Don’t let yourself be made a victim, because if you do, it’s your fault. Your mistake.
I knew the pictures were a bad idea. I had my mouth on Nate’s dick when he lifted the phone in the air and took the first one, and it didn’t feel sexy. It didn’t feel risky or clever, a secret shared between us. It felt wrong.
I decided to give him what he wanted so he would be nice to me. So he would approve of me, act like he loved me, like he was proud of me.
He took that picture. He came in my mouth.
Afterward, he wanted to do body shots. One, two, three, four. My cleavage sticky, my senses dulled, my jaw sore, I did what he asked me to.
I was eighteen years old, and I thought I loved him. I should have known, but I didn’t.
And I don’t deserve to be abused for it. Judged for it. Called names.
I don’t deserve to have my life ruined.
“I trusted him. ”
“You shouldn’t have. Do you think Professor Donaldson will be able to write you a recommendation letter for law school now, with these photographs on his mind? Do you think he’ll be able to attest to your intelligence, your drive, when he’s seen this?”
“Probably not. ”
“Do you think you’ll be able to get an internship this summer, next year? That you’ll be able to apply for scholarships with this on your record?”
“I know it’s an embarrassment, Dad, but—”
“It’s not an embarrassment. Embarrassment fades. This is a black mark. You might as well have committed a felony, Caroline, and all because you didn’t use your head. ”
“Nate is the one who posted the pictures. ”
