CHAPTER 3: THE SCANDAL.

Monday mornings are like chocolates. Little of it is sweet, too much of it is like chocolates with the extra calories.

I was halfway through my first cup, scrolling through emails and older messages, when my phone buzzed. It was a message from an unknown number. I ignore it to finish up and head for work.

Another notification pops up, and I frown. Wrong number? I tapped it.

A video.

I hesitated, but curiosity won and I opened it.

Then, my world stopped.

It was me. My hair was longer in the video, I wasn't putting on anything, I was dancing naked, and he was touching me all over. The bed, the angle, the person, it was me. The one night I wish I could erase from history.

It wasn’t just a video, it was evidence, humiliation and disgrace with my face, my body, my shame.

The one night I had prayed to remain buried, six feet under.

Michael Peterson.

My stomach dropped so fast, like it was being held. My hands were shaking so bad, I almost dropped my phone. I look up immediately, as if I were commanded to.

“Nancy?’’ It was Alaric calling.

I looked up and saw him staring at me, his smirk gone and tears rolling down my cheeks. He had a facial expression I couldn’t name. He leaned over before I could put the phone away. His eyes caught the video, and he jerked away immediately. His jaw stiffened.

‘’Who sent this?’’

“Mind your own damn business,’’ I say, wiping my tears and trying to walk away.

He pulls me back with my arms; this time, there’s a dead look in his eyes. For the first time, I’m scared of him.

"You want to be mean for the rest of your life, I do not have the strength to stop you, and I honestly wouldn’t care. But I will not tolerate my team member’s privacy being shown to the world like this, I will not sit back and let anyone humiliate you like this.’’ His grip tightens. ‘’I’ll ask you again, who sent this and give me every little detail of this person that you have.”

And as if I were bewitched, all I could mutter in fear was;

‘’Ok…okay.’’

Just then, we hear phones buzzing, we turn, and it’s the video getting circulated. My legs fail me, and I fall to the ground. “His name is Michael Peterson, kill him if you must,” I tell him, and he leaves immediately.

My mind went back to everything that happened and how many regrets I had to live with. And now, here I am. My dignity thrown in the mud, my privacy in the eyes of everyone, and they’re probably enjoying some PG-rated free subscription show now. God, how much I hate people.

I decided to go home for the day instead of setting myself up for further drama with my presence.

Someone winked at me: “Send me the director’ cut, pretty whore.”

Dear lord, I think I’m ready to die.

Before I could get into the elevator, I could already hear people talking.

“Cheap”

“Slut”

“Desperate”

“She isn’t even that good-looking."

Each word was breaking me down, eating me alive. One woman found her moment of grace to gain a few seconds of popularity;

“Guess Fancy Nancy found a way to get promoted on promo."

The laughter that followed was inhuman, like a pack of wolves circling a scared deer.

I just kept walking. I made sure I didn’t blink or flinch or break. Not on the outside because inside, I was a graveyard. The cruelest part of everything was the fact that every single person still had their eyes glued on their phone, cheerfully replaying my worst mistake like it was some talk show. To them, it was content. To me, that was my life getting destroyed.

My phone beeped again, and when I looked, it was another video. An unknown person had just made a video of me. It was posted on a public forum with the caption:

“Nancy Gilbert: Corporate Slut of the year.”

I wanted to scream, wanted to run, wanted to hide. Instead, I scrolled further down to the most cruel and bitter comments.

“Trash like this doesn’t deserve respect”.

“Trash will be picked up tomorrow, Nancy, get ready!”

“I’d still hit, though”.

And the many cruel others.

FLASHBACK TO THREE YEARS BACK:

Michael. The name that now tastes like poison in my mouth.

I met him three years ago and we were just friends at first, but our friendship grew into something more and eventually, it became a relationship and just like every other couple, we started making out, cuddling, sexing and…name it!

One day, he suggested that we start recording clips of ourselves while having sex, and I refused at first, but I succumbed later due to pressure. Remember, I was begged, I was pressured. Remember also, it wasn’t just me in the video. Well, one night, I found out I wasn’t the only girl he was doing things with and wasn’t the only girl whose videos he had. My body wasn’t special, my kisses, my hugs. They were just like little files in a portfolio. Later on, I told him I was breaking up with him, and he threatened to post our videos. At that time, I didn’t care because we were both in the video.

But what still hurts me isn’t the first time I agreed. It was the first day I walked into his apartment unannounced after we broke up, to ask him to delete the videos we made. He had some other girl bent over on the same couch he had me bent over. And what did he say when I confronted him?

“There’s nothing special about you, Nancy, or any of the girls I fuck. You’re all collectibles of my life’s experience.”

Now, as my past humiliation trends in the present. I can almost hear Michael laughing again.

But deep down, I feel my heart getting hardened.

Michael Peterson lit the fire.

Now watch me make him burn!