Chapter 5: This Is Lewd and Immoral
Sophia’s P.O.V
I couldn’t stop the sensation of my cheeks burning as I felt the color drain from my face. My eyes darted to the canvas in front of me, then back to Gabriella, who stood there with a knowing smirk. She twirled her paintbrush between her fingers, her expression as nonchalant as ever, as though this wasn’t the single most mortifying moment of my teaching career.
“Miss Sophia,” she began, her voice saccharine and laced with faux innocence as she spoke loud enough to grab attention, “I hope you’re not one of those stone-age-minded teachers who think this is too scandalous for the class. After all, art is meant to provoke, isn’t it?”
My throat felt dry as I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The painting before me was undeniably well-done—her brushstrokes were confident, her use of color and shadow masterful. But the subject matter? My brain screamed at me to look away, but my eyes betrayed me, flitting over the undeniably erotic scene she had so boldly rendered. My mind raced, trying to process how this had happened, why I hadn’t seen it coming, and what on earth I was supposed to say now.
“It’s… um…” I stammered, unable to form a coherent thought as the other students began to gather around. The murmurs started low and grew louder as they took in Gabriella’s work.
In terms of art, it is nearly perfect. But there’s no mistaking the intent behind it.
The other students are already moving in, murmuring their thoughts, their admiration evident in the way they nod appreciatively, some even offering genuine praise. "Damn, the
shading is insane," one of them says, leaning closer. A girl in the back shifts uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing.
"Seriously, Gabby, you could sell this," another adds with a chuckle. Someone whistles low, and I swear I feel my soul leave my body for a second.
“Wow, Gabriella, this is amazing,” one of them said, leaning closer to admire the intricate details.
“She’s so accurate with the anatomy. Look at the proportions,” another chimed in, sounding more like a critic at a gallery than a high school student.
I could feel my face growing hotter by the second. This was spiraling out of control faster than I could rein it in. Gabriella, of course, basked in the attention, her smirk deepening as she turned to me again.
“See? They get it,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “I knew you’d appreciate my vision, Miss Sophia. This is my way of expressing art, you know. I just happen to prefer… erotic themes. It’s raw, it’s emotional, it’s human. Isn’t that what art is all about?”
The words hit me like a freight train. My mind screamed for a response, something to reassert control of the classroom, but I was frozen. The students around her nodded and murmured their agreement, and then, to my horror, one of them raised their hand.
“Miss Sophia, does this mean we can paint stuff like this too?” they asked, their eyes bright with curiosity.
“Yeah, Gabriella’s really set the bar high,” another added, clearly impressed.
“I mean, look at the shading here,” a third pointed out, gesturing to a particularly suggestive area of the painting.
Gabriella’s grin was practically predatory now, and I could feel her gaze boring into me as she waited for my response.
“Well, um, I think we need to discuss… boundaries in art,” I managed, my voice weak and trembling. My attempt to regain control only seemed to embolden her further.
“Boundaries?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “But isn’t art about pushing boundaries? Exploring the forbidden? Isn’t that what makes it powerful?” Her words were punctuated with dramatic hand gestures, as if she were delivering some profound manifesto.
The other students murmured their agreement, and I could feel the situation slipping through my fingers like sand. I needed to say something, anything, to put an end to this, but my brain was still trying to catch up.
“Gabriella,” I said finally, my voice firmer now though still shaky, “you’ve clearly put a lot of effort into this piece, and your technique is impressive. But I think it’s important to consider the context in which we’re creating art. This is a classroom setting, and…”
“And classrooms should be about learning,” she interrupted, her tone saccharine again. “I’m learning about myself, about art, about human expression. Isn’t that what you’re here to teach us?”
I blinked, caught off guard yet again. The students around her nodded vigorously, clearly swept up in her performance. My head spun as I desperately tried to think of a way to steer the conversation back to a safer place but Gabriella had already won this round, and she knew it.
The murmur of the students grew louder as I stood there, staring at the painting, my thoughts caught in a tangle of emotions. The piece was undeniably abstract—Gabriella had ensured that the shapes and strokes weren’t too obvious. Still, the precision of the shadows and the sharpness of the lines betrayed the truth.
But I knew stalling wouldn’t help. I need to say something, to do something…but what? What else could I possibly say? What could I do to lessen the pain and humiliation stabbing at me from the inside out?
This classroom…this space…it was supposed to be my sanctuary, my safe-heaven, away from Tristan and our crumbling marriage. But Gabriella’s appearance today had shifted everything and now, I felt cornered. Trapped in a place that was supposed to be my safety net.
Gabriella, standing beside me, shifted on her heels, her impatience practically vibrating through the air.
“Sophia,” she started, her voice carrying an edge of frustration, “are you going to say something, or are you just going to stand there gawking like you don’t understand art?” Her tone was biting, but I could sense the malicious intent lurking beneath her words.
She was challenging me outright. She thought that just because Tristan was sleeping with her, she could challenge me in my own domain…as if I were just a simple art teacher…
But I wasn’t. I wasn’t just a simple art teacher without proper knowledge of art…I was so much more. But then…this situation wasn’t something I had ever faced before.
I opened my mouth, struggling to find the right words. Should I acknowledge the artistry? Praise the delicate play of light and shadow? Or should I confront the deeper, more personal implication of the painting? But with so many students all around me, waiting for my verdict…it was impossible to confront Gabriella about private matters…matters that would end up exposing the delicate state of my marriage!
A smirk tugged at Gabriella’s lips as she turned toward me, clearly waiting for my reaction. But I couldn’t find the words. The image was still seared into my mind, the intimacy of it settling like a weight in my chest. I knew she was watching me, expecting a response, but before I could even think of what to say, another voice cut through the hum of admiration.
"This is lewd and immoral."
The statement was sharp, biting. A male voice, laced with disapproval, rang through the room like a thunderbolt.
Gabriella’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into a glare. “Excuse me?” she shot back, her voice rising with defiance. “Who are you to call my art immoral? This is an expression—this is the truth!”
The air shifted as heads turned toward the speaker, the door flying open at that moment to expose a tall figure drenched in the shadows of the hallway.
My eyes widened in shock as I watched the scene unfold, my heart thrashing against my ribcage as I watched the man step into the classroom with an authority that snuffed the air right out of my lungs.
Who was this man?