Listen, I know no one is going to be making a romantic comedy about this. You and me, the way we started, it’s unconventional, and not in the wacky doctor/patient “we fell in love when I removed that burrowing parasite from your elbow” kind of way. It’s twisted, I get that. And I get that you might not understand. I get that you might hate me. But hear me out, please.

I didn’t mean for it to come this far. I didn’t…look, I know what I did was wrong, okay? But it was the job. A skill set like mine, you don’t exactly get picked up to do the most savory of shit. I’m a hacker. I’m good at it. And the people who want that are the people who need in to places they ought not be. Like pretty girls’ cell phones.

The idea was just to harvest. Get in to your pictures, maybe pick a few you’ve sent to lucky guys–god did they know how lucky they were?–or maybe take a few of our own by forcing on your camera when you were, say, getting dressed and listening to a podcast. Hit and quit, you were one target of thousands. We didn’t know you when we first got in. I didn’t know you. You were just content for us to throw in to the endlessly demanding mouth of the real porn market.

But then I started to watch you. I have to do that, to see if you’re suitable for what we need. And I could tell right away you were different. You, just being you, stood out. You shined. I found myself opening your feed constantly–peeking into your life when I was at my straight job, or on the train, or when I was supposed to be looking for other targets. I found myself getting to know you.

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