To: Gerard Bello

Dear G,

I wish we could talk vibrantly again about art, creating, creativity again. You and Thuy were one of the first people to see me, to truly see me and the things I brought to this world. You saw me as an individual, separate from student or kid or whatever label that did a disservice to my whole being. And therein lies the problem, you saw me as more than a…kid. A child, really. You met me at 10, and probed me at 15. Where the boundaries got so muddled in between, I’m not sure. Maybe you both always saw me as a potential add-on to your sexual deviances, or maybe when you saw my body begin to blossom at 14 that’s when it happened.

I was scrolling through Instagram earlier, and came across a dysfunc account that belonged to the creative company you worked for. I saw you exactly as I remembered you, and saw your old projects you showed me as a kid, that inspire me even to this day. I wish I could talk with you again, converse about my creative projects, be mentored by you, exactly how it should have been. But it’s all gone to naught now, and all that’s left is this stupid blog post writing about how there’s nothing left.

You admired me like a daughter, you took candids of me as if I were your blood, so simply and purely. The affection I felt from you was so real, so tangible and secure and safe. You were everything I could’ve ever possibly wanted in a father and a mentor. You just looked at me with such love, affection, tenderness. You treated me with such respect, kindness, and protectiveness.

You cannot imagine the irrevocable damage that comes from being a kid trusting a male to protect you, and then he takes advantage of you. I trusted you with the fact that my father never showed up for me, and my mother and I were hanging on by a thread. I was so desperately seeking that love and validation that both parents failed to provide, and you provided such sweet, tender relief to the gaping tear I showed you. Before of course, deciding that it would be an absolutely fantastic idea to treat me akin to a partner, both romantically and sexually. I mean, I hadn’t even had sex yet, and you suggested that I move across the country when I turn 18 to legally engage in copulation with you both.

You sent me links to videos of you two having sex, introduced me to kinks I should not have even begun to think about yet. One heated night, Thuy sent me a picture of her breasts, and I sent one back. I saw the chat bubble type on and off for a few minutes, before Thuy replied that I should wait until I'm eighteen to send pictures like that, but not before sending heart eyes. I remember my mother yelling at me for procrastinating on doing the dishes, in typical teenager fashion, as my phone buzzed with yet another passionate text from two adults in their thirties.

I don't know why you both decided to do what you did. I don't know how long you were ruminating on this idea, what age you saw me as a body you wanted to use, or if that was the goal the whole time. I hope it wasn't. I hope that you still saw me as your daughter even for a little bit, in some twisted, desperate way.

That's all. I don't know what else to tell you besides the fact that I'm very sorry you lost me. I truly am, because I know you would be enthralled by the person I evolved into. And I hope that your daughter never has to go through the pain that I did.

Sincerely, Sporkie