Page 46 of Love Me Stalk Me

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I would.

I quickly download a voice modulator app onto my phone. The screen confirms the installation with a soft ping.

But, I need to understand just how a video call would work from the user's perspective.

I download a version of the app onto my own phone.

I look through every setting, every feature, learning how it works. I test the voice modulation, listening to my own voice transformed into something both familiar and not. I check the video feed, seeing how the app creates an avatar overlay that moves with facial expressions.

Because I want to give Izzy the best experience possible.

Which is insane.

This whole thing is fucking insane.

But I'm not stopping.

And I don't want to.

I exhale, running a hand through my hair. I need to get a grip. Water droplets fall onto my shoulders, cold nowagainst my skin.

I switch out of the app, pulling my messages back up?—

Until a notification pops up.

I click into it before I even think.

And realize too late what I'm looking at.

Izzy's inbox.

Shit.

I was trying not to read her personal stuff.

But now that it's open...

I see the subject line.

And now I'm mad all over again.

It's an email from some fancy-ass nutritionist, saying they can't wait to work with Izzy on her fitness and nutrition goals. The professional letterhead and carefully crafted language only make it worse.

They spoke with Evan.

Evan, who apparently had a whole fucking rundown about what she needs towork on.

They want to schedule a weigh-in.

My grip tightens around my phone, knuckles white with tension.

She doesn't need a fucking diet plan. She needs proper meals, regular nourishment, someone who ensures she actually eats during her long workdays instead of surviving on coffee and determination.

And what she needs more than that is to dump her goddamn boyfriend.

I try to do a breathing exercise. Something the Chaplain in our unit taught me back in the day. Four counts in, hold for seven, eight counts out.

It doesn't work.

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