Page 45 of Love Me Stalk Me
Yeah. That tracks.
Not saying she doesn't eat healthy, but if Izzy were picking a dinner spot, it wouldn't be a place that grows six different types of wheatgrass in-house. From what I've observed, she's got a normal relationship with food—when she remembers to eat at all.
I shake my head, exhaling through my nose, and finish my rounds. Nothing else left to do tonight. Time to go home.
I step into my apartment. The door closes behind me with a soft click, sealing me away from the outside world.
Keys on the counter. Boots off. Shower to wash off the bullshit.
The hot water beats against my skin, washing away the tension but not the thoughts of her. They linger, persistent, refusing to be scrubbed away.
By the time I walk into my bedroom, towel around my waist, hair still damp, I should be feeling better.
I don't.
I sit down on my twin-sized bed, feeling every bit of the too-small mattress beneath me. I could buy a bigger one. I could buy a king-sized, pillow-top, top-of-the-line bed if I wanted.
But some habits die hard. I haven't slept in anything bigger than a cot since I got out of the army. It doesn't feel right. It feels like too much space.
My dog tags clink lightly as I lean forward, the metal cool against my chest. I still wear them. Not for sentiment, not exactly. Just never got used to taking them off.
I probably also need therapy.
But don't we all.
I grab my phone, flipping through it without really seeing anything. Then, before I even think about what I'm doing, I pull up Obsess AI.
I tap into Caleb's settings, skimming through the customizations. There's a lot here. More than I realized. The intricate details of the app reveal themselves as I dig deeper into the interface.
And I'm not stupid.
If I'm going to keep this going—if I'm going to keep doing this to her, for her—I need to know exactly how the system works.
I scroll through the engagement settings and realize I need to make some adjustments. My fingers move quickly across the screen, implementing changes that will giveme more control.
I type in a quick code through the backdoor access I created.Response Delay: If user sends a message and there is no activity within 120 seconds, AI will assume control and generate a response. Typing indicator will remain active in the meantime.
I nod. Useful.
It gives me a buffer. A way to make sure her messages never go unanswered but still gives me the opportunity to take control or not. The perfect balance of automation and intervention.
Then I scroll down a little further.
My eyes narrow.
There's a function for photo sharing.
A function for voice calls.
A function for video chats.
Jesus.
I hadn't even considered that possibility. The implications hit me all at once.
Would she ever use it? Would she ever want to hear Caleb's voice?
I shift, adjusting the way I'm sitting, forcing myself to ignore what that idea does to me. Because if she ever wants that, I already know—I wouldn't let the AI handle it.
