Sounds in the night

The apartment is quiet when you finally drift into an uneasy sleep. The muffled echo of music from the party lingers in your ears, tangled with too many thoughts you can’t seem to shake. Every time you close your eyes, flashes return: Kayla’s lips, Sadie slipping into that hallway, the look on her face when she disappeared into something you weren’t meant to see.

Hours pass. The digital clock on your nightstand glows faintly in the dark. Eventually, your throat dries out, and you **** yourself up, padding barefoot into the hallway for a glass of water.

That’s when you hear it.

A sound; soft at first, almost too faint to notice. But then again. A muffled breath. A small, broken laugh. You freeze, cup in hand, head tilted toward the other end of the hall.

Sadie’s room.

The door is half-open, a strip of dim light spilling into the hall. And from inside, the noises continue, low and unsteady, carrying a rhythm you know too well but have never associated with her.

Your chest tightens.

You should turn away. You know you should. But your feet move closer, silent on the carpet, until you’re peering through that gap.

Sadie is there, tangled in sheets with the same guy from earlier. Her hair spills across her pillow, her body shifting under his. The sight is so intimate, so jarringly out of place, it doesn’t feel real.

She's on fire, moaning at every thrust he does, asking for more in a lecherous way you never thought she could hide inside, he moves as if his life depends on it.

You grip the doorframe before you can stumble, every muscle in your body tensed. The sound of her, the look on her, it digs into you like a blade. You’ve lived with her for three years, seen her in every possible mood, every careless moment. But not this. Never this.

You should walk away. Close your door. Pretend you never saw. But then you see her starting twitching and moving, she lets a louder moan and she cum.

Then few minutes after, also for the guy the time comes, as he does, inside your friend, right in front of you.

You linger for a beat too long, caught in something between pain and fascination, until you finally tear yourself back down the hall. The water sits untouched in the sink, your throat still dry as you slip into your room and shut the door behind you.

You sit there in the dark, head in your hands, pulse hammering.

The sounds don’t stop. They carry faintly through the walls, a reminder you can’t escape. And for the first time in years, the safety of your shared home feels foreign, like you’re standing on the outside of something you never noticed was locked to you all along.

You lie awake until silence finally falls, she got crazy tonight, not one, not two, but even three time, and you heard all, and saw most of it.

Now it’s late. The images, the sounds, they’re carved into you, impossible to erase.