Chapter 2: Soundproofing

The relief was temporary. It dissolved into a sticky mess on my chest and a deeper itch that wouldn’t go away. I cleaned up and spent the rest of the day trying to bury myself in my thesis work, which involved untangling a particularly nasty knot in a differential geometry problem. The symbols on my screen blurred together. My brain kept replacing integrals with the memory of her stretching against the cupboard, the way her tank top had pulled tight. I gave up around four, ordering Chinese food and eating it at my desk, staring at the same equation until the characters stopped making any sense at all.

The first thump of bass came through the floorboards just after ten.

I ignored it. I had a pen in my hand, tracing a possible path through the logic. The music was muffled, a distant pulse. Then it got louder. Someone turned up the volume. A heavy, electronic beat vibrated through the legs of my wooden desk. My concentration, already frayed, snapped completely.

I pushed back from the desk with a sigh. The party was starting. I could hear the low murmur of voices now, a laugh cutting through the bass. My room felt suddenly small and isolated, a monk’s cell above a festival. I knew what I should do. I should go down there. Be social. Prove to myself, and maybe to her, that I wasn’t just the guy who fled to jerk off after breakfast. I needed to reclaim some ground, even if it was just the living room floor.

I stood up and went to my closet. My usual clothes were simple. T-shirts, jeans, hoodies. Functional stuff for the gym or the workshop. None of it felt right for the scene downstairs, which I imagined was already full of people dressed in the kind of deliberately distressed fashion Mandy favored. I had one graphic tee I’d bought on a whim at a concert years ago. The band’s logo was a jagged, unreadable scrawl. I pulled it on. My jeans were just jeans, dark blue and slightly worn at the knees. I looked in the mirror.

The effect was exactly what I’d feared. The shirt didn’t look cool or edgy. It looked like a math grad student trying to look cool and edgy. The bracelet was pathetic. I looked like I was dressed for a bad Halloween costume. ‘Nerd trying to be punk.’ The thought was embarrassingly accurate. But taking it all off would feel like a surrender. So I left it on, a small, stupid act of defiance. I ran a hand through my hair, which didn’t help, and headed for the door.

The noise hit me like a wall when I opened it. The bass was so deep I felt it in my teeth. The air in the hallway was warmer, thick with the smell of spilled beer and perfume. I walked to the top of the stairs and looked down. The living room was packed. Bodies moved in the dim light, colored by a cheap LED lamp someone had plugged in. It cast shifting blue and purple hues over everything.

I made my way down, squeezing past a couple making out against the banister. The floor was sticky. A girl in a sequined top bumped into me, spilling a little of her red plastic cup on my shoe. She giggled an apology and disappeared into the crowd.

“Harman! Dude!”

A large hand clapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see Leo, a guy from the wrestling team. He was built like a refrigerator and had a perpetual, friendly grin. “You live here? With the emo girl? Lucky bastard.”

“It has its moments,” I said, forcing a smile.

“I bet. She’s a piece of work.” Leo took a long drink from his beer. “Saw her earlier. She was teaching some sorority girl how to do a body shot off her stomach. Wild.”

“Sounds like Mandy.”

“Total firecracker.” He leaned in, his breath smelling of cheap lager. “You tapping that?”

“We’re just roommates.”

Leo barked a laugh. “Right. And I’m just here for the music. Come on, man. You telling me you haven’t tried?”

“It’s not like that.” The lie was easy. Automatic.

“Your loss.” He shrugged. “Hey, you see the keg? It’s in the kitchen but the line is fucking biblical.”

I told him I’d find my own drink and moved further into the room. I recognized a few other faces. Sarah from my calculus TA group, who waved. A guy named Ben from the welding workshop, who gave me a nod. I exchanged hellos, cracked a few weak jokes about the music being loud enough to sterilize lab equipment. I was performing. It was a familiar routine. Smile, laugh, keep the conversation light. It was a way to move through a space without really being in it. My eyes, though, kept scanning.

I found her near the far wall, by the speakers.

She was wearing a black crop top made of some mesh material. It showed everything and nothing. The pattern of the mesh obscured specific details but left no doubt about the shape beneath. Her stomach was bare, the defined muscles I’d seen that morning now on display for everyone. She had on tiny black shorts that might have been underwear. They were so short the pockets hung below the hem. She was talking to a guy. He was tall, with the broad shoulders and tapered waist of someone who spent his life in a gym. Rugby player, probably. One of the ones she’d mentioned.

Her body language was a masterclass in invitation. She stood close to him, her head tilted up to listen. She’d reach out and touch his arm to emphasize a point, her fingers lingering. She laughed at something he said, throwing her head back, exposing her throat. It was a practiced, predatory kind of flirting. She was hunting. The guy was grinning, hooked, already thinking about his victory.

I looked away, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest. I pushed through to the kitchen. The keg line was indeed long. I grabbed a can of beer from a cooler someone had left on the floor instead. I popped it open and took a long drink, leaning against the counter. The kitchen was a hub of activity. People were doing shots off the granite island. Someone had already drawn a crude penis in mustard on the fridge. The house was being christened.

When I wandered back into the living room, Mandy was with a different guy. This one had long hair and a tattoo sleeve. She had him pinned against the wall, a hand flat on the plaster beside his head, talking up into his face. She was smiling, her teeth white in the colored light. He looked dazed, like he’d been hit with a brick.

Then the song changed. The beat morphed into something with a heavier, more insistent rhythm. Mandy pushed off from the wall, her smile widening. She shouted something to a group of her friends—girls with similar dark makeup and ripped clothing—and they whooped in response.

She moved into the center of the room. People made space for her. She started to dance.

It wasn’t just dancing. It was a performance. A declaration. Her hips moved in a slow, grinding circle that was hypnotic to watch. Her hands slid over her own body, tracing her ribs, her stomach, the curve of her hip. She closed her eyes, her lips parted, lost in the music or in the act of being watched. Her friends cheered, egging her on. More people turned to look. Phones came out, screens glowing in the dark as they recorded her.

She reached out and grabbed two of her friends, pulling them into her orbit. They started dancing with her, a tangle of limbs and laughter. Mandy turned her back to one girl, grinding her ass against the girl’s front. Then she spun, facing another, and their dancing turned into a playful, sensual mimicry of something more. They were close, hands on each other’s waists, their faces inches apart. The crowd’s cheering got louder.

Mandy dipped the girl she was facing, a dramatic, swooping move. Then she brought her back up and kissed her. It wasn’t a peck. It was a full, open-mouthed kiss, deep and lingering. The girl kissed her back, hands tangling in Mandy’s hair. The crowd went wild. Someone yelled “Get it!” They broke apart, laughing, and Mandy immediately grabbed another friend, a blonde girl in a leather skirt, and kissed her too. This one was shorter, more of a smack, but the message was the same. Look at me. Look what I can do. Look what I can make happen.

The energy in the room shifted. It was charged, electric. Mandy was the conductor. She threw her head back and let out a wild laugh, then looked right at her circle of friends. She said something I couldn’t hear over the music. A challenge. A dare.

Three of them, Mandy included, exchanged a look. A wide, conspiratorial grin spread across Mandy’s face. She nodded.

In unison, they grabbed the hem of their shirts.

They lifted.

The music didn’t stop. The world did. For a second, there was just the flash of bare skin in the strobing light. Four sets of breasts, pale and exposed. Mandy’s were small, pert. The metal of her nipple piercings caught the LED and glinted, tiny silver stars against her skin. The moment hung, suspended in the roar of the crowd. Then they dropped their shirts, collapsing into laughter, hugging each other as people whistled and clapped. Phones were held aloft, capturing it all. It was chaos. It was pure, reckless exhibitionism.

And then I saw him.

Jake had arrived. He was standing near the entrance to the kitchen, a cup in his hand, watching the spectacle with a lazy, proprietary smile. He was exactly as I remembered: big, blond, his stupid dragon tattoo coiling down his left arm. He had that look he always got when he walked into a room, like he was already the most interesting person in it.

Mandy saw him too. Her laughter softened into a different kind of smile. She extricated herself from her friends and walked toward him, her movements smooth, like a shark finding a scent trail. The crowd parted for her.

“Jake,” she said, her voice carrying over the din. She stopped right in front of him, looking up.

“Mandy,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He looked her up and down, slowly, taking his time. “Nice show.”

“Just warming up.” She reached out and ran a finger over the dragon tattoo on his forearm. “I like your ink.”

“It’s a conversation starter.” His grin was all ego. He knew why she was here. He thought he’d already won. He probably had a mental timer going for how long it would take to get her into a bedroom.

I took another sip of my beer. It tasted like aluminum and regret. I forced myself to turn away, to engage with the person next to me. It was Ben, the welder. We started talking about a new type of flux core wire he was using. It was a safe, technical topic. I focused on his words, on the specifics of weld penetration and spatter. I laughed when he made a joke about a bad burn he’d gotten. I was present. I was social. I was fine.

But my awareness was split. A part of me was a satellite, locked onto their coordinates across the room.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them start to dance. The music had shifted to something slower, heavier. Mandy pressed herself against Jake. His hands went to her hips, big and possessive. Her arms went around his neck. They weren’t really dancing. They were swaying, a slow, intimate rock. Her body melted into his. His hands slid down, over the curve of her ass, pulling her tighter against him. She didn’t stop him. She arched into the touch.

My jaw tightened. I took a long, final gulp of my beer, crushing the empty can in my hand. The conversation with Ben drifted to a natural end. He moved off to find another drink. I was alone again, an island in the noise.

Jake’s hands were everywhere now. One was splayed on the small of her back, the other roaming over her shoulder, down her arm. He leaned down and said something in her ear. She laughed, a throaty sound, and tilted her head, giving him better access. He kissed her neck. She let him.

They were a closed circuit. The party swirled around them, but they had created their own little bubble of foreplay. I watched as Jake’s hand, the one with the dragon, slipped under the hem of her mesh top, his fingers spreading over the skin of her back. Mandy shivered. I saw it. A full-body tremor. She pressed closer.

Then she said something to him, her lips almost touching his ear. He nodded, that arrogant grin never fading. He took her hand and they started moving, not toward the front door, but toward the hallway that led to the back of the house. To the kitchen. They disappeared into the crowd.

I should have left then. Gone back upstairs. But a morbid, masochistic curiosity rooted me to the spot. I drifted, pretending to look for someone, following their general trajectory. I ended up near the kitchen entrance again, leaning against the doorjamb, a fresh, unopened beer in my hand.

They were by the sink. Jake had backed Mandy against the counter. The kitchen was still crowded, but people gave them a wide berth, watching with amused, voyeuristic interest. Jake was talking loudly, playing to the room.

“Okay, new game,” he announced, his voice slurring just a little. “Truth or Dare, kitchen edition. I dare you to let me…” He made a show of thinking, his eyes raking over her. “Let me see how these feel.” His hand came up and cupped her breast through the mesh. He squeezed, his thumb brushing over the piercing. Mandy bit her lip, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. Then she opened them, meeting his gaze with a challenge.

“That’s not a very creative dare,” she said, but she didn’t push him away.

“Fine.” He laughed. “Dare number two. Let me see if your other one matches.” His other hand came up, cupping her other breast. He held her there, pinned against the counter, groping her in front of maybe fifteen people. Someone whooped. Mandy’s breath hitched. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Getting warmer,” she breathed.

Jake leaned in, his face close to hers. “Dare number three. Tell me what you really want.”

Mandy’s eyes locked with his. The playful teasing was gone, replaced by something raw and direct. Her voice dropped, but I was close enough to hear it over the chatter. It was clear, unashamed.

“I want your dick in me, Jake. Now.”

A ripple went through the onlookers. Jake’s grin turned wolfish. He took her hand again. “Your room or mine?”

“Mine. Upstairs.”

They broke apart from the counter. Jake slapped her ass as she turned, a loud crack that made her jump and then laugh. He followed her, a conqueror following his spoils. They pushed through the kitchen, past the grinning faces, and into the hallway. I saw them start up the stairs.

The party continued. The music pounded. Someone started a beer pong tournament on the island. The world didn’t care.

I stood there for another minute, maybe two. My beer was warm. I set it down on the counter, next to the mustard penis. I felt strangely calm. Numb. The jealousy was still there, a cold, hard stone in my gut, but it was buried under a layer of sheer exhaustion. I’d watched the play from the front row. The curtain had fallen. There was nothing left to see.

I needed to sleep.

I made my way through the living room, offering vague goodbyes to anyone who caught my eye. I took the stairs slowly. The second floor was quieter, the music a dull throb through the floor. The hallway was dark. Light spilled from under my door and from under Mandy’s. I paused outside her door. No sound came from within yet. I went into my room and shut the door. The music was muffled, a persistent, bass-heavy hum.

I changed into a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. I brushed my teeth in the attached bathroom, the ritual feeling absurd given the circumstances. I turned off the main light, leaving just the small lamp on my nightstand on. I got into bed. The sheets were cool. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, where the shadows from the lamp made strange, shifting shapes.

I thought about equations. About the smooth arc of a weld bead. About anything else.

Then I heard her door open down the hall. A burst of laughter—Jake’s low chuckle, Mandy’s higher pitch. Her door clicked shut.

Silence for a beat. Then the sounds began.

The walls were thin. I’d known that intellectually. Now I knew it in a different way. I could hear the murmur of voices, too low to make out words. Then a shifting of weight. A wet, rhythmic sound, unmistakable in its cadence. A soft, sucking pop, followed by a low, male groan.

“Swallow it all, you greedy little cocksucker,” Jake’s voice came through, rough and clear. “Take it all the way down that slutty throat.”

The wet sounds continued, steady, obscene, punctuated by Mandy’s deep, gagging breaths between his commands. I could picture it. Mandy on her knees by the bed. Jake standing over her. His hand on the back of her head, those big fingers tangled in her black hair. My own hands clenched into fists at my sides. I didn’t want to listen. I couldn’t stop.

The bed springs complained again, a series of rapid creaks as someone moved. Then a different sound. A low, humming moan that was definitely Mandy’s. It was followed by the wet, lapping sounds of someone eating someone out. Eager, hungry sounds.

Mandy’s voice was muffled, a choked, eager moan. “Just… don’t stop. Please. It’s so good.”

The lapping sounds got faster. Her moans built, turning into little gasps and cries. I felt my own body responding, a traitorous heat coiling in my stomach despite the acid churn of jealousy. The sounds were too intimate. Too real.

Then a shift. The bed springs took on a heavier, more regular rhythm. A steady, wooden creak… creak… creak.

“Fuck,” Mandy breathed. “Yes.”

“Tight little cunt,” Jake growled, his voice strained with effort. The creaking increased in pace. “Squeezing me so good.”

Their dirty talk became a broken, overlapping soundtrack. Him telling her what a slut she was, how good she felt. Her begging him to go harder, deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin joined the chorus. A sharp crack—a spank. Mandy cried out, a sound that was equal parts pain and pleasure.

“You like that?” Jake demanded.

“Yes! Do it again!”

Another slap. Another cry.

The rhythm became punishing, frantic. The bed frame knocked against the wall in a timed percussion with their gasps and grunts. Jake’s voice was a harsh, guttural chant. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna breed this tight little pussy.”

Mandy’s responses dissolved into wordless screams, high and desperate. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum! Jake, I’m gonna—”

Her sentence shattered into a raw, continuous wail. It was the sound of someone coming completely apart. Jake roared, a final, animal sound, and the bed gave one last, violent shudder before the rhythm stopped abruptly.

Heavy breathing. The rustle of sheets.

I was breathing hard too. My heart hammered against my ribs. The heat in my stomach had concentrated, tightened into an unbearable pressure. My hand had moved of its own accord, under the waistband of my shorts. I was hard, throbbing. The images their sounds had painted in my head were vivid, brutal. Mandy bent over, taking him. Mandy screaming as he came inside her.

I couldn’t fight it. I didn’t want to. My hand moved, stroking in time with the fading echo of their bed springs. It was fast, rough, desperate. I thought of her mouth. Her body. The look on her face when she teased me. The sound of her laugh. The glint of her piercings under the party lights. It all mixed together into a single, overwhelming need.

My hips bucked off the bed. A choked groan escaped my lips as the tension snapped. Pleasure, sharp and guilty, ripped through me. Warmth spilled over my fist and onto my stomach, stark against the gray fabric of my t-shirt.

In the sudden, ringing silence of my own room, I could hear the faint, satisfied murmur of their voices through the wall. Then nothing.