My Masturbation Recording Was Listened To 146 Times By The Ice Hockey Hunk Chapter 09
That night I unilaterally decided we were having late-night food.
“Have some barbecue, drink beer and watch TV shows. ”
Zach: “You have an early class. ”
“Mind your business. ”
Zach:“One beer. Max. ”
Thirty minutes later I was standing outside his door with two big bags of takeout and a six-pack. He didn’t actually yell at me.
I knocked. No answer.
I could hear the shower running, so I used the spare key and let myself in.
I knew his place better than my own.
I set the food on the coffee table and put the beer in the fridge.
His phone was on the table with wired earbuds still plugged in.
It buzzed with an unknown number.
I called toward the bathroom, “Zach, phone!”
His voice came through the water, muffled. “Who is it?”
“Unknown number.”
“Could be the delivery. Just answer it.”
I picked up. It was the delivery driver. I told him to leave the package by the front door of the building.
When I hung up and went to put the phone back, the screen hadn’t gone dark yet.
It was still on an audio player.
File name: study notes
Play count: 146
I frowned.
What study notes need to be played a hundred and forty-six times?
I told myself I was just curious.
I put one earbud in and hit play.
A soft, breathy voice filled my ear.
“Mm…”
My entire body locked up.
It was me.
It was the recording from that night—the one I had deleted in a panic.
My own uneven breathing, the soft broken sounds, the way my voice had shaken.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Why he stopped opening my voice notes.
Why he went rigid every time I got close.
Why he said he started thinking things he shouldn’t.
The shower shut off.
I ripped the earbud out, dropped the phone back on the table, and ran.
I heard him call my name from the bathroom, but I didn’t stop.
I didn’t even put my shoes on properly. I just got out.
Back in my apartment I threw myself onto the bed.
My face was burning.
He had kept it.
He had listened to it one hundred and forty-six times.
I couldn’t stop picturing it—him alone in his room with headphones on, breathing hard…
Why had the phone been open to that screen?
Why was he in the shower right then?
What had he been doing before I showed up?
My phone lit up.
Zach: Why’d you leave so fast?
My fingers moved before my brain caught up.
“Stomachache.”
“ I should go home.”
A long pause. The typing bubbles appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Zach: Did you see the recording?
Zach:“ I’m sorry.”
Zach: “Serena. Don’t be scared of me, okay?”
I didn’t answer any of them.
I turned the phone face-down and pulled the covers over my head.
The thing that scared me most wasn’t that he had listened.
It was that after finding out… I still didn’t hate him the way I thought I should.