Sloane’s POV
The moaning wakes me up at midnight, same as every night.
It’s my mom and Damian.
I can hear them through the thin wall that separates my bedroom from theirs. I’ve been listening to this for a year — the creak of the bed frame, my mom’s breathless little gasps, and the low, rough grunts that belong to her boyfriend.
Those grunts have lived rent-free in my head for a year and I’ve c*m to them more times than I will ever admit to a living soul.
Tonight, something different takes over me. I don’t just want to hear it. I want to see it.
I slip out of bed in my oversized t-shirt and nothing else and pad down the hallway on bare feet.
Their door is cracked open — it never latches properly, the frame is warped — and I press myself against the wall and angle my head just enough
