Page 15 of White Noise

Of course she takes the phone with her.

That might be my favorite thing about humans. They’re terrified of being watched, tracked, listened to, hacked, whatever word makes them feel properly violated, yet they carry a microphone and camera into every room themselves.

Nobody even has to fucking ask.

Saga puts the energy drink beside the sink and leaves her phone on the counter with the front camera angled toward the shower.

Perfect.

She strips without performing this time.

No slow little reveal. No turning her body toward the best angle. No expression carefully chosen for whatever sad fuck is paying her to pretend his attention matters.

She drops her clothes on the floor and gets under the water.

This version is better.

VioletHex knows she’s being watched.

Saga thinks she isn’t.

She washes her face first, scrubbing away the makeup while the steam slowly clouds the glass. Her shoulders stay tight even beneath the hot water, though, and twice she glances toward the bathroom door.

Good, she’s still thinking about me.

She can call me a hacker until she’s fucking hoarse. Her body already knows there was something wrong tonight.

I watch her take another drink before she sets the can aside and reaches for the toy.

The suction base hits the tile with a hard, wet slap.

I’ve seen her use it before, but tonight, she isn’t playing.

There’s too much anger in the way she moves, too much restless fucking energy still sitting under her skin from the stream. She’s flushed from the heat and pissed off enough that every movement comes sharper than it needs to.

Good, she’s still thinking about me.

She doesn’t bother trying to make any of it pretty. There’s no camera-ready arch, no slow tease for some desperate asshole waiting to throw credits at her. She braces herself against the wall, grabs the toy, and uses it like she’s trying to fuck the frustration out of herself.

That almost makes me laugh.

As if I’m something she can work out of her system.

She sinks onto the thick silicone with an irritated sound, rough and impatient, pushing herself harder against it than she usually does.

No performance, or VioletHex.

Just Saga, angry and worked up and completely convinced nobody can see her.

That’s the version I fucking like.

"Fuck," she hisses, her voice tight.

She starts to move, and it’s mechanical at first.

Fast and hard.

Like she’s trying to burn off the adrenaline, trying to scrub the memory of me out of her nervous system with friction and pressure. Her breaths are short, clipped and controlled. She’s fighting it, trying to keep her composure even while she hammers herself against the toy, her thighs shaking with the effort of maintaining that rigid, irritated discipline.