Free Silent Scars (Surviving #4) by Ada Frost

feeling the tension leave my body with every word we passed between us. “Do you need any help?”
    “Nah, I’m good. You go relax for a bit.”
    “I’ll sit here if you don’t mind me watching. I find cooking fascinating, especially since I’m terrible at it.”
    She chuckled softly, that free laughter she offered so willingly. This job was going to be harder than I thought because I was beginning to like being around her. Getting attached was a dangerous thing, you could be easily left behind.

I jerked up to a sitting position in bed, sweat covered my brow. I sheltered my ears from the echoes of the M16 rifle shots and grenades. I panted, sucking in air as my surroundings registered. I was in Aloura’s house, safe. But the smells and sounds were so real, so incredibly tangible. I felt sand on my skin, the incessant grains in my mouth. The sweaty odour of men, the smell of metal, gunpowder and diesel fumes. All choking me. I pinched my nose, trying to drive out the stench. Clear my senses. I glanced around the room, knowing it couldn’t be real, but it felt so vibrant, so alive in here.
    I wiped my trembling hands down my face, feeling the sweat against my palms. Some dreams were worse than others. The ones where the horrors of war mixed with my father were the worst. The ones where my every weakness was exposed and abused. I glanced down to see two wide eyes staring at me expectantly.
    “What?”
    The little rat went from sitting to standing, wagging its tail with that tiny tongue hanging out. My sneakers were bigger, and she had to call it Hercules.
    “You want to go out?” I asked like a fucking idiot. It did a weird jump and spin type thing before heading for the door, checking I was following. I grabbed my sweater and yanked it over my head, pulled on my sweatpants, and finally my beanie. There was no point in waking Aloura just so the damn dog could take a leak.
    I shushed the mutt when it yapped as I stood. Aloura’s door was slightly ajar, and I wanted, no I craved, to look inside at her sleeping. But I knew one glance wouldn’t be enough. I would want to stay and watch her all night: I was turning into a creeper.
    Herc – no, I can’t do it. The rat scampered down the stairs. I followed, not making a sound. As I hit the bottom step ready to grab my sneakers, I heard a gentle sound. At first I wasn’t sure what it was. My brain still woozy from my dream. But then it registered.
    The piano.
    I stood in the dark hallway leading to the lounge, listening to the gentle sound. I closed my eyes and absorbed the peaceful feeling as the music danced in my ears. I let my head fall back as a strange harmony swarmed me. Usually after I woke up, my muscles twitched and ached. I needed something physical to do, like hit a bag in the gym or run a few miles. But always with silence. I pushed away noise. I hated the fucking noise .
    But in this instance, I found myself craving the serenity of the music. I headed towards the sound, knowing it must be Aloura. Was she so against me hearing her she would come down in the dead of night to play?
    I opened the sliding door and let the rat out. Then as quietly as possible, I pushed the door to the music room a little further open, and I watched the perfection before me. Aloura was in profile, moonlight streaming into the windows and a small lamp glowing on top of the piano illuminating the keys.
    Her entire body moved with a gentle flow; her fingers glided over the keys as if they were an extension of herself. She sat perfectly straight and swayed as her hands moved. I rested against the doorway and absorbed the sound, like it was my saviour. The horrendous visions from my nightmares were abated. All my head was filled with was her. Her eyes were closed, and I had no idea how she knew what to play. That’s when I noticed there wasn’t any sheet music in front of her. My mouth twitched at the corners, and I realised with a start I was fucking happy. Never, not once had I