Page 153 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It didn't fucking help.

The silence inside the cabin always felt loud after the nightmares. Too loud. Every creak of the old timber sounded like boots crossing gravel. Every gust of wind through the pines became rotor blades overhead. My brain knew where I was.

My body didn't. I shoved both hands through my hair and walked into the living room without bothering to switch on a light. Darkness suited me. Always had. I dropped onto the old rug.

Push-ups.

One. Two. Three…Twenty…Thirty…Forty.

I kept going until sweat ran off my nose and soaked into the faded fibers beneath my palms.

Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five.

My shoulders burned. Good. Pain meant I was here, pain meant Afghanistan was over.

Sixty…Seventy…Eighty.

My arms started shaking. I welcomed it. Collapsing was easier than remembering when my chest finally hit the floor, I rolled onto my back, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

Still awake. Still thinking. Still feeling hearing his voice.

"Dammit."

I sat up again. Sit-ups this time. My elbows touched my knees.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The muscles across my stomach screamed where the old bullet scar pulled tight beneath my skin.

Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.

I stopped counting after that. The numbers stopped mattering, nothing drowned out the memories, not sweat, not pain, not exhaustion. I leaned forward, forearms resting on my knees, breathing hard into the darkness.

Her face appeared anyway.

Seraphina.

Not kissing me, not asking for a hug. No. The first thing my mind dragged back was much worse.

"So..."

Her voice had been so small.

"This is what a hug feels like."

Jesus Christ.