Page 53 of The Sound of Him

It’s at least not a bedroom.

Not a bedroom at all.

All I see is a wall of light at first, too bright, so many colors, but I figure out what I’m looking at after a few blinks. It’s a computer setup, with small monitors mounted on the wall in rows, some tilted, others facing straight-on, all angled toward… a man.

There’s a man sitting in a chair in front of them.

I suck in a sharp breath, turning back toward the hall, but then I hear Jake’s laugh.

My skin crawls, memories pinpricking in my head.

He’s closer now.

So is the man from the chair, suddenly standing behind me, hovering near my shoulder. I flinch as I catch sight of his hand reaching for me. He steps to the side, giving me room, and I realize he’s reachingpastme - to the door.

I look over at him, chest heaving, and -oh.

Ace.

It’s Ace.

He keeps his eyes locked with mine as he closes the door. It should feel threatening, I think. I should probably be scared.

Instead, it feels like I can suddenly breathe again. Like the oxygen was spilling out of the room and now, with the softest click of the door and the easy curve of his smile, I can finally fill my lungs with air.

He smells fruity. Bright, somehow, even if that isn’t actually a smell.

It’s dizzying.

I look away, focusing on his hand instead. It’s safer that way. Safer to just watch as his fingers trail up to a deadlock none of the other rooms I’ve been in have had. He doesn’t turn it, just taps it twice like he wants to make sure I've noticed it.

“Is it Jake you don’t want to see?” he asks, his voice soft, quiet. “He doesn’t have the key to this lock. No one does, actually - apart from me. Whoever is out there won't be able to find you if you want to turn it.”

It’s not a hard decision. Jake is the man who stood by on the worst night of my life, just watching when Mica - when all those men - when they - when I -I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe at all.

Jake is the man who told the doctor I wasonlywithout air for 45 seconds. As if that wasnothing. As if I haven’t been suffocating every second since.

Ace is the man that gave me the power to control and care for my body. He gave me the tools to communicate despite being locked in silence. He gave me the apple, crisp and juicy and so, so good.

I can somehow breathe around Ace.

That alone is enough.

I carefully turn the lock, making sure I listen for theclickof it engaging. I give myself a moment to appreciate the relief. Just one moment. I know I have to face the next threat now that Jake is handled. Ace will probably want me to explain myself.

Except, when I turn around, I find that he’s not paying me any attention. He’s already seated in his chair again, his back to me as he reads something on one of his screens.

I stare at the back of Ace's head, almost mind-blown at how nice it is for someone to justnot look at me. Anyoneelse would be staring right now, waiting for me to give them something in return. An explanation, most likely. Or at least an acknowledgment of what they said. Even those who know I don’t talk always seem to still wantsomethingfrom me. Anything. Any sort of response. And I always let them down.

Sometimes it feels like I can’t even breathe beneath the weight of those stares. Beneath all the pressure. The expectation of more, none of them having any idea I've already given everything I can.

And here this man is, letting me hide in his office without me being able to even ask, his back to me, no questions, no expectations. He's just existing here, letting me exist beside him. Letting me hide out.

There's something soft about his presence. Something steady. Quiet. Calming.

It’s the exact opposite of any other energy in my life. With the men in the compound, there was always this violent, erratic vibration through the air. With Travis now, there’s a nervousness, a fog of guilt and anxiety that threatens to choke me. With Jake, there’s a prickling wrongness, sharp and devious, waiting for the perfect time to strike. With Maison, there’s this seemingly never-ending sadness and regret that tastes bitter on my tongue.

The doctors make me itch with their concern and impending questions.