I've Been Quiet For So Long Novels & Stories

"Being poor? Losing the silk shirts and the cars?" "No," I said. I shook my head slowly. "I am afraid of the quiet. I spent my whole life making sure this house was silent. I thought it helped me think. I thought it made me powerful. Now, the silence is all I have, and it is terrifying. It feels like a grave. I do not know what to say when there is no contract to discuss or a merger to finalize."

I feel better than I have felt in recent memory and that fact is sitting in the middle of my chest doing something to my understanding of myself that I don’t have words for yet. “You’ve gone quiet,” Joshua says. “I’m always quiet.” “Not like this.” He turns his head and looks at me. “You go quiet when you’re thinking and you go quiet when you’re avoiding and those are two different kinds of quiet and I’m trying to work out which one this is.” I keep looking at the ceiling. “Four months and you can already tell the difference.” “Three weeks actually. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” I turn my head and look at him.

Jade had a way of looking at you that was not aggressive or demanding but was very thorough, like she was doing a quick inventory and checking it against the last time she had taken stock. "You have had that face for a few days," she said. "What face?" "The one where you are thinking about something you do not want to think about," she said. "You get a particular kind of quiet. Not the normal quiet. The pressured quiet." "I do not have a pressured quiet," I said. "You absolutely do," she said. "I have lived next to you for thirteen years. I know all your quiets." I turned back to the desk and straightened the laptop unnecessarily. "I have some stuff going on at work," I said. "It's nothing s

Sam's POV Even now, the sound of those words lingered in the empty room. Silence stretched around me, yet their presence refused to fade. Long past when they were said, they held on - soft but clear. The air stayed thick with what I’d let loose into it. A whisper that wouldn’t settle. Still humming beneath the stillness. “One year. No more. No less.”

The sound came out rough, more exhale than laugh, but it was something. "How are you," he said. "Honestly," I said, "I haven't had time to feel any of it yet. I think it's all queued up waiting for a quiet moment to arrive at once." "This is a quiet moment," he said. I looked around the waiting room. Fluorescent lights. A vending machine humming. Zane typing. Remy with his head in his hands. "This is the quietest moment we've had in ten days," I said. He squeezed my hand.

“You talk too much. Don't you have clothes or stuffs to at least pack, or our garage has good scenery that attracts you here.” “Your garage do have food sceneries." He said staring at me, I might think he was referring to me. "Someone has to talk to you, today I noticed that you've been quiet, if I was a doctor, I'll say you're allergic to words.” I didn’t even glance up. “And if I was your patient, I'll be doomed because all I see is that you are allergic to silence and peace.” That shut him up for about ten seconds, hmm, that was a new record, honestly because he walked away.

"But you still ended up in my bed. You even said it was hotter with her home. Liar." Her voice climbed with pleasure. I slapped my hands over my ears, but Elroy's words still sliced through. Each one gutted me—sharp, brutal, unforgiving. He said, "Yeah, I still love her. But eight years is a long time. A little thrill now and then—what's the harm?" That was it. That was his excuse. I let out a bitter laugh, lips trembling. The pain hit hard, spreading like wildfire. My stomach twisted, and the floor rushed up to meet me.

Long, quiet, awkward minutes. I cleared my throat. It was a small sound, but it felt loud in the silence. My chest was tight, and I didn’t even know what I was trying to do by speaking. Maybe I just couldn’t take the silence anymore or maybe I wanted to break it before it crushed me. She didn’t look up. She just kept drinking her water like she hadn’t heard me. So I sat there, fidgeting with the cap of my bottle, waiting for her to say something, anything but nothing came from her: The silence kept dragging, and it made my skin crawl.

The beep sounded. I drew in a breath, let it out slowly, and began. “Hey... it’s me.” I paused, searching for the words. “I know I don’t have the right to say this. Not anymore. But I’m saying it anyway, because... because silence has already taken enough from us.” The sound of the waves brushing against the pylons filled the air around me.

Not because she was hurting. Because I understood what she meant. “Quiet is where free starts " I said. She looked at me. “What?" she asked. “When you’ve spent years surviving " I said, resting my forearms on my knees "you get used to measuring your life by noise.” She listened without interrupting. “Arguments " I counted on one finger. “Fear " I said, counting on another. “Waiting for something to happen " I said, counting on another. “You become so accustomed to carrying those things that when they’re finally gone the silence feels strange " I explained.