Speak Even When Your Voice Shakes Novels & Stories

"If you send me to a voicemail again, or answer with that tone in your voice, I will find a way to make sure they don't find you quickly. Do you understand me?" The whiskey turned to cold water in my stomach. I sat down on the barstool slowly. "Yes," I said. My voice came out even. I had learned, in the months since my life had collapsed into this, how to keep my voice even when everything else was shaking. "I understand." I added soberly. "Good." His tone warmed up. "Now. Tell me how it went." I pressed my free hand flat against my thigh and gathered everything back together in my mind, sorting for what was still usable, discarding what wasn't.

“I’m going to need you to use your words, baby.” A shiver runs down my spine, making the hairs at the back of my neck stand. “Yes,” I croak out. My voice sounds weird from lack of use. And all that screaming from last night. My cheeks heat on their own and I curse the dumb voice in my head that doesn’t have a filter.

My voice shook as I trembled. "Who do you even think you are?!" I screamed, feeling my chest constrict painfully.

On it was supposed to be my speech for the Pack Birthday. I picked up my pen. I put it down. I picked it up again. My hand was shaking. Not the kind of shaking you get when you’re cold. It was a deep, internal tremor. It felt like my brain was a radio that couldn't find the right station. All I could hear was static. I can’t do this, I thought. The tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. In a few days, I was going to stand in front of five hundred people, aired pack-wide.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled my nerves so I could speak without vomiting. “Fine. I wanted to say that I can’t imagine what you must have been through these last few days, but I wanted you to know that I am here for you. Whatever happens in the future, I want you to know that I am willing and able to stand beside you. We can get through all of this.” To my surprise, my voice sounded steady and didn’t waver in the least.

I faced him again, clearing my throat before talking. “I don't understand what you are talking about. I had a stomach upset and that was why I was vomiting.” I said in a calm tone. I didn't want my voice to shake while talking so that he would not suspect that I was scared. I heaved a sigh as I wiped the sweat off my face with the back of my palm.

Nova tried to start his speech in a halting voice, his chest tight. "It's okay, everything will be fine," thought Nova. Suddenly Nova's eyes saw memories of the past. Nova remembered his childhood when he was bullied and when his mother left . Like seeing a ghost, Nova's hand began to shake when he was holding the speech paper. Nova loosened his tie because he couldn't stand the symptoms of panic disorder. Nova became increasingly restless and anxious. His heart was beating fast. Then Nova said his secretary would continue his speech. "Sorry, this speech will be continued by my Secretary," said Nova, a trembling voice. He got off the podiums, stepped out.

“Your tone is steady. Your pace is controlled. But your voice is too soft. He will read it as fear instead of clarity.” Alessandro steps forward and places a hand on my lower back. He leans in slightly, close enough that I feel the warm breath of his next words against my ear. “When you speak to him,” he says, “remove your trembling. You are not begging him to understand. You are informing him.” My breath shakes out slowly. I press the button again. “Mr Vanilli,” I say, voice firmer, “I see you clearly now. And I am no longer standing alone. I have never been alone, but I have a stronger force behind me.”

His heart was beating fast in his chest, not from fear that he could say. "H-hey, Kyle," Theo's shaky voice came form behind. "Can't you shrink down a little or something, this is... it's a little too intimidating," **IS IT?** Kyle questioned himself, his dragon split eyes still staring him right in the eyes. **GUESS I SHOULD STEP BACK A LI...**

Every inhale feels heavier, sharper, and I’m not sure if it’s the hot weather or the weight of what I’m about to say. I swallow hard, my hand instinctively reaching up to rub the back of my neck. It’s a nervous habit, one I can’t seem to shake, and the familiar motion does nothing to steady me. My voice, when I finally speak, feels raw, shaky. “I’m sorry, Lynette.”