Why Am I Suddenly Stumbling Over My Words Novels & Stories

I chuckled, but my voice cracked; thankfully, he did not notice. Something had to be wrong with me. First, I was horny without thinking, and now I felt like my life was slipping through my fingers and I had no control. I wiped a hand over my face. My mind was blank, and I knew I was forgetting something crucial, but I could not put my finger on it. There was a blockage, a barrier, that was preventing me from getting the information I wanted and I was getting frustrated. Maybe I was overthinking everything. I stood up and picked up the first shirt I saw on the floor, threw it over my head, and went to the bathroom. I quickly washed my face and when I lifted my head, that man was there again,

I said slurring my words because my teeth are starting to grow longer and sharper making it hard for me to speak. "You're losing out of control because you can't get your feelings straight," he casually said to me as if he is already expecting it to happen. "Calm yourself down and take a deep breath and breathe out. Just let it all out," he instructed me like it was easier said than done. "I can't control it," I sounded different. It was not my voice anymore. I was growling and grunting. "Just relax, don't be such a baby. I see that you've done it before."

I felt the vibrations in my body. "I know. But what if it's like water? Tasteless?" His face contorted into a confused frown. He moved to my other foot. "What are you talking about?" I shrugged. "You know, I could taste— oh shit. I'm starting to talk like a fool." He shook his head. I was fucking aware of what I was doing and what I was saying, but I didn't have control. They just appeared in my mind and rolled out of my mouth.

My mind was racing with words that I wanted to say, but they seemed to be caught in my throat. Despite this, I mustered all my strength and managed to barely whisper, "You..." The tension in the air was palpable, and in that moment, my phone slipped from my trembling fingers and crashed onto the floor, creating a loud clatter that echoed through the room. "Goodness," she exclaimed, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to hold me. "Are you okay?" I continued to stare at her, my mind racing with a mix of emotions, but unable to form words. My body felt heavy, as if it was being commanded by some invisible force, rendering me completely immobile.

I struggled to find the right words, my tongue stumbling over the weight of my confession. "Uhmmm, you see… The reason... You know, from the past… I know you des-... I mean, from 8 years ago… Shit!" My voice quivered, and my words stumbled in a jumble of thoughts and guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. Jerick remained unfazed and unwavering.

My mind, sluggish and clouded, struggled to grasp the unfolding danger. I tried to pull away, my muscles feeling strangely unresponsive, as if my very will was being leached away. "I… I think I need to sit down," I managed to stammer, my voice sounding distant and slurred, even to my own ears, the words thick and clumsy on my tongue.

he said but I was still dumbfounded, not even moving an inch on my position. "S-sarah?"..."Huh?" "I was calling you a bunch of times but you're not answering"...he said and I lowered my head. I was so lost that I couldn't think straight. Why does this word made me overthink? Arghhh....this is crazy. "Oh, I was just thinking of something. We should go"....I said and tried to walk ahead but-"Aww!"....Was I so lost that I didn't even remember my sprained ankle.

I stammered, my words tumbling over one another as if they were lost in a chaotic rush, the first word faltering and leaving a gap for the subsequent ones to collide recklessly. I decided to attribute my flustered speech to the fear surging within me like a wildfire, rather than my inadequate communication skills. The man in front of me wore a smirk, clearly finding my embarrassment entertaining. "Why don't you have a seat with me, Bonita?" he suggested, his tone dripping with a disconcerting blend of charm and menace, leaving me torn between my instincts to flee and the grim reality of my situation. "No," I blurted out, the word escaping before I could temper my fear.

I stumbled over my words, completely flustered. "Um, um, he's not—I'm not—he's not…" My voice kept tangling up in itself, and I could barely form a coherent sentence. My cheeks were burning, and I could feel everyone around us stealing glances at the commotion I was unintentionally creating. Across the table, Emerson seemed entirely too entertained by my struggle. He leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching as though he were fighting back a laugh. It was infuriating.

I couldn’t speak until I was eight years old. Everyone in the Sterling family called me dumb. Even my mother would secretly wipe away tears, convinced she had given birth to an autistic daughter. Whenever my father looked at me, his eyes were filled with nothing but disappointment. However, for the sake of the family’s reputation, he could never bring himself to send me away to a special education school. Then came the day someone from a prominent hedge fund company arrived to acquire our family company, Sterling Group. He was so arrogant that he chewed out everyone in the boardroom until all of them hung their heads low. The room full of corporate executives fell silent, too terrified to