Fiction logo

When You Say Nothing At All

He couldn't help it really; silence was who he was. If something roused his emotions, he had to ruminate alone to make sense of them. Who was she to love him through his silence?

By Call Me LesPublished 2 years ago 6 min read
41
Ambient music for the story! This also supports Indigenous artists.

Ding! It was the fifth time his phone had gone off that day, the sound intruding into his solitude like a chainsaw in a forest. She'd called earlier, but he hadn't picked up. He'd meant to put the damn thing on silent before laying down.

Still ignoring the phone, he got up from his bed and stretched. Grabbing his lighter and a cigarette, he stepped outside, lit up and inhaled. He'd promised to quit, but the best he could do was cut back. Halfway through, he stubbed it out against the wall and put the butt in the tray. At least he wasn't the type of smoker who left his butts wherever he pleased.

He'd have to answer her by the end of the day. If he missed a goodnight, he knew she'd be sad; he hated making her sad. But he couldn't seem to stop testing her. No woman had ever loved him like she did. Or how he assumed she did. Neither of them had said the words aloud, but some things are best left unspoken—for now anyways. Spoken or not, the thought of love freaked the hell out of him.

Who was she to love him?

Leaving the phone behind, he trudged off towards the beach. Maybe a walk would cancel out the smoke. It was already midnight, but the sky was only now beginning to grow dark. Living north of 60, the sun stayed around longer than it was welcome in the summer before disappearing entirely during the winter. Winter was his favourite season. Darkness didn't bother him; sunlight and summer were for extroverts.

By Joseph Barrientos on Unsplash

They had talked on the phone yesterday, had probably hit the one-hour mark. He chuckled darkly and muttered to himself, "Most words I've said all week—including at work." Then he frowned and continued, "If I keep pushing these silences, one of these days, she won't push back."

In a way, he was hoping she would give up. They'd started out fast; he had fallen for her hard. She had a pretty face—gorgeous, really, perfect breasts, thick in all the right places. But it was her words that entranced him the most. He couldn't keep up with all of them some days. Ok, most days. And she was smart, so damn smart—out of his league smart! And nothing this good ever happened to him. It was only a matter of time before it faded away or blew up. Or worse: he disappointed her.

Those first few weeks, they had messaged and talked every day all day. He loved making her laugh, genuinely enjoyed talking to her, listening to her; her voice alone was enough to quicken his pulse. He adored her for teasing him, blushed when it was naughty, laughed hard when it was ridiculous. Gradually, he had begun to imagine a future with her, and they had spoken about things they would do and see together someday. But all good things come to an end.

When he realized how far in he'd stepped, realized he wasn't just dreaming up a future, he was planning one, he'd stepped back. Big time. These days their online chatter had dwindled to good mornings and goodnights. It was still consistent contact—and by volume a massive amount of words for him—but the content was usually lighter. On occasion, he called her, and they had a deeper conversation by telephone, like the one they'd had yesterday. But after those telephone conversations, he always pulled away. He knew she wished he wouldn't, but he couldn't help it really; silence was who he was. If something roused his emotions, he had to ruminate alone to make sense of them.

He ran his hands over his head, forgetting he'd shaved off his hair for the summer earlier; the arctic in August is hotter than people realize. Then he stared out over the lightly rippling waves. It was a calm ocean that night. As the last of the sun disappeared, the darkness turned the water into a cold, black pane of glass. He kicked a stone into the surf. To no one in particular, he mumbled,

"Why doesn't she just quit talking to me? She deserves so much better. Deserves someone who doesn't clam up, who can speak when she needs words of reassurance."

The streetlight over him buzzed into life. He walked away from its halo, and pulled the drawstrings on his hoodie against the damp chill blowing ashore. When he turned, the green light from the lighthouse flashed into his eyes, blinding him, lighting up the dark and ruining his melancholic contemplation.

Photo by Matheus Bertelli from Pexels

The green light was the last straw!

He'd had enough of the outside; there was clearly no peace to be found anywhere that night. With a groan, he headed for the house. When he settled onto his bed again, he picked up the phone. It was late— way past his usual bedtime-messaging hour. He sighed and dared to open the app, expecting the worst: either she'd sent him a one-liner goodnight, some sort of sad message or nothing at all.

Tonight it was none of those things. Her messages had an air of concern, but also patience. A lump formed in his throat and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. God, he missed her! After typing out his usual goodnight, he added some kiss emojis he knew she'd appreciate. Then he closed the app and was about to set the phone down when it dinged again. Crap. He had assumed she'd long since gone to bed. Reluctantly, he re-opened the app, and looked at the screen out of the corner of one eye.

Her: You disappeared for a long time today.

Him: I know. I'm sorry.

Her: It's Ok as long as you're Ok. Family stuff ? Or just hibernating?

Hibernating. Huh. Perfect word for it.

Him: Second one. Message you in the morning, beautiful.

Her: Ok, talk then <3

Instead of answering with words, he replied with the emojis he always used when he wished he could say the words they symbolized. Then he followed it up with their favourite inside joke. She responded with his favourite gif, the silly one that always made him smirk, shake his head, and wish he could hold her. Putting the phone on the nightstand, he smiled. Though they hadn't spoken any words aloud, the sound of their love had filled the silence.

Later, he would look back and understand that this was the moment when he knew he had found the one: the only woman who could love him for who he was, instead of who she wanted him to be. As he laid down to sleep, he resolved to show her how he felt the next time they touched.

Never again would words—or lack of them—keep him from trusting in love, from trusting her.

By Jonathan Borba on Unsplash

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fiction is my hobby. Interviewing is my passion.

Want to support Les as she interviews the world a person at a time?

Buy her a coffee:

Love
41

About the Creator

Call Me Les

Aspiring etymologist and hopeless addict of childrens' fiction.

If I can't liberally overuse adverbs and alliteration, I'm out!

Instagram @writelesplaymore

~&~

No words left unspoken

She/Her

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.