There was no beeping. No sound of the road or heels on the floor. No sound of breathing from the girl next to me. Nothing. I was alone. Completely alone.
   

I was alone. Alone in a strange new place, in strange new clothes, in a strange new bed, and no comfort whatsoever. Forever. I layed there forever, wide awake, feeling the sting of my cuts and the stickiness left over from the monitors. I was completely alone and completely afraid. And completely in silence.

Suddenly, I felt something. I felt something tugging my heart through my robs. I couldn’t hear my heartbeat. My chest was full of the sweet burn of terror. It settled in my veins, it pulled on me. It pulled on my bones and organs and eyes and hair and it clawed at my scabs and scars and it held me so tight and so high that I don’t even know if I was alive.

It didn’t let go that whole week. It settled. It felt like a solid mass deep inside my chest and my head so heavy and so definite that it became part of me. Sometimes it comes back, looking for me.

That was the night when I finally understood why people fear silence.

Don’t let silence settle in.