Sounds, so many sounds. The world is full of waves that resonate off our eardrums creating a constant strum of noises. How each of us perceives these noises are different, what one finds pleasant, another finds cringe inducing.

            I wonder when I became afraid of sounds, afraid to hear anything, began wishing I were deaf to the torturous noises the world has to offer.

            No matter how hard I try, how much I plug my ears attempting to muffle all the noises surrounding me, I still hear. Even at low murmurs these sounds cause my resolve to crumble. I hold my breath waiting for my heart rate to slow down, praying that silence takes over soon. If it’s bad enough I blackout completely, my body shuts down in hopes to save myself from the pain.

            The awful sound of screeching tires destroyed my focus. I had earplugs in focusing on the sound of my heart, counting the beats; it was the only way I could remain calm while surrounded by the chaos happening on the streets. The added pings of clashing metal and breaking glass cut past the plugs slicing into my eardrums.

            Instantly, I cover my ears for extra protection, but when the screams started my heart stopped and my brain shut off. I don’t even remember hitting the ground or the sirens of the ambulance as I was rushed to the hospital along with those in the accident.

            It isn’t until I feel a cool clothe run across my skin and the whisper of a soothing voice, that I regain consciousness.

            “Ah…you are finally awake,” the voice says, the soft sound floating to my ears as my eyes slowly open to see the small grin and round eyes of an orange haired nurse. He tilts his head, continuing to pat my forehead. “How do you feel?”

            I can only focus on him and the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I want him to speak again but I don’t know how to do that. I cannot answer his question because my voice has been silenced for years. Yes, I cringe at the sound of my own voice.

            After my continued silence, he places the damp clothe on the side table before standing. “I think I should go notify the doctor that you are awake.”

            My eyes follow him out of the room, curiosity running through my being. Why was he different? Why did I want to hear his voice when all other sounds push me into instability?

            With his presence no longer in the room, my ears refocused. The constant beeping of the machines grew louder and louder. The creak of the bed on the opposite side of the curtain sounded repeatedly as a patient tried to get comfortable. The swish of a curtain being pulled either opened or closed echoed through the room. The padding of shoes moving across the waxed floor pounded against my eardrums.

            I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands flew to my ears, pressing hard against my skull but the beeping grew in response to my speeding heartbeat. Balling up into the fetal position, knees to chest, I try to keep the throbbing in my ears at bay.

            The noises are always worse when I’m stationary. If I’m mobile I can focus on the sound of my heartbeat and drown out some of the chaos around me. But right now, being confined in this room where sounds echo repeatedly off the blindingly white walls, all noises are magnified tenfold. The tears are already welling up in my eyes due to the extraordinary pain in my head. My face is turning a deep crimson as I hold my breath.

            “Mr. Yang?” The voice cuts through the noises as a hand gently perches on my shoulder. “Mr. Yang? What’s wrong?” His voice grows with concern. “Mr. Yang?”

            The pain is slowly receding the more he speaks. Out of instinct I reach out and clutch his shirt, pulling him close until I can easily wrap my arms around his waist in a tight hug.

            “Mr. Yang?” His voice is hesitant. He stands rigid, afraid to move incase I return to my previous hysterics. His hand lays flat against my back as he whispers, “It’s okay.” The hand moves in a soothing circle. “Everything is going to be fine,” he reassures me. Even though I barely know him, I feel safe, safer than I have felt in years.

            The resonance of his voice destroyed all other noises. It was as if he was speaking a magic spell to silence all the commotion of the world. This was the first calming sound I had heard in a long time. I had finally found my oasis in this ruckus filled world and I wanted to hold onto it because once he leaves all my peace will end and I will return to the bedlam that has become my life.

            Another spring day, middle of the school year, I was forced to stay home to keep the teachers from seeing the bruises all over my body, specifically the more noticeable ones on my arms, face, and neck. I was attempting to finish the daily chores before he came home. I didn’t want him angry with me again.

            The laundry was finished and I was working on the last of the dishes when the door open and closed, slamming shut. I rushed to finish the last few, knowing he would be mad to see them still dirty. I could hear him fumbling in the hall as he removed his shoes and took off his coat. Two plates were left as I heard his steps get closer and closer, each becoming progressively louder causing me to flinch reflexively.

            He crosses the threshold to the kitchen. I can feel his eyes boring into me. His presence slowly inches towards me. I try not to look at him, because he hates it when I meet his eyes. His hand reaches for the unwashed plate, pulling it out of my hands. He examines the plate, as I stand rigid by his side.

             “What…the …is this?” he says shoving it in my face. I try not to react because it always makes the beating worse. Eventually he pulls the plate away and flings it across the room. It shatters against the wall and I know this is one more thing I will have to clean.

            Now that his hand is free, I feel it clutch at the back of my neck squeezing hard. His voice turns calm. “I thought I have told you many times to have this house spotless before I get home.”

            I nod quickly, as always.

            His voice returns to its previous tone. “Then why do I have to come home to this hole everyday?”

            I have no answer. It is best not to say anything. Many times I have attempted to defend myself but that only makes things worse. I always make things worse when I’m around him. He hates me with every fiber of his being.

            My father used to be kind. He loved me dearly but as I grew so did his hatred towards me. I didn’t understand the sudden change at first. He started coming home drunk. Then he started yelling at me about every small thing. Eventually, he began beating me. Sometimes it’s only when he is unsatisfied with something, other times he simply beats me because of who I am.

            In one of his drunken stupors he told me the truth of why he hates me so much. He said it was because I reminded him so much of my mother or his wife. I looked too much like her. I sounded too much like her. I acted too much like her. And I took her away from him. I killed her at birth. If it hadn’t been for me, he would still have the one thing in the world that made him happy.

            He throws me into the same wall that the plate hit. His hand shifts from the back of my throat to the front, constricting my airflow. I have to force my hands to remain at my sides. He pounds my head against the wall, but right before I’m about to black out he releases me turning his frustration on the just cleaned dishes. He throws them to the floor around me. I ball up trying not to get hit by one. The sound of the breaking porcelain plates reflects that of my world shattering.

            My only way out is to lose consciousness, simultaneously giving up all of my defenses. I always wake up in the same condition, tired, sore, and afraid, barely able to move. But I know I have a job to do and no place to complain, so I set to work and finishing cleaning before disappearing into my room until he has another outburst of hatred towards me and attacks again.

            Being surrounded by silence is the only time I feel completely safe; its what I wish for everyday.

            After our chance meeting at the hospital I grew to know Nurse Jang or as he preferred me to call him Hyunseung. The hospital wanted me to stay so they could run tests and figure out what was wrong with me. It was difficult to communicate with them until Hyunseung realized I was choosing not to speak. He also noticed that loud noises set me off and I was only calm around him, so he stayed with me as much as possible.

            We began communicating with notes or he would ask simple yes or no questions that I could answer with a head motion. For the week I was in the hospital, Hyunseung cared for me more than anyone else in my life. He had the ability to make me happy, to free my tortured soul from the dark abyss of it’s silent confinement.

            But I eventually had to leave. I knew this heaven couldn’t last forever. Fate was on my side when Hyunseung came to me before I was discharged and handed me his phone number. “If you ever need anything, just give me a call.”

            I took the paper, holding it tight nodding in understanding. He gave me a wide grin and patted my shoulder before waving me goodbye. It was torture to leave.

            That same night as I sat in my silent, lonely apartment, I stared at the number on the paper in my hand. I traced the letters of his name written above the number. I longed to hear his voice again. So I called him for the first time.

            After the first call, it became a regular routine between us, pulling us closer together. The phone calls rose in number as the days passed, eventually he asked me to meet him so we could go out. I shuddered at the thought, but I was reassured by the fact that he would be there with me. So we met up and everything went well.

            Months of this continuous routine between us and he finally took the next step asking me to move in with him. I had finally reached the sanctuary I prayed and wished so hard for and his name is Jang Hyunseung.

            He was considerate of my problems. He consciously made an effort to accommodate for my needs. Noises were kept to a minimum and he continued to think of ways to keep me happy because I had told him about my past. After seeing the scars that reflected my father’s affection towards me, he couldn’t hold back from asking questions. And ever since finding out about the information he holds me a little closer, caresses me as if I may break, and whispers words of love and happiness to my heart.

            Somewhere is all this mess we fell for each other. The day he said I love you my eardrums caught the sound and held onto it. I still hear it from time to time when he isn’t around or is busy at the hospital. I never want to forget the sound of those three words passing his lips, floating on the air, and vibrating through my soul.

            I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when he came home. The door slammed causing bad memories to resurface. I closed the refrigerator quietly as I heard even more familiar sounds of heavy footsteps approaching the kitchen. Moving to the side of the refrigerator, I cover my ears and slide down the cool surface trying to push the bad thoughts away. The footsteps get closer before everything suddenly becomes silent.

            “Yoseob?” He rushes to my side pulling me into a hug. I flinch away from his touch still lost in my thoughts. “Seobie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it,” he whispers. “It’s okay. You are okay. I’m here.” His words work their usual magic. “Please forgive me?”

            I take deep breaths and slowly remove my hands from my ears, nodding silently as tears spill out of my eyes. “Baby, I wasn’t thinking. I was annoyed with work and I just needed to vent.”

            My hands caress both sides of his face. I try to speak to him with my eyes, telling him I’m fine, that things happen, that I still love him. I can only hope he understands me.

            Eventually he smiles and leans forward to give me a sweet and simple kiss. “I love you too,” he sighs.

            We hug closer, his cheek resting against mine as we remain in the confined space between the refrigerator and the cabinets. The only sounds heard are that of our combined breathing and the dull throbbing of our pulses only able of being heard because of our close connection.

            As we cling to one another in an incandescent happiness, I realize heaven couldn’t be better than Jang Hyunseung.

A/N: I wished for silence all day yesterday, but everyone always thinks something is wrong with me when I don’t feel like talking, which only creates more noise. Eventually this came out of my desires.

I hope everyone enjoys this small piece of HyunSeob. ^___^