Voices in a Circle: Part Nine - Frayed Threads (Lila)

Lila twists her bracelet so tightly that the threads dig into her skin, leaving faint red marks. Her heart is pounding, her breathing shallow and uneven. Sam’s story lingers in the air, pressing against her chest, and James’ words about standing on the edge have her stomach churning.

She doesn’t want to speak. The thought of saying anything feels like peeling her skin off in front of everyone. But the silence is unbearable, and the therapist’s steady gaze makes her feel seen in a way that’s both comforting and terrifying.

“I hate this,” she says finally, her voice trembling. “I hate how it doesn’t go away. How it never fucking stops.”

The therapist nods gently, her voice calm but encouraging. “Can you say more about that, Lila? What feels like it doesn’t stop?”

Lila’s hands tremble, her bracelet twisting violently in her grip. “It’s like…everything. Every sound, every look, every goddamn little thing someone says. It’s too much. My brain keeps screaming at me to run, but there’s nowhere to go.” She pauses, her breath catching. “Even when I’m alone, I feel like I’m trapped. Like I’m still…back there.”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and she looks down at her lap, ashamed of the tears threatening to spill over.

“No,” Zoe interrupts sharply, her green eyes blazing. “Don’t do that. Don’t make yourself small because of this shit. You’re allowed to feel it. You don’t have to apologize for existing.”

Lila blinks, startled by the fierceness in Zoe’s voice.

“She’s right,” Sam says quietly. “You don’t have to run, Lila. Not here.”

“But I don’t know how to stop,” Lila whispers, her voice barely audible. “Running is all I know how to do. It’s the only thing that feels safe.”

James leans forward slightly, his voice soft. “You stopped long enough to come here. That’s something.”

Lila shakes her head, her throat tight. “It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m still stuck. Like I’ll always be stuck.”

The therapist’s voice is steady, grounding. “That’s what trauma does, Lila. It tricks your brain into thinking the danger is still there, even when it’s not. But you’re not stuck. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Lila exhales shakily, her hands still twisting the bracelet. “Safe,” she repeats, the word foreign in her mouth. “It doesn’t feel safe. It feels like…like I’m waiting for something bad to happen.”

“That’s the trauma talking,” Sam says, his tone calm but heavy. “It convinces you that you’re never safe. Like you always have to be ready for the worst.”

Lila looks at him, her chest tightening. “But how do you stop it? How do you make it go away?”

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t. You just learn how to carry it differently.”

The therapist nods. “Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means finding ways to live with the memories without letting them control you.”

Zoe leans back in her chair, her fingers drumming lightly on her knee. “And it’s fucking hard. But you’re here, Lila. That’s the first step.”

Lila’s grip on her bracelet loosens slightly. Her chest still feels tight, the memories still weigh heavily on her, but for the first time, she doesn’t feel completely alone.

“I’m still scared,” she admits softly.

“That’s okay,” the therapist says. “You’re allowed to be scared. Healing takes time, but you’ve already started.”

Lila exhales again, her fingers finally letting go of the bracelet. The fear doesn’t disappear, but it feels a little less suffocating.

For now, that’s enough.