Voices in a Circle: Part Seven - Breaking Point (Elena)

Elena crosses her arms tightly over her chest, her bracelet pressing into her skin as she glares at the floor. She can feel the weight of the room pressing down on her, waiting for her to speak. She hates this—being the center of attention, feeling like a live grenade everyone’s afraid to touch.

“I called my ex last week,” she blurts out, her voice sharp, defensive. “To scream at him. Told him he ruined my life.”

The therapist tilts her head slightly. “What led you to call him, Elena?”

Elena’s jaw tightens, and she shrugs. “I was drunk. And pissed off. He’s the one who left, so obviously, it’s his fault my life’s a fucking mess.”

Zoe snorts. “Classic.”

Elena shoots her a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Zoe says quickly, holding up her hands. “Just…been there.”

Elena’s shoulders relax slightly, but her tone remains sharp. “He hung up, obviously. I don’t even blame him. Who the fuck wants to deal with someone like me?”

“No one said that,” Lila says softly.

Elena’s head snaps toward her. “They don’t have to. I’ve heard it all before. My mom, my friends, my ex. They all got sick of my shit eventually.” Her voice cracks, and she grips her bracelet harder. “I’m like…like a fucking hurricane. I destroy everything I touch.”

The therapist speaks gently. “Do you believe that, Elena? That you destroy the people in your life?”

“Of course I do,” Elena snaps. “Why else would they leave?”

Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, quiet but firm. “Maybe it’s not about you. Maybe it’s about them.”

Elena stares at him, her brow furrowing. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“People leave for all kinds of reasons,” Sam says. “Sometimes, it has nothing to do with you. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Elena’s throat tightens, and she looks away. “It doesn’t matter why they leave. They just do. And I can’t stop it.”

“You’re not responsible for other people’s choices,” the therapist says. “But you are responsible for how you respond to them.”

Elena’s laugh is harsh, bitter. “Great. Another thing to add to the list of shit I can’t do right.”

“Cut that out,” Zoe says sharply. “You’re here. You’re talking. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

“I’m not talking because I want to,” Elena snaps. “I’m talking because I don’t have a fucking choice. Everyone expects me to spill my guts so they can feel better about their own shit.”

“No one’s expecting that,” James says quietly, his hands resting on his knees. “We’re here to listen. That’s it.”

Elena exhales sharply, her jaw loosening. She stares at her lap, her fingers relaxing their grip on her bracelet. “I don’t know how to stop,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hurting people. Hurting myself. It’s like…it’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“You don’t have to know how to stop yet,” the therapist says. “You just have to start wanting to.”

The room goes quiet again, but it feels different this time. Lighter. Less suffocating.

For the first time, Elena lets herself sit with her emotions instead of running from them. She’s not okay—not even close—but maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t have to be alone in her storm.