Voices in a Circle: Part Three - Cracks in the Armor (Elena)

Elena picks at her bracelet, twisting the thin metal so hard she’s surprised it hasn’t snapped. Her jaw is tight, her body stiff, and she feels the weight of the room pressing in on her. She hates this part. The moment when it’s her turn and there’s nowhere to hide.

“I guess I’ll go,” she says, her voice sharp, daring anyone to challenge her.

The therapist nods gently. “Whenever you’re ready, Elena.”

Elena exhales through her nose, forcing herself to speak. “I had another fight with my mom last night. She said I was selfish. Again.” Her laugh is brittle, cutting through the silence. “And maybe she’s right. I mean, who the fuck calls their mom at two a.m. begging her to come over because they’re losing their shit?”

Zoe tilts her head. “Did she come?”

“No,” Elena says flatly. “She said she couldn’t deal with me anymore. That she needed to sleep. So I told her she was a terrible mother and hung up. And when she didn’t call back, I…”

Her voice falters, and her eyes flick to her forearm. The fresh red line stands out against her skin, angry and raw. She doesn’t have to say it—they can all see it.

The therapist breaks the silence carefully. “What happened next, Elena? After you hung up?”

Elena shrugs, her voice defensive. “I don’t know. Nothing. I just…handled it myself.”

“Handled it how?” the therapist asks, her tone gentle but firm.

Elena glares at her, her fingers twisting the bracelet harder. “You want me to say it? Fine. I took a razor to my arm because it was the only thing that fucking worked. Happy now?”

The room tenses. Lila inhales sharply, her hands shaking as she grips her bracelet. James looks down, his jaw tightening.

“No one’s judging you,” the therapist says softly. “This isn’t about being ‘happy’ or ‘unhappy.’ It’s about understanding what led you to that moment.”

Elena scoffs. “What led me to it? My life is a fucking disaster. Everything I touch turns to shit. Everyone who cares about me eventually gets sick of my bullshit and leaves. My mom, my friends, my ex—they’re all gone. And it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam says quietly, his voice steady.

Elena whips her head toward him, her eyes blazing. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” Sam replies evenly. “But I know what it’s like to think you’re the problem. To believe you’re too broken for anyone to love. And I know it’s not true.”

Elena freezes, his words cutting through her anger like a blade. She swallows hard, her throat burning.

“You’re not broken,” Zoe says firmly. “You’re just…hurting. There’s a difference.”

Elena stares at her, her chest tight. “It doesn’t feel like there’s a difference.”

The therapist leans forward slightly. “That’s okay, Elena. Feelings aren’t facts. The pain you’re in right now doesn’t define who you are or who you can become. And you don’t have to face it alone.”

Elena exhales sharply, her shoulders sagging just a little. “I don’t even know where to start,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Right here,” Sam says simply.

The room goes quiet again, the silence heavy but not suffocating. For the first time, Elena lets herself sit with the weight of her emotions instead of running from them.

She’s not okay. Not even close. But for the first time, she doesn’t feel like she’s completely alone in her storm.