Voices in a Circle: Part Two - Heavy Hands (James)

James pulls at the frayed hem of his hoodie, staring at the chipped linoleum floor like it might hold the answers he can’t find in his head. He can feel the weight of their eyes on him, waiting, even though no one says anything. His chest feels tight, like a band is wrapped around it, squeezing.

“I’ll go,” he mutters, his voice barely audible.

The therapist leans forward slightly, her voice calm and steady. “Whenever you’re ready, James. No rush.”

He exhales sharply, his fingers clenching the fabric of his hoodie. “I didn’t want to come today,” he starts, his voice rough. “Not because of you all. Just…because.” He stops, his throat thick, and shrugs. “I’ve been stuck. Not like, ‘Oh, I’m in a rut.’ Stuck like…I can’t fucking move. Can’t think. Can’t eat. Just…stuck.”

His laugh is bitter, humorless. “Last week, I sat in my car, in the garage. Engine running. Door down. And I thought, ‘This is it. I’m done.’”

Zoe’s fingers stop tapping, and she inhales sharply. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, her green eyes wide.

James nods, his throat tightening. “But then…this kid knocked on the window. Must have come in from the side door. Selling cookies or something. Scared the shit out of me. I rolled the window down, and he just smiled at me. Like, this big, stupid, toothless grin. And for a second…I didn’t feel so heavy.”

“What’d you do?” Elena asks, leaning forward slightly.

“I told him I didn’t have any cash. He said, ‘That’s okay,’ and walked away. And that was it. He didn’t even know…” James trails off, his voice cracking. He swipes at his face angrily. “He saved my life, and he didn’t even fucking know it.”

The room goes silent again, but this time, the quiet feels charged.

The therapist breaks it gently. “James, I want to acknowledge how much courage it took to share that with us. That moment in the car—that’s something so many people experience but don’t talk about. By saying it out loud, you’ve not only given yourself space to feel it, but you’ve given others permission too.”

James nods, swallowing hard. “I guess.”

“You showed up,” Sam says quietly, his voice steady. “That’s not nothing.”

James glances at him, surprised. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re still here,” Lila says softly, twisting her bracelet. “That’s what matters.”

Zoe leans forward, her green eyes intense. “You stepped back from the edge, James. That’s huge. Don’t downplay it.”

James looks at her, his throat tightening again. He shrugs. “It doesn’t feel huge. It just feels like…surviving. Barely.”

“Surviving is enough,” the therapist says gently. “Sometimes, it’s all we can do. And that’s okay.”

Elena shifts in her seat, her voice sharp but not unkind. “I feel like that too sometimes. Like I’m on the edge of a fucking cliff, and I can’t move. But I don’t know how to step back.”

James meets her eyes for the first time. “You’re here,” he says quietly. “That’s a start.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue.

The therapist’s voice softens, grounding. “Stepping back doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes, it’s just showing up. Breathing. Saying something, even if it feels small. And you’ve all done that today. That’s not small. That’s huge.”

The room goes quiet again, but this time, it feels lighter. James exhales, his hands unclenching for the first time since he started speaking.

Maybe he’s not okay yet. Maybe he won’t be for a long time. But for now, surviving is enough.