Voices in a Circle: Part Six - Shattered Nights (Zoe)

Zoe leans back in her chair, her knee bouncing so fast it feels like it might shake the floor. Her fingers tap against her thigh, matching the erratic rhythm of her thoughts. She glances around the circle, catching Elena’s sharp gaze, Lila’s trembling hands twisting her bracelet, and Sam’s still, silent form.

“This week sucked,” she starts abruptly, her voice louder than she intended. “And last night was…well, let’s just say it was a fucking circus.”

The therapist tilts her head slightly. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Zoe lets out a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I was supposed to sleep. I’d been up for three days straight, and I told myself, ‘Tonight’s the night. You’re finally gonna crash.’ But my brain had other plans.” She gestures wildly, her fingers splaying like an explosion. “Instead of lying down like a normal person, I started cleaning. Not, like, casual tidying. I mean deep cleaning. Scrubbing baseboards at four in the goddamn morning.”

Elena raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Baseboards? Really?”

“Yeah, baseboards,” Zoe snaps, though her tone is more defensive than angry. “I was on my hands and knees with a toothbrush, like some deranged Cinderella. And for a while, it felt great. Like I was finally in control of something. But then…”

Her voice falters, and she looks down at her lap. The room waits, the silence heavy but not oppressive.

“Then the crash hit,” she says softly. “And suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. It was like this giant fucking wave came out of nowhere and knocked me on my ass. I ended up pacing my living room for two hours, trying not to scream because I didn’t want my neighbors calling the cops. And when I finally crashed, I didn’t even make it to my bed. Just…collapsed on the floor like a fucking idiot.”

Her laugh is bitter, almost cruel. “Woke up this morning with a crick in my neck and zero desire to be alive. So yeah. That’s where I’m at.”

The therapist leans forward slightly. “What do you think triggered the crash, Zoe?”

Zoe shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know. Everything. Nothing. My brain just decided it hates me, I guess.”

“That loss of control can feel overwhelming,” the therapist says gently. “But the fact that you’re here today, talking about it—that’s a form of control. You’re taking the first step toward understanding what happened.”

Zoe scoffs. “Yeah, great. Another first step. How many of those am I supposed to take before I actually get somewhere?”

“You’re already somewhere,” Sam says quietly. His voice is calm but firm. “You’re here. That counts.”

Zoe looks at him, surprised by the conviction in his tone.

“That storm doesn’t let you rest, does it?” Elena says softly, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Zoe shakes her head, her throat tightening. “No. It doesn’t.”

Lila speaks up, her voice trembling but steady. “You’re still here, Zoe. That matters.”

Zoe exhales shakily, her knee bouncing a little slower. “I guess,” she mutters. “But it still feels like shit.”

“It’s okay to feel like shit,” the therapist says. “Feelings aren’t permanent. They come and go, even when it doesn’t feel like they will. What matters is that you keep showing up.”

Zoe’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. “Showing up, huh? Guess I can do that.”

The room settles into a quiet stillness, but it’s not uncomfortable. Zoe doesn’t feel fixed, or even okay, but the storm inside her feels a little less destructive. For now, that’s enough.