Voices in a Circle: Part Four - Silent Scars (Sam)

Sam’s fingers dig into the edge of his chair, the hard wood biting into his palms. His chest feels tight, and his stomach churns as he stares at the floor. He knows everyone is waiting for him to speak, and that knowledge feels like a vise around his throat.

“I don’t usually talk about this,” he says finally, his voice raw and uneven. His throat is dry, and every word feels like it’s being pried from his chest. “Actually, I don’t talk about it at all.”

The therapist’s tone is calm, steady. “You’re in control here, Sam. Share as much or as little as you feel comfortable with.”

Control. Sam exhales sharply, his fingers trembling. He hasn’t felt in control of anything—not his body, not his mind, not his life—since he was eleven.

“When I was a kid, my uncle used to come into my room at night,” he starts, his voice breaking. He looks up briefly, catching Zoe’s sharp gaze before focusing back on the floor. “At first, it wasn’t…anything. He’d just sit there. Tell me I was his favorite. That I was special.”

He pauses, swallowing hard. “I thought it was normal. I thought that’s what love felt like.” His voice falters, but he forces himself to keep going. “But then it changed. He’d pull back the blanket. Tell me to be quiet. And I just…froze.”

The silence in the room is heavy, suffocating. No one moves, no one speaks, but Sam can feel their tension radiating toward him.

“He’d touch me,” Sam continues, his voice trembling. “First, it was just my shoulder, my hair. But then…then it was places he wasn’t supposed to touch.” His breath catches, and he grips the chair harder, the words spilling out now like poison. “He told me it was okay. That it was our secret. That it meant he loved me.”

Zoe’s fingers tap against her thigh, her jaw tight. “Fucking bastard,” she mutters under her breath, her voice sharp with anger.

Sam barely hears her. “I didn’t say anything. Not for years. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. That I could just…forget. But I couldn’t. I can’t.” His voice rises, edged with frustration. “It’s always there. In my head. In my skin. Like he left pieces of himself inside me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t rip them out.”

Elena inhales sharply, her hands gripping her bracelet like a lifeline. Lila’s fingers tremble as she twists her own bracelet, her face pale.

“It’s not your fault,” Lila says softly, her voice trembling but sure.

Sam lets out a bitter laugh, his throat burning. “I know that. At least, I tell myself I do. But it doesn’t stop the nights I wake up gasping for air, feeling like he’s still there. It doesn’t stop me from hating myself every time I look in the fucking mirror.”

The therapist’s voice cuts through the tension, calm but firm. “Sam, what you’re describing is a natural response to trauma. Freezing wasn’t a choice—it was your body’s way of surviving.”

“It doesn’t feel like survival,” Sam snaps, his voice rising. “It feels like I let him win.”

“You didn’t let him do anything,” Zoe says suddenly, her voice fierce. “That asshole doesn’t get to win. Not after what he did to you.”

Sam’s throat tightens, and he swipes at his eyes angrily. “It doesn’t feel like he didn’t win. Some days, it feels like I’m still there, stuck in that room.”

“You’re not stuck,” the therapist says gently. “You’re here. Right now, in this room, you’ve already taken a step forward by sharing this. That’s survival.”

Sam glances around the circle. James is sitting forward, his hands resting on his knees, his expression steady. Lila’s trembling hands have stilled, her face soft with quiet understanding. Zoe’s gaze is sharp, her anger burning for him, not at him.

“I don’t feel safe,” Sam admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not yet.”

The therapist nods. “That’s okay. Safety doesn’t happen overnight. But you’ve taken the first steps, and you don’t have to do it alone.”

The room falls quiet again, but it feels different now—less suffocating, more steady. Sam exhales shakily, his grip on the chair loosening. The memories don’t disappear, the weight in his chest doesn’t lift completely, but for the first time, he feels like maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t have to carry it all by himself.