“That’s not change,” Iggy snapped. “That’s convenience.”
I opened my mouth, but he ploughed straight on.
“Change is when you don’t get a choice. When your body or your life decides something for you.”
“I didn’t get a choice,” I said, keeping my voice even. “The label?—”
“You could’ve stood up to them,” he shot back. “Any time. Your life didn’t change. You just stopped liking the current version.”
Ricky raised a calming hand. “Let’s all take a breath?—”
Iggy stood, slow and deliberate, like moving too fast might shatter him. He took a step towards me, his body trembling.
“You still got to do what you loved,” he said, jaw clenched. “You just decided it didn’t feel special enough anymore.”
Another step.
“You didn’t want to change your life, so you changed the feeling instead. Chemically.” His voice cracked, disbelief bleeding through. “That’s not losing yourself. That’s opting out.”
One last step.
“Some of us don’t get to opt out.”
Ricky rose and crossed the circle cautiously, like approaching a cornered animal. “Iggy, I hear what you’re saying. But we need to slow this down.”
“No,” Iggy spat. “Because this matters.”
He surged forward. I jerked back in my chair, certain I wasabout to get punched. Instead, his finger stopped inches from my face.
“Change doesn’t mean you get bored and destroy your life just because you can afford to.”
Ricky caught his shoulder and gently pulled him back. Iggy’s arm fell to his side. Tears streaked down his cheeks, and the sight punched the air from my lungs.
“This sounds like a lot of frustration around control,” Ricky said carefully. “And that’s valid. But this needs to stay a safe space.”
Iggy let out a wet, humourless laugh.
“Safe for people who still have choices.”
I tried to speak, but he shook off Ricky’s hand and stormed towards the door. Ricky called after him, but he didn’t stop. At the threshold, he gripped the frame, knuckles white, painted nails biting into the antique wood.
Without turning, he spoke quietly.
“I’d take boring any day if it meant I could still do what I loved.”
Then he was gone, and the circle collapsed back into silence, heavier than before.
I found Iggy on our usual bench in the garden. I saw the clouds of sweet-scented vapour from his vape before I saw him, tucked away in the leafy alcove. He was curled in on himself, shoulders hunched, head bowed, fuzzy socks smeared with leaves and dirt from the cobbled path. He wore his usual uniform of tiny cotton shorts and an oversized hoodie, goosebumps stippling his bare legs in the cool evening air.
Not wanting to startle him, I made a point of scuffing myshoes against the stone as I approached. He didn’t look up, but the way his body went rigid told me he’d heard. I stopped in front of the bench, my shadow stretching over him.
I wanted to ask if he was okay. To ask how he was feeling. But that felt pointless. He’d already told me exactly how he felt when he stormed out of group. So I kept it simple.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
He didn’t answer, which I’d expected. I even wondered if he’d acknowledge me at all for the rest of our time at the Willow. The thought twisted something dark and sharp in my chest. After Iggy had crashed into my life like a comet, all colour and noise, the idea of returning to a world of grey felt... unbearable.
“I brought a blanket.” I held up the fluffy throw I’d stolen from the lounge like an offering. “Thought you might be cold.”
