Chapter five
1113 Words
The waiting room smelled faintly of lavender.Soft instrumental music drifted through hidden speakers while a small fountain trickled gently in the corner, its rhythmic sound filling the silence. Books on emotional health lined a nearby shelf, and sunlight filtered through wide windows, warming the cream-colored walls.It was nothing like Olive had imagined.
She had expected cold white walls.Judgment.Interrogation.Instead…It felt safe.At least, safer than the storm inside her mind.She sat beside her mother, her fingers twisting the sleeve of her hoodie until the fabric wrinkled beneath her grip.
“What if this doesn’t work?” she whispered.Her mother squeezed her hand.
“Then we’ll try something else.”
“And if that doesn’t work…”
“We’ll keep trying.”Before Olive could answer, the office door opened.
“Olive?”A woman in her early forties smiled warmly.
“I’m Dr. Grace
“There isn’t any pressure today.”
“We’re just going to talk.”
The first session didn’t feel like therapy.It felt like a conversation.Dr. Grace didn’t immediately ask about the stealing.Instead, she asked about Olive.Her favorite books.The subjects she enjoyed at school.Her childhood.The people she trusted.The things that made her laugh.It confused Olive.
“Aren’t you supposed to ask me why I steal?” she finally asked.Dr. Ada smiled.
“I will.”
“But before we talk about what you’ve done…”
“I’d like to know who you are.”The answer lingered in Olive’s mind long after the session ended.For the first time in a long while…Someone wanted to know her beyond her mistakes.
By the third session, the difficult conversations began.Olive described the first time she had stolen something.How frightened she had been.How relieved she had felt afterward.How guilty she became minutes later.As the stories unfolded, Dr.Grace noticed a pattern.The urges weren’t about wanting the objects.They arrived suddenly.Intensely.Almost painfully.And once Olive gave in, the relief lasted only moments before shame took its place.
After completing several clinical assessments and carefully reviewing Olive’s history, Dr. Ada leaned forward gently.“Olive…”
“What you’ve described is consistent with kleptomania.”The word hung in the air.Olive stared at her.
“So…”
“I’m not just a terrible person?”
“No.”
“You have a psychological disorder involving difficulties controlling impulses.”
“It explains your behavior.”
“It doesn’t excuse it.”
“But it means recovery is possible.”Tears welled in Olive’s eyes.
For years, she had believed she was simply broken.
Now…There was a name for what she had been fighting.The weeks that followed introduced Olive to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
Dr. Grace explained that thoughts, emotions, and behaviors were deeply connected.
“If we can understand what happens before the urge appears,” she said, sketching three connected circles on a notepad, “we can begin changing how you respond to it.”
Together, they identified Olive’s triggers.Stress.Loneliness.Embarrassment.Feeling out of control.Then came the difficult part.Instead of obeying every urge, Olive learned to pause.To notice it.To rate its intensity from one to ten.To write down what she was feeling before and after each urge in a journal.
“It isn’t about pretending the urge doesn’t exist,” Dr. Grace explained.
“It’s about proving that you can survive it without acting on it.”Some days Olive managed.
Some days she didn’t.Whenever she stumbled, she expected disappointment.
Instead, Dr. Ada simply asked,
“What did this setback teach us?”There was no punishment.Only learning.
In later sessions, they practiced imagining herself reaching for an object in a*****e, only to picture the shame, fear, and heartbreak that always followed. They also rehearsed healthier responses -stepping away, calling a trusted person, or leaving the store until the urge passed.
Each exercise was uncomfortable.Each one made her feel slightly stronger.
Recovery, she realized, wasn’t one giant leap.It was hundreds of tiny choices.
Nearly two weeks had passed since Olive had attended school.Most days she barely checked her phone. When she did was was browsing about kleptomania or reading books on then Until one evening…It buzzed.a message came in from an unsaved number
Hey……. It’s me Ramsey
You’ve been gone for days.
I know you’ve probably got a lot going on, and I don’t want to pressure you.
I just wanted to know if you’re okay.
People keep asking where you are.
I’ve been worried.
Her heart tightened.She hadn’t realized anyone besides her parents would notice she was gone.She smiled faintly before replying.I’m trying to figure things out.His response came almost immediately.Would you like some company?She hesitated.Then typed,Okay.
Come over tomorrow?
I’d like that.The next afternoon, the doorbell rang.Olive looked up from the novel resting on her lap.“I’ll get it!” her father called.A moment later, his voice echoed through the hallway.
“Olive…”“Someone’s here to see you.”She stepped into the living room and froze.Ramsey stood at the doorway, hands tucked awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans.
“Hi.”Before Olive could answer, her mother appeared beside her with a grin she made absolutely no effort to hide.“So…”
“This is Ramsey?”Olive felt her cheeks burn.
“Mum…”Her father chuckled quietly.
“It’s nice to finally meet the young man who’s been checking on our daughter.”Ramsey scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking more nervous than Olive had ever seen him.
“I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”Her mother’s expression softened.
“Thank you.”
“ You’ve been kinder to her than you probably realize.”
After offering him a drink and exchanging a few friendly words, her parents excused themselves, giving them some privacy.For a while, neither of them spoke.Then Ramsey looked at her.
“You look… tired.”
Olive laughed softly.
“I am.”
“Therapy?”She nodded.
“They diagnosed me with kleptomania.”
The word felt less frightening now.
Ramsey didn’t flinch.
“What happens now?”
“I learn how to fight the urges instead of giving in to them.”
“Is it helping?”
Olive looked out the window for a moment before answering.
“I don’t know if I’m getting better yet.”
“But…”
She smiled—a real one this time.
“For the first time in years…”
“I think I might.”
Ramsey smiled back.
“That’s enough for now.”
As they sat together in the quiet living room, talking about books, school, and everything in between, Olive realized something unexpected.
Healing wasn’t only happening inside the therapist’s office.
Sometimes…
It happened in ordinary conversations.
With people who chose to stay.
- Writer
