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Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 8
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Source: olaxali
“No you haven’t, ’cause this is the first time you’re trying a hospital when it ought to be your foremost action.”

She opened the title page of the book. “That’s because the first time I openly admitted to being a kleptomaniac was in this hospital. The most difficult task is admitting it to the next person. Going to a psychiatric hospital is as though admitting it to the world.”

“What’s your own experience? What kills your urge?”
“I don’t know.”

He tried placing all faith in the therapist since none could be placed in her, not when she didn’t place any in herself. “The therapist will help you find that.”

“He won’t,” she said immediately.
“You don’t know. You haven’t tried a hospital.”

She closed the book and la!d it on the bed. “My mum did. Her situation worsened. Everyone grew tired of her. Even my dad sometimes grew weary of the situation. That’s how it goes, that’s how it all ends. It’s something you have to learn to live with.” She looked straight at him. “Most people who try helping disordered patients grow tired.”

“Don’t talk that.”
“Aren’t you going to your place of work? It’s almost nine.”
He glanced at his wristwatch and rose. “We’ll continue this talk another day.” The talk had to continue. She lacked faith in herself and the doctor. How then would she be cured? She needed to put faith in something. If not the therapist, then herself.
“Please, you shouldn’t worry about me. I don’t want to make anyone disappointed,” she said.
Being disappointed was highly unlikely. Admitting her illness was part of the healing process. She was healing but simply didn’t realize it. A little more self-belief would hasten the process.


“Drive safe,” she said.
He began opening the door when she hailed to him.
“Back then at the department store when I took your perfume, I would have sought a way to return it.”
He walked past the door. It helped to know he was not treating a woman who stole from him in the right mind, but a parish member who only happened to be ill-fated.
#

The previous week’s purchase chart showed a huge declination of ten percent. Richard studied it, praying it was one of those mistakes associated with balancing purchases. It occurred to him it was no mistake the moment Jide entered his office wailing of how Cherlet Bans had come to change things. Two weeks of operation and they were already cutting down Erneto’s purchases. Ten percent was not a joke.
Richard tried placing everything on a plane sheet if there was anything that could give consolation. There was. Cherlet wouldn’t be able to continue with their fancy modus operandi of selling cement bags at almost same price as cost price. That surely wouldn’t last. Nonetheless, the issue would be properly addressed at the board meeting.
The door squeaked; this time, without a knock. That seldom happened, didn’t happen. It opened and the white girl entered, topped with a bobble hat. Richard stopped being surprised not to have heard a knock.
“Always knock before entering an office,” he said.

“Oh, I didn’t. I forgot. Forgive me, I’m not that mannerless.” She closed the door, and walked away from it in that her loosed manner, and still Jide nearly smiled at her.
“I reached your office. Your sec told me you were at the CEO’s,” she told Jide when he asked the reason for her coming.
In such a situation, the right thing to do was to wait in the secretary’s office. That was one of its purposes. Bad thing Canada didn’t teach her that. Her dad had an office; she should behave as such. He watched her lips for her next set of gall words.
“I’m sorry for not knocking if that’s still making you pissed,” she said to Richard, not smiling.
Her effort in staidness was enough to grant her a seat. She sat on the chair beside Jide and rested hands on her laps. “My name came out in the list of admitted students. I thought of telling you.”
“You plan on schooling here?” Richard blurted.

“Yes. My dad now works here. I want to be with him.”

“And her mum is in Switzerland. She says she prefers Africa to that place.” Jide shook his head.

“It’s Newfield University. All its schools, whether in Africa or America, maintain good standards.” She pushed back the forelock that covered her eyes. It fell again and covered the eyes. She pushed a second time, and when it fell again, she gave up. The air conditioner’s hum then amplified as though angered by her decision to school in the country. Schooling in Canada was better and people that appreciated education went for better. She wasn’t one of those people.
Getting admitted wasn’t all she came to tell Jide. She needed him to tour her round the university. Jide budged and told her the right thing every girl in her shoes ought to do—go meet daddy. Her dad was there to tour her round any place she’d want. She should go ask him.

“My dad is busy twenty-four hours. His company is new.”

Silly excuse, thought Richard, the silliest a child could ever give. She continued with her silly excuses of how busy her dad was, how she had asked him and he refused, and she had no one else to run to but Jide.

“This is your country,” she told Jide. “I’m the foreigner. In Canada, we are nice to visitors.”

“Don’t try to trap me with that,” Jide said.
“My dad wants me to wait till he has less work on his hands. Only God knows when that happens.”

“I will try,” Jide said, and caused her to beam. “Next week. But no promises. I’m not promising anything.”
Her beam widened, showing a stretch of her organized teeth, even with the promise of “no promises,” and she began talking of the good things she had read online about Newfield.

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