THE REVENGE OF THE RAGDOLL

Stepping into Christine’s office felt different today.

Ever since I started my sessions with her, it had always felt like I was doing it just so the world would see I was trying—trying to be better, trying not to wither away like a flower in the snow. Like I was proving something to the people around me, not necessarily to myself.

But today felt different. Today, I wanted to be here. It felt like I’d made real progress, and for once, I genuinely wanted to share the good news with Christine. I wanted to hear her tell me she was proud. I wanted someone to celebrate this with me. It was like I was finally seeing her as more than just my therapist. Like I trusted her.

The door clicked shut behind me, and the sound made me turn to glance at it—as if confirming that I’d left the noise of the outside world behind.

“You look a little different today, Angel,” Christine’s voice called gently. I turned back toward her, already smiling. She rose from her seat, a bright grin spreading across her face. Locks of blond hair were tied back in a ponytail, with a few strands falling loosely across her shoulders and over her crisp white shirt.

Honestly, I never thought I’d be this happy to see her face. But in this moment, it felt like home.

“Different? How do you mean?” I asked, my smile widening.

Christine walked around her desk and sat on it, folding her arms across her chest with an amused glint in her eyes. “I don’t know—you seem… lighter. Happier,” she said softly, her eyes searching mine. “What happened?”

“I…” I started, letting out a soft, airy laugh. I walked over to the cushion in front of her desk and lowered myself onto it. “I followed your advice. You told me not to miss this opportunity… to give Harold another chance. You told me to open up to him,” I said, looking directly at her.

Then my gaze dropped to my nervously interlaced fingers, and I continued in a quiet voice, “I did.”

“Oh? And how did that go?” Christine asked, leaning in slightly, her tone a mixture of curiosity and encouragement.

I looked up at her again. “Well… I don’t hate it. It’s just… am I ready for another relationship?”

“What do you mean?” Christine asked, her brow creasing.

I hesitated, then spoke slowly. “I mean, he’s a great guy. He’s kind, he’s thoughtful, and—Goddamn it—he’s hot.” Christine chuckled, covering her mouth with one hand. “But… what if he turns out like Richard? I can’t risk putting myself in that kind of danger again. And honestly, I’m not even sure I’m ready for something romantic right now.”

I paused, my voice lowering again. “Last night, he tried to kiss me. Or at least… it looked like he was going to. And I panicked. I pulled away. I still get scared.”

My eyes dropped again. “I may have forgotten a lot of what Richard did to me four years ago, but the feelings—the fear, the pain, the hatred—they’re still there. Sometimes they come out of nowhere and grab my chest like a vice. How can I make Harold happy if I’m still afraid to trust him… afraid to fall too deep?”

Christine watched me in silence for a few seconds. Then she smiled softly and pulled the visitor’s chair closer to mine, sitting down beside me. She reached out and took my hands in hers—warm, firm, and grounding.

“Angel,” she said gently, her voice no longer clinical, but full of quiet strength. “No one said you had to fall head over heels right now. You just met the guy. Love—real love—grows slowly. It deepens over time. And if he really cares about you, even a little, he’ll wait. He’ll support you. He’ll make sure you feel safe.”

Her words weren’t hollow. They were deliberate. Heartfelt. This wasn’t the professional guidance of a licensed therapist. This was someone who had seen people hurt and wanted to make sure I didn’t have to bleed again.

Maybe that knot of hatred I’d carried for so long had finally started to loosen. Maybe I was finally making space for something new.

“You opened up to him, and now look at you. You’re lighter. Your shoulders are more relaxed. You’re smiling,” she continued. “That’s not nothing. That’s healing. Go on a few more dates. Let yourself see him. Get to know who he really is. And maybe… just maybe, you’ll realize he’s nothing like that monster.”

I smiled at her, the tension in my chest easing just a little.

“So… when’s your next date?” she asked, teasing now.

“Well… um, he invited me to a party his company is throwing. His whole family will be there, and apparently his mother insists he bring a date,” I said, biting my lip.

Christine’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! And when’s this party?”

“The night after tomorrow.”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You should be preparing!”

That was the moment it clicked—we weren’t having a professional session anymore. This was just two women talking. Two women letting their guards down.

“You think I should go? Isn’t it too soon to meet his family?” I asked, my voice uncertain.

“No,” Christine said with a thoughtful nod. “If anything, the sooner the better. You’ll get to see what kind of people they are—if they’re the kind of people you want to be involved with long-term.”

“Right…” I murmured, processing her words. Then I looked back up at her quickly. “You’re right. I need to find a dress!”

I started rummaging through my bag, already making mental checklists.

“I’ll come with you,” Christine said, rising from her seat with a spark in her eyes. “I know the perfect boutique.”

“Don’t you have work to do here?” I asked.

“Oh, there are tons of doctors in this building. And I don’t have any more sessions today, so I’m free,” she replied with a carefree shrug.

“Okay,” I said, grinning as she walked to her desk, picked up her handbag, and came back around.

“Let’s go,” she said, smiling as she exhaled.

I watched her as we headed toward the door, my lips curling into a quiet smile. “Are you sure?” I asked, just to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I was planning to head there later anyway, so…”

She pushed open the door, and we stepped out together, side by side.

****

‘Hey, Harold.’

The clicking sound of my phone’s digital keyboard was one of the many oddly satisfying things in my life. It was calming… in a strange, repetitive way.

Sometimes—especially over the past four years—during my breakdowns, that steady, rhythmic tapping from the keyboard while texting my therapist had been enough to settle me. It brought me back from the edge. Just enough to keep me from breaking things.

I guess you could say it was my version of ‘nail biting’ or ‘pen chewing.’

‘Hi, Angel.’

My eyes lit up. Harold had replied. I’d hoped he would, but a part of me had feared he wouldn’t—it was working hours, after all.

‘How’s… work?’ I typed, hoping I wasn’t interrupting something important.

‘Work… is… boring as fuck.’ I chuckled. ‘What about you? How’s fixing broken people going today?’

‘Actually, I’m not at the hospital. I’m… with my therapist,’ I responded.

‘Oh. Well, should you be texting during a therapy session or… are you not in a therapy session?’

‘Actually, I needed to get a few things, and she decided to come with me.’

‘Hmm. Friendly person, isn’t she?’ Then: ‘How are you?’

I smiled. ‘I’m okay. I wanted to tell you something.’

‘I’m all ears… fingers… eyes. You know what I mean.’

Another laugh escaped me, and I tried to be quiet about it.

‘It’s about your company’s party. My answer is yes.’ I bit my lower lip, waiting for his reply.

The three dots on the screen bounced up and down, then disappeared. Then they came back. Then vanished again. Over and over. It was like watching someone hesitate in real time—and it was driving me insane. I wanted to throw my phone at the floor.

Finally, his reply popped up:

‘I don’t know what to say. This is great.’ And then: ‘I’ll send a cab to pick you up.’

‘Alright. Thanks. Umm… I’ll text you again later. I have to go,’ I typed.

‘Alright. Have a nice day, Miss Angel.’

I smiled, heartwarming as I imagined the grin on his face. Just the thought of him made something flutter inside me. This man was amazing, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.

“Angel, are you going to come out of that booth anytime soon?” Christine’s voice called out from outside. She sounded a little impatient. Fair, considering I’d been inside for over twenty minutes pretending to try on a dress.

“Coming!” I yelled back, getting off the stool and rushing toward the curtain.

I stepped into the brighter lights of the dressing room, revealing the golden yellow ball gown I had on.

The dress was sleeveless, starting just below the collarbone and falling down in structured elegance. Translucent flowery embellishments lined the seams, sparkling under the white lights like they’d been dusted with diamond powder. It fit tightly around my torso, then exploded into a voluminous skirt made of layered fabrics—some sheer, some opaque.

“Oh my God, you look so beautiful,” Christine gasped, her eyes wide and teary as she placed her palms over her mouth. Whether it was nostalgia or just the stunning craftsmanship, she was clearly moved.

“No. I look like a Disney princess,” I replied flatly, glaring at my reflection. “And I hate it.”

“What do you mean? You look fabulous,” said the young stylist, stepping closer.

Right now, I couldn’t care less what she thought. I had already explained what kind of party I was attending, and this was what she brought me? It didn’t say much for her expertise.

“It’s too big. I can barely move. The color is too loud. How am I supposed to fit this gown into a cab? And this is a company party, not a kid’s birthday,” I said with an edge to my voice.

“But the dress looks so cute,” Christine said, still smiling.

“You can have it if you want it, Christine. I’ll get it for you,” I muttered as the stylist came forward and began undoing the dress.

“What? No, I… I can’t possibly,” Christine said, modestly stepping back.

“I insist,” I said, softening. “You’ve been such a good friend to me since the day we met. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner, but I do now. And I want to do something nice for you—for once.”

Christine’s eyes grew glassy again as she stared at me. “Thank you,” she whispered, fighting tears.

Christine had always seemed so composed in her office. She wore this serene, caring expression like a permanent mask, probably from years of being a therapist. But today, I got to see a different side of her. A softer, more… feminine side. A real person underneath the professional polish.

I sighed. “Four hours and we still haven’t found the right dress,” I said, worried. The sun was already starting to dip.

“This place has never failed me before,” Christine replied. “Maybe your tastes are just a little more high-end than most, given your background.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, slipping back into my own dress.

“There’s one more option,” the stylist spoke up again, desperate. “It’s… really expensive, so nobody ever buys it. But I think it might be exactly what you’re looking for.”

“No, don’t bother,” I said coldly. “We’ll just try another boutique.”

“No, no, no,” Christine said, suddenly rushing toward me and placing her hands on my shoulders. “Wait. Let’s at least see what she’s talking about. Please?”

She turned to the stylist. “Go get it.”

The stylist rushed out, and I turned to Christine with a sigh.

“You should be a little more patient with her,” she whispered. “She’s just an apprentice. If she doesn’t make this sale, her boss might really come down hard on her.”

I let out a deep breath. “Fine. We’ll check it out. If it’s not good enough, we leave.”

Christine smiled—one of those genuine, reward-you-for-being-decent smiles. It made something in me settle. I didn’t mind earning that smile.

About five minutes later, the stylist returned, wheeling in a mannequin draped in a dress that made my breath hitch.

My eyes widened. I furrowed my brows in shock.

“Umm… do you like it, Miss Angel?” The stylist asked, practically glowing as she stood beside the plastic mannequin.

I didn’t answer her directly. My feet carried me toward it, drawn like a moth to a flame.

“Well,” I said, tilting my head and examining the intricate design, “it’s a good thing I didn’t give away all of Richard’s divorce money.”