"So, the journaling has been helpful?" asked the therapist.

"I have been doing it," replied Oliver. He was yet unsure of the results, if writing about his day and thoughts and possibly feelings if they ever came up succeeded in helping him. Perhaps it was because he didn't need help; there was nothing to help.

"Will you be continuing your journaling after this session? As this is your last free session."

Oliver swallowed, trying not to roll his eyes. She had been mentioning how this was the last session multiple times now. Perhaps it was because she was expecting Oliver to open up finally, or some big revelation was revealed, something exciting for her career. "I'll see how it goes. In the meantime, it just kills time."

She nodded, writing something down. She was always writing something, but Oliver couldn't think what since he barely gave her anything to document.

"And will you consider taking more sessions in the future?" she asked.

"No," Oliver answered a bit too quickly. "I see little need."

The therapist pursed her lips through a forced smile and made another note. Oliver expected her to make another subtle animadversion to his stoicness, that he shouldn't be wasting a session, especially the last one. Still, she remained quiet for a moment, reviewing her notes. Was this a strategy? The awkward silence tempting Oliver to speak? He wasn't going to take the bait, though the silence made him think more, how there were people who couldn't afford therapy and needed it. Maybe in this final session, he should use it to his advantage, anything he was having problems with.

Oliver certainly wasn't going to discuss Snickelway, who was the whole reason why he had to attend these sessions. No one believed him about the cosmic entity that was slowly going to devour all of humanity, no one apart from the other survivors, so it was a waste of time talking to her about it. What else, then? He recalled back to the new hire at the restaurant, how he couldn't deal with change so easily like everyone else. But it all sounded so silly. And what about his issues with socialising? How he found no enjoyment or satisfaction in his career? His reliance on and addiction to mints and cigarettes that helped him deal with stress and being overwhelmed? About his parents? About his past relationships and his issue with not showing enough emotions outwardly to maintain a relationship, or did not communicate enough. Or-

"Well, Oliver," his therapist began. "Is there anything you would like to discuss in your last free session?"

Oliver swallowed, bowed his head, and then said quietly, "no, thank you."

"Do you feel these sessions helped you?"

No, I wasted them.

"Yes, I got to keep my job because I attended," Oliver answered.

"We've got ten minutes left," she explained. "It is up to you if you want to use that time or leave early; I imagine you can't wait to stop coming to these."

Oh...

That's right.

Oliver had grown so accustomed to these sessions being a part of his routine, and now his routine was going to change again. He didn't like change, even if it was for the better, if he no longer had to do something he hated. It was still change. He would have to once again adjust to something new.

She looked at Oliver expectantly, waiting for the verdict.

"Thank you," Oliver said finally, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry this has been a waste of time for you."

She shook her head and smiled. "I get paid either way," she joked. "What is more important is what you got out of this Oliver."

What did I get out of this?

Nothing.

Because I'm fine and there was nothing that needed fixing.

"And I hope you continue to journal," she continued. "If you do not feel comfortable talking to someone, perhaps you can address your journal to someone?"

"What do you mean?"

"You may feel more natural talking about your thoughts if you imagined you were addressing someone, someone you are close to. Perhaps it could be to a relative, your friend Kara, or Cody. They do not have to read it, but you can pretend that it is them who are listening."

"I see the logic behind it," said Oliver, not knowing if he would incorporate the method.

The therapist got out of her seat and motioned Oliver to the door. "It was nice meeting you, Oliver."

No, it wasn't. You must have despised me.

"Thank you again," said Oliver, and he left his final therapy sessions, debating whether anything he did in there was a good idea.