Basically the short description.

I’d known the moment I walked into the store that’d I’d misjudged myself, thinking that I was in control of how my body moves and how my brain works. Sometimes the gears in my head just process on their own, leaving without my will to guide them carefully through the moral handicaps of society.
My lips stretched across my cheeks as I gave the cashier a smile, its familiar feeling lingered on my skin as it folded down the instant she turned away.
I was calm, this was my element whether I liked it or not.
My hands cruised against the items as I delved deeper into the store, and my eyes roamed but I kept my body lax. My eyebrow twitched as I categorized, I wasn’t sure what I wanted, wasn’t sure what I needed, though generally when I got really out of control I would just take to take. But this time I had a reason. In the back of my head, my conscious wrapped its’ hands around my impulses and steered it with its’ gentle, unconvincing caresses.
Hair dye.
That was a good place to start. I glanced up into the strange foil like mirrors in the makeup section of the store, my hair a rush of blue and green tones lost in a mess of washed out colors.
My nails scraped against my skin as I fidgeted, wondering what color I’d choose this week. I knew it was damaging to my already frayed hair, but I liked to change it up just to see who’d notice. It was interesting to me how some people would comment while other’s gaze would just drift to my head and back to my eyes. I like to think it helps me judge people’s characters, but I know things aren’t always that deep.
Ok back to my choices. Sometimes I get off topic. I don’t mean to, but I do.
This week I’ve been really into the color orange, but putting a little red in it would be cool because it makes me think of the sunset I saw when I was riding the train the other day. I had almost taken a picture, but it felt too surreal. It was like the sun had cracked and its red filling had spilled out across the sky, simmering on the horizon until it all faded into the deep blues of night.
Yeah, so I guess I’ll just get orange and red.
I didn’t want that cheap stuff though; I wanted the kind that people who had weekends off and lived in those million dollar condos buy. I wasn’t sure which one those were, so with skillful hands, I grabbed the fanciest boxes and slid them under my hoodie in passing.
  I can’t say when I’d first started, but I think it was somewhere in middle school. My mom used to drag me out shopping and tell me to choose the cheapest t-shirts in the boy’s section, and she didn’t know I was dyslexic back then so when I’d always get the numbers mixed up she’d start yelling at me in Chinese that we couldn’t afford to splurge and that she was already struggling to support me and my sister without me giving her a hard time. The cashier and the people around us would always give us that bewildered look people get when someone’s yelling in public, and my face would always get really red like I had a rash or something. Eventually she got tired of me “playing around” so she would choose the cheapest things she could. They would be equally ugly. The third time it happened I was wearing a hoodie, so I just shoved the nicest shirts underneath and prayed to god that I wouldn’t get caught. I remember vividly the way the security guard’s eyes had followed me all the way out, and back then I’d been so amateurish that I’m sure it was obvious that’d id taken something, but I like to think that he sympathized with my situation.
So yeah, from there it just escalated to a full blown hobby, or at least that’s what it could be categorized as until very recently. My friend keeps trying to convince me to stop, and that society looks down upon thieves, but I just can’t control myself when my hands get the itch. And Jesus, sometimes my hands don’t even itch, it’s just that everything is so damn expensive.
With that thought, I moved towards the entrance of the store. Leaving sooner rather than later would probably assist in soothing my shattered moral compass, or at the very least I wouldn’t be so tempted to take everything with a price tag stamped across its’ front.
I smiled once more at the cashier as I passed. The one I received in return was stiff and drooped at the edges, and it made me feel sort of bad. They were probably having a hard enough week without getting chewed out by their boss for lost inventory, but like I said before, I just can’t control myself when my hands get that itch.
As I walked out, I dropped the hair dye from underneath my hoodie and swiftly transferred them to my front pocket, comfortably settling my hands on their form. I huffed out a laugh; it’d taken me awhile to get that move right without anyone noticing. I’d accidentally dropped almost everything once and ended up sprinting away before anyone could profile me.
My huff of amusement died quickly as I blinked, running my finger across the edge of the box. Part of me, the moral side that always whispers it tantalizing logic in my ear, knows that by indulging myself in shop lifting I was just enabling my bad habits. But in the end, at least I could finally get this god awful green out of my hair.
So I guess all is well.