Page 38 of Understood

chapter as a little thank you for 1 milion reads. see you in september, admi?

"Maybe you should go back to therapy?"

Gabrielle's voice echoed somewhere to the side, calm and maddeningly rational, as Lilith scrunched her brows at the overheated, lagging laptop resting on her lap. The warmth had turned from mild to unbearable—it burned against her thighs like punishment.

"So I can torture one more person?" she muttered, head tilted to the side. Then quieter, as if to herself. "Sounds like a dream."

They were seated in Gabrielle's apartment. The lights were dim, curtains still open. Gabrielle's curls were thrown up in a lazy clip, her body visibly more at ease now that Lilith had told her everything.

And Lilith?

Lilith felt almost nothing.

That was the strangest part. Her body was tense, her brain overloaded, and yet, under Gabrielle's presence, she felt a kind of shallow calm.

"Okay, maybe let's not do that," Gabrielle said, a small smile playing on her lips as she rose to close the curtains.

The room darkened around them.

"Life is so pointless," Lilith mumbled. Her fingers twitched near the keyboard. "Can't a girl fall out of a window sometimes? That's what I count as my fun little activity."

She had to physically stop herself from slamming the laptop shut. The lagging, the whirring, the slowness of it—it was like everything conspired to make her patience snap.

"And that's exactly why you should go back," Gabrielle said, gently.

Then after a pause, thinking aloud, she added. "Or maybe just try to be less..."

"Less me?" Lilith gasped. The shift in her tone was slight but immediate.

She stared ahead, eyes unfocused.

"You know... sometimes I feel like if there was nothing going on—I wouldn't even be myself anymore."

"But you would," Gabrielle said, sitting back down beside her. She tapped a finger against Lilith's temple, softly. "Even happier."

Lilith sighed, her breath heavy and loud in the room.

"So what now? No abusing substances?" she asked, mostly to herself, voice caught somewhere between sarcasm and genuine confusion.

"Just... sometimes," Gabrielle murmured beside her, the edge of her tone softened by affection.

Lilith nodded slowly.

"Just sometimes. Okay—just sometimes."

She let the words sink in. Imagining a world where every minor inconvenience didn't require her to numb it. Where her body didn't move towards distraction like it was muscle memory. She had tried many things, more than she liked to admit. But she wouldn't call herself addicted to anything.

Except nicotine, of course.

Still, if something new offered a similar escape, she'd jump to it without hesitation. That was the pattern. She'd never needed loyalty when it came to her vices.

The laptop buzzed gently—then, at last, stopped glitching. A flicker of joy sparked in her chest as the screen finally revealed the soft colored interface of The Sims.

A small cat with bright green eyes padded across the screen. Lilith grinned proudly at her creation.

She'd named it—however insane it might sound to anyone—Val.

Val.

Valentina.

The thought of her came softly, as it always did.

Life had its cruel ways. And this was one of them—knowing that something waited for her, and that something was a conversation with Valentina.

The idea didn't bother her. She could almost picture saying it out loud—I'm insane. It was a fact, wasn't it? She could even imagine Valentina's raised brow, the usual, cold amusement behind it.

But then the doubt came in.

Because Lilith knew—dealing with her was hard. She knew her lows weren't pretty, that her thoughts didn't always make sense. That sometimes she was more exhausting than lovable.

And even a woman like Valentina might not want to put herself through that.

Leaving a red rose and a sweet treat for Valentina had felt childish in retrospect. It wasn't a gift.

It was a reminder.

A way of saying that Lilith still exists—in case Valentina was already trying to forget she ever did.

Lilith moved on from the cat in the game to creating a random character.

But her mind stayed exactly where it always did lately.

Looping.

Returning again and again to a quiet question that had begun to ache.

"Do you think I would be a good girlfriend?"

She asked it gently, like testing the temperature of water. Not sure if she wanted to be heard. Not sure what she'd do with the answer.

"Hm?" Gabrielle hummed absently, not turning to look at her.

"Do you think I would be a good girlfriend?" Lilith repeated, slower now.

She let the words rest in the space between them, then added, as if it meant nothing, as if it wasn't still echoing inside her—

"I asked Olivia... she didn't answer."

The mention made her wince immediately.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes, but it wasn't cruel. It was protective.

"Do you think a thought like that ever passed through her brain? Of course she didn't answer."

Lilith didn't argue.

She just shrugged, barely. Her shoulders lifted and fell with the weight of her uncertainty. She wasn't even thinking of Olivia anymore. The silence she got from her wasn't new—it was just louder when Lilith needed something.

And now?

Now she didn't even want the truth if it didn't come from someone who saw her clearly.

Gabrielle looked at her more directly now, then tilted her head.

"Good girlfriend for Valentina?"

Lilith's breath caught.

Her body tensed as if she'd been exposed, or misunderstood, or maybe understood too well.

"Why her?" she asked, the words stumbling out before she could soften them.

But Gabrielle didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

Her gaze flicked down—towards the laptop still glowing warmly on Lilith's thighs.

Lilith followed Gabrielle's eyes and let out the softest breath.

"Right," she murmured, not meeting her friend's gaze again.

Lilith shook her head slowly, as if trying to dislodge the weight of her own thoughts.

Her spine straightened, her voice quiet but determined—trying not to sound like she needed the answer as much as she did.

"Let's just imagine me as a... girlfriend to no one in particular," she said. "Would I be okay?"

Gabrielle snorted under her breath, but it wasn't dismissive.

"You know it's not a job, right?" she murmured, tipping her head back with exaggerated drama, like she was casting a verdict into the universe.

"Lilith Hawthorne," she mused aloud, "as a girlfriend..."

Her words trailed off as she smiled, gently.

"You'd be more than okay. I assure you."

Lilith didn't return the smile. She just stared at her, something flickering behind her eyes. She had the answer, but it didn't sit right—because she wasn't sure if Gabrielle meant it the way she needed it to mean something.

She looked away. And then blurted out. "I saw her ex. When we were at the theatre."

It hung in the air like something she hadn't meant to admit.

She groaned immediately, rolling her eyes at herself.

"I'm so not like her."

A beat passed, and then she laughed, though it sounded more like resignation than humor.

"But she was pretty, though."

Gabrielle's eyebrows lifted, her interest piqued. She leaned in slightly, her voice playful and curious.

"Oh? How was she?"

Lilith sat up with sudden energy, placing the laptop on the coffee table with too much care, like something sacred was about to happen. Her eyes lit up.

"She was so weird," she said, eyes wide. "I mean—Gabi, she literally reminded me of my fucking mother."

She laughed, half serious. A sound that belonged to someone unsure whether they were making a joke or revealing something terrible.

Gabrielle broke into laughter, throwing her head back.

"Well," she gasped between giggles, "that explains why she didn't run away from you screaming."

Lilith's mouth fell open, mock betrayed.

"I'm actually offended," she said, hand to her chest like a dramatist in mourning. Then her voice dropped. "If I can't be the best... she could've at least let me be the worst."

Gabrielle shook her head, wiping under her eye from laughing too hard.

"But was she that mean or...?"

"She was just strange," Lilith said, her voice quieter now, as she sank back into the couch. Her blonde hair spilled over the cushion. "Clearly they're not on good terms."

She paused. Something in her expression shifted—barely, but it did. A curl of protectiveness formed at the edge of her mouth.

"Which is... good. They shouldn't be on good terms."

She wrinkled her nose, trying to keep her face still.

And Gabrielle, watching her, smiled.

Because Lilith, for all her posturing and dramatics—for all her thoughts and spiraling analysis—was unmistakably jealous.

?

The weather had turned into exactly the kind Lilith loved the most.

It was the season she craved the most: the air crisp and clean, the world gradually tipping towards snow, towards Christmas, towards excuses to stay in. It hadn't snowed yet, but she could feel it coming. .

She'd taken Valentina's advice to heart—not because she was told to but because, in her own strange way, she wanted to be good.

So now she walked not only in her beloved leather jacket but with a massive pink and white scarf looped around her neck and draped over her head.

Almost comically the scarf transformed her into something half child, half grandmother.

She wore Daniel's clothes underneath. She had grown fond of them, the way they made her feel comfy and safe.

Her evening with Gabrielle had passed more gently than she'd expected. It began with truth—too much of it. But Gabrielle, in her usual way, had turned it into something manageable. Not smaller—never that—but lighter.

Now, hours later, Lilith walked alone through a street lit only by the weak orange glow of street lamps.

She was heading towards the pharmacy, which was on her way back to her apartment. There was a cut on her thigh that kept catching against the fabric of Daniel's sweatpants, and it stung sharply each time she moved. She hadn't tended to it properly. Not any of them, really.

But tonight, she thought maybe she should.

The door to the big pharmacy swung open, and Lilith stepped inside, immediately squinting against the harsh, clinical white light that spilled over everything.

The buzz of her phone against her thigh pulled her out of the moment. She fished it from her pocket, eyes scanning the screen.

A missed call from Oscar.

Today—she decided—was going too well to ruin.

So she didn't answer.

Instead, her thumb hovered briefly before typing back, I'll call you later.

Sliding the phone away, she started down the aisles. She needed bandages, ointment, something to dull the redness and sting of her wounds and something to disinfect.

Her eyes caught on a small box of children's bandages—pink, dotted with tiny printed hearts.

The sight pulled a soft smile from her lips.

They reminded her of the cuts on her fingers nearly two months ago—the ones Valentina had urged her to take care of.

Lilith plucked the box from the shelf.

She moved to find something else when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar silhouette.

Rhys's dark gaze met hers.

She spun on her heel, pretending not to see him.

Luck, it seemed, was never on her side.

Behind her, a low, deep and amused laugh broke the quiet hum of the pharmacy.

"I totally didn't see you."

She turned slowly, eyes squinting with a mixture of annoyance and reluctant acknowledgment.

"You could've at least pretended."

Rhys's lips quirked into a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he glanced down at the pink box in her hands.

"Should I get some too?" he asked, playfully.

His gaze drifted to his knuckles—raw, cracked and bleeding slightly.

Then, without waiting, he reached for a box of the same bandages from the shelf.

Lilith's eyes widened, voice sharp enough to cut through the space between them. "Are you okay?"

Rhys's own eyes flickered wide in sudden realization.

"Boxing," he admitted quickly, voice casual. "Went a bit too hard today."

Lilith nodded softly and stepped aside, gathering the rest of the things she needed.

The man beside her didn't say a word. She almost believed he wouldn't.

But that kind of peace rarely lasted.

She made her way to the counter, placing everything down gently, her fingers still cold from the evening air. The pharmacist, an older woman with a pale blue cardigan and the kind of patient silence only decades of life could teach, began scanning the items.

Lilith reached into her coat pocket for her wallet.

That's when his voice came again—low, careless in tone but landing far too precisely.

"You pissed off Valentina, not the whole country. I think we're good."

He was right behind her. Close enough that she caught a whiff of tobacco and something vaguely metallic, like the scent of blood before it dried.

She blinked.

He tossed his own items down on the counter—more bandages, some kind of pain relief cream, a protein bar—and paid for all of it before she could open her mouth to protest.

Maybe she would've fought him on it. Another night.

But she didn't feel like giving the woman behind the counter more trouble. And maybe, deep down, she didn't feel like arguing with him either.

"Comforting. Really," she muttered, sliding the bag towards her and offering the pharmacist a quiet smile. "Have a good night."

Rhys echoed the gesture, nodding towards the counter, but his voice followed hers again, lower this time. "Should've phrased it better—pissing off Valentina is kind of like pissing off the whole world. Sorry."

Lilith didn't answer right away, but the corner of her mouth lifted, almost involuntarily.

There was something in the way he spoke—awkward but not clumsy, knowing but not cruel—that cracked the stiffness in her chest a little.

She opened the door, holding it open long enough to gently and playfully push him out in front of her.

The cold waited for them just outside, pressing softly against her skin like it had been patient this whole time. But neither of them moved.

Rhys turned around, his tall frame casting a strange kind of warmth in the glow of the flickering streetlamp, and said, more quietly now. "If she's really upset, you matter. That's a good thing."

Lilith drew in a breath, lips pressing into a contemplative line.

Her head tilted slightly—not skeptical, just..

. wondering. Curious about how much he knew.

She had no doubts about Valentina's discretion.

But still, she found herself asking anyway, her voice almost hesitant, almost soft. "So... she talked about it?"

Rhys didn't answer, at least not right away. Instead, he knelt slightly to shove his things back into the dark gym bag slung across his shoulder. He reached inside, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and plucked one out before lifting his gaze to meet hers with a slightly raised brow.

"Want one?"

Lilith nodded a little too fast. "Yes, please."

He lit it for her without a word. She leaned in and took it gently from between his fingers, and the slow heat curling into her lungs—it was all enough to send her reeling back to that night.

The night they smoked a cigarette together and she kissed Valentina, embarrassingly and unexpectedly.

Everything about this moment echoed it—except Valentina wasn't here. And Lilith couldn't tell if the ache in her chest was guilt or longing.

Maybe both.

Rhys lit his cigarette with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, the flame from the lighter casting fleeting gold across the angles of his jawline.

He kept the cigarette between his lips as he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling into the air.

Then, without ceremony, he exhaled slowly and said, "Look, if you want to talk to her, you should.

She's not exactly foaming at the mouth right now, Lilith. "

Lilith brought her own cigarette to her lips, quietly taking a drag before responding, her voice low and tired.

"And how can you be so sure?"

She didn't say it mockingly. She asked because she genuinely needed to know. Lilith had come to understand Valentina a little. The woman could stand in front of you very calmly and still, her anger would simmer just beneath the surface.

"She canceled a family trip to Italy," Rhys replied, shrugging as he glanced back at her. "You don't do that unless you've got serious plans here. And maybe—just maybe—those plans involve you reaching out."

Lilith stood still, the air colder now against her skin, the scarf around her neck barely helping. Rhys's words echoed strangely in her mind.

A trip to Italy.

Rhys looked down at her again, as if trying to read the expression she wasn't fully aware she wore—flushed cheeks from the cold, a nose with a cut dusted pink beneath the soft fuzz of her scarf.

"You're so delusional," Lilith said with a quiet laugh, the smoke leaving her mouth. Her voice didn't carry accusation—it carried the ache of wanting to believe something and knowing it might not be true.

But still.

She wished they could talk.

She wished she'd known about the trip.

Rhys only smirked at her words. Not in a smug or mocking way, but with the kind of expression that came from a dangerous sort of confidence—the kind men like him wore when they knew they were about to prove a point.

He looked like he welcomed the challenge. Like he was almost grateful for it.

Without saying anything more, he reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out his phone and unlocking it with ease.

Lilith's cigarette stilled between her fingers as she watched him scroll through his contacts.

Rhys didn't hesitate, not for a moment. He held the phone up in front of her face, the cold glow of the screen lighting up her features in sharp contrast.

"You think I'm wrong?" Rhys asked, calm as anything. "Let's ask her."

And then his thumb pressed the call button.

Just like that.

For a brief, insane moment, the blonde haired girl wasn't sure if she wanted to strangle him on the spot—or fall into his arms out of pure relief and thank him.