Page 41 of Understood

chapter's a bit shorter than usual, but it's for a reason. love, admi?

Lilith remembered her first therapy session with her favourite therapist with a clarity that surprised her.

She didn't feel shy or hesitant. She had never minded exposing the corners of herself that even she sometimes avoided. That was what the room was for—a small place where private truths could exist without judgment.

She apologized anyway.

For crying almost every session, for laughing during moments she probably shouldn't, or for showing up looking less presentable than she ought to.

Sometimes she missed it.

The routine, the ritual itself, had been comforting. Tuesdays had belonged to her and that small room.

But then she had taken that routine from herself.

It wasn't that therapy had never mattered.

It had changed her, she supposed, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly how—or if the changes were for better or worse.

Perhaps it was simply the slow evolution of a person who existed too much inside her own head, noticing everything and understanding very little.

Change was a subject she hated to talk about aloud, yet it shaped the core of her desires. She craved it in a quiet and desperate way, like a pulse she could feel in her bones. Her brain, her body, seemed to constantly tell her that she must shift and transform into something better.

And when she didn't feel like changing, she felt like the worst person alive.

But now, standing in front of her between the rows of books, was Miss Lockhart—someone Lilith had never expected to see while she'd just come to borrow a book.

The woman who had always somehow managed to see her without judgment, who had listened in a way that made space for all of Lilith's hesitation and chaos without trying to fill it.

"Lilith," she said, her voice warm and measured, precise yet soft enough to feel like a hand brushing Lilith's own.

She hadn't changed much in a year. Her brown hair fell roughly to her shoulders still, now with faint layers that made her look a bit younger.

Her glasses were darker, but there was no distance in her gaze.

She was exactly as she had always been—attentive and somehow still present without demanding presence.

"You look so different. Your hair is even longer," the woman said, laughing softly.

All Lilith could do was laugh awkwardly in return, murmuring a shy "yeah." She wasn't sure if it was meant in a bad way. Probably not—considering Miss Lockhart had seen her in far worse states.

Still, it felt awkward.

The blonde haired girl liked to put walls between chapters of her life, clean separations that allowed her to pretend certain seasons had never existed.

The feelings she had then, the thoughts, the people, the situations—they belonged to another version of her.

Someone else. Someone she had once inhabited and abandoned.

And yet, here she was, standing with a woman who had known her then, looking at her as if no such distance had been carved.

She shifted on her feet, caught in the silence. Miss Lockhart was clearly waiting for her to say something. It was probably the first time the woman had ever seen her this shy.

"So...how are you?" Lilith blurted out, tucking a few blonde strands behind her ear.

The woman's smile didn't falter. She only chuckled, her tone light. "I think I should be the one asking you that."

Lilith smiled softly, lowering her gaze. "I'm alright...thank you once again for the book." She nodded towards Miss Lockhart, her voice almost carrying relief at having something concrete to mention.

"You still have it," the woman said almost gasping, her smile widening.

"Of course. I read it quite often, actually," Lilith said, careful not to let the woman think her gesture had been forgotten.

She liked coming back to it, carrying a shyness—maybe even a trace of embarrassment—that she couldn't quite explain. The feelings it stirred were small, almost elusive, but persistent, like whispers from a part of herself she rarely acknowledged.

She could tell Miss Lockhart was glad to hear it. The subtle shift in her expression, the warmth in her eyes, felt grounding.

"How are you sleeping?" The question came, shifting the tone into something more therapist like.

"Could be better, but I'm managing," Lilith giggled, forcing a lightness into her voice to keep the worry from settling on the other woman.

"You used to say winter was always the hardest for you. I hope it'll be easier this time around," the taller woman said.

And finally, something in Lilith softened.

Perhaps it was that the woman remembered, perhaps it was simply the relief of hearing a familiar concern after so long. She allowed herself a small, genuine smile. "We'll see."

Then, almost without thinking, she added, "You probably wouldn't believe some of the things that have happened to me lately."

It wasn't a session, but Lilith felt a quiet, habitual need to inform the woman that something had happened—not asking for help, not seeking intervention, just letting the story exist somewhere outside of herself.

"Are they session worthy?" Miss Lockhart raised an eyebrow, almost like she was noting something down, just as she used to during sessions.

Lilith hesitated, tilting her head playfully and squinting her eyes. "Probably," she said, letting the word hang teasingly.

Then, almost unconsciously, she asked, "Are you still working at the same place?"

"I am. I'm taking far fewer patients now, though," Lockhart replied.

Lilith nodded, trying to keep the playful tone she had used a moment ago. "Would there be a place for a new one? Or rather...an old one who wants to come back?" She asked lightly, taking a small, careful chance.

She wasn't sure if she actually wanted to return to therapy.

But asking felt important.

She imagined Gabrielle, maybe even Valentina, being quietly proud of her for taking that step, no matter what came after.

"Definitely. I'll text you. Do you still have my number?" the woman asked, her voice steady, almost warm in its casualness.

Lilith nodded eagerly, murmuring, "Yeah." The word slipped out almost before she could think, carrying a little thrill she hadn't expected—like she had crossed a small, invisible line she didn't even know she needed to cross.

If Lilith had to be honest, she didn't want the conversation to end.

She felt a quiet longing, a pull she couldn't name.

She felt almost needy, though she would never admit it aloud. ,

She tried to hang on to something—another topic, a stray thought, anything—but her mind felt hollow. All she could do was be honest.

"I guess I've missed it... talking like this," Lilith said, trying desperately not to cry. That would be embarrassing, especially here, in a library.

But as soon as Miss Lockhart said, "It's nice to see you again too, Lilith," something inside her softened, as if the walls she'd built over the past year had thinned, if only slightly.

The tears came quietly, gentle as a sigh, and the woman opened her arms without hesitation.

Lilith stepped forward, letting herself be held, letting herself feel seen.

"That's embarrassing," she murmured.

"You know it's not," Miss Lockhart said, smiling, her hand resting lightly on Lilith's back. She patted with careful, steady reassurance. "You know that," she repeated.

Because Lilith truly knew—it wasn't embarrassing.

?

"I fell out of a window and I'm going on a date with Valentina."

"Lili, what the fuck?" Oscar's voice cracked sharply through the phone in half disbelief and half panic.

Lilith stood at her kitchen counter, slicing into an apple, the knife's rhythm steady against the board. She popped a slice into her mouth, chewing too quickly.

She had decided it was time to call her brother back. She couldn't avoid him forever. Still, she wanted to make it fast and controlled like ripping off a bandage.

"I don't want to hear anything about the date. I just thought you should know," she said, trying to sound casual. The shrug in her shoulders was more for herself than for him.

"No, I'm not talking about the date." Oscar's interruption carried urgency now, heavier than his usual sharpness. "A window? Seriously? Are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?"

His voice was genuine—worried in a way she hadn't heard in almost three months.

Maybe that was all it took, she thought, for her brother to speak to her without anger.

Falling out of a window.

"I'm fine. Really. Just a few bruises and cuts." Her voice softened into something almost guilty as she bit into the apple again. The sweetness turned sour in her mouth, like she didn't quite deserve to eat while admitting this to him.

"You should've called me. Miss Salvatore—Valentina—whatever—she told me to check up on you. I didn't know..."

Lilith's lips curved into the faintest smile, though confusion lingered in her mind. Valentina telling him. It made her wonder just how far the woman's presence stretched into her life now—how many threads tied them together without her permission.

"It's okay. But yeah... that's the update on my life." She forced nonchalance into the words. Then, quieter, she added, "I don't really care if you don't like me even existing around Valentina. But I will."

The line went still. Then came Oscar's exhale, heavy with resignation.

"I know you will... I just—" His voice faltered. "Do you understand me?"

She truly did.

Guilt pricked at her, but She believed everything would be alright. Or maybe she only believed in Valentina, and that was enough to convince her.

"I do," Lilith whispered, picking up her phone from the counter.

"Okay," Oscar said at last.

"Okay," the blonde haired girl echoed, mimicking his tone. The mirror made him chuckle, a sound warmer than she expected, and it loosened something in her chest.

"We should meet up. Like always. I haven't touched a single game since the last time you came and Julia's better than me, so I'm officially retired from winning." His mention of his girlfriend was casual, but the affection inserted through his words was obvious.

Lilith's throat tightened. She missed that—game nights, laughter echoing across a living room, the routine of belonging.

"I'll text you, okay?" she murmured, though even as she promised it, a tiredness crept into her bones. Answering her old therapist. Texting Oscar. Keeping up with the people who wanted pieces of her—it already felt heavier than she could hold.

Maybe this day wasn't so bad.

And it certainly wasn't when her phone lit up again, buzzing against the counter just as she was reaching for the flour. For a second, she thought it was Oscar again, circling back.

But it wasn't.

It was Valentina.

Lilith picked up the phone immediately.

"Hello," she said, already smiling, like the word itself had been waiting for Valentina.

"Hello, Lilith," the woman murmured. "You sound... content."

"Because I am. I had a good day," Lilith admitted, the truth tumbling out.

"Tell me about it then," Valentina coaxed, her voice gentle but commanding, as if she always expected the whole story.

Lilith leaned into it, gladly.

"Well, I came across my old therapist today—the favorite one.

I'm kind of surprised she remembered me.

We talked a bit. I asked her if she's taking any patients, and she said she'll text me.

" Her knife moved steadily through the apples once again, slices piling up in neat half moons, her voice soft with a fragile kind of pride.

"I'm glad," Valentina said, and Lilith could almost hear the smile tucked behind her words. "Are you going back then?"

"I'm not sure yet. It was pretty awkward, you know. After a year, I wasn't even sure what to say. I thanked her for the book for like the hundredth time." Lilith giggled, cheeks warming at the memory.

"The book? What book?"

"Oh—when I was ending therapy she gave me this book. A collection of bedtime stories, but for adults. It's not anything weird though," she rushed, catching herself, "she annotated most of the stories, even marked a few she thought would be my favorites." Her lips curved as the memory came up.

"Did she?" Valentina asked, and Lilith swore she could picture the woman raising her eyebrow slightly. "How sweet," she added.

"Yeah. I also called Oscar. We fought some time ago, but I think everything's alright now," Lilith continued quickly, almost layering her good news to keep the moment bright. "And now I'm baking apple pie." Her voice lifted with excitement, almost childlike.

"Not lemon?" Valentina hummed, pretending to pout in disappointment.

Lilith froze, guilty. "I'm sorry—I didn't even think about it." She sighed, then whined softly, "I could've made you a nice lemon tart." She could already imagine herself tossing the apples aside, running to the nearest store to buy lemons, desperate to get it right for the woman.

"It's okay, angel, I'm joking." Valentina chuckled, amused, then added in a quieter register, "I'll wait for my lemon tart."

Lilith nodded, even though Valentina couldn't see her. The gesture was instinctual, like agreement was her only language with this woman. "But you still like apple pie, right?" she asked hopefully.

"I do."

Lilith's relief was immediate, too sharp for how little the words gave her.

"So maybe you'd like to come over? I just started, but it won't take too long." The question slipped out sounding too desperate, even though she tried to lace it with casualness.

"I unfortunately can't," Valentina said, sounding almost a little disappointed. "Amber is coming over, and she'll be here in five minutes."

The air in Lilith's kitchen stilled. She stopped the knife in her hand, wanting to throw it against the wall and stop doing anything at all.

For one reckless second, she considered begging. Just asking Valentina to come anyway, to choose her, to prove she mattered more than anyone and anything else. But the thought tasted pathetic, and she swallowed it down.

"It's okay... so how's—" she began, reaching for another topic, maybe work, maybe the woman's day, anything to keep her tethered to the sound of Valentina's voice.

"I need to go. Okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Have a good night." Lilith's voice barely carried the words.

"Eat well," Valentina said at last, her tone soft but insistent, as if she were quietly ordering Lilith to savor her evening.

Then the line went dead.

Lilith stood still for a moment, the phone cooling in her hand, before throwing it straight from her kitchen towards the couch. It landed with a dull thud, and the silence that followed felt unbearable.

Her favorite person couldn't come to her. Couldn't spare her more than a few minutes. Couldn't even finish the conversation. And still, Lilith knew—no one else would turn it into such a big deal. No one else could make a simple absence sting like this.

She turned back to the counter, the apples glistened, waiting for her to finish what she started.

She told herself she would.

She told herself she would enjoy the pie alone.

She told herself she wouldn't think of Valentina again tonight.

And if she did—if her thoughts circled back to her, as they always did—it would be with hatred.