The art of getting better

Chapter eight

Baby, you got me like ah, woo, ah

Don't you stop loving me, loving me

Don't quit loving me, loving me

Just start loving me, loving me, babe

Love on the brain - Rihanna

"So how did it go yesterday?" was how Allison greeted Lydia when she entered the gym locker room that Tuesday.

"Well hello to you too." The redhead half-smiled letting her black bag fall onto the bench.

"You really need to find a new line. That one's getting old." Replied the taller woman slipping her red blouse over her head and picking up an old-looking t-shirt.

"It's getting better, by the way. There are still a lot of silence and awkward stares, but it's getting better. She said we should try to spend more time together. We need to talk and we know it... so we decided to go somewhere this Sunday. Just, you know, a short trip, maybe to the beach."

The brunette smiled. "Is it just me, or you're starting to believe in what you're doing?" she teased.

Lydia looked hit in a sour spot, her lips curled like she had just eaten a whole lemon. "You know I don't. We had our ride, it was beautiful, but it's over. It's time to get over it. For our own good."

"Did you just hear yourself? You don't even believe in what you're saying. You can't deny you're affected by him. You still like him."

Lydia glanced at her left and right with nervous eyes. The changing room was empty, just the two of them and a row of empty lockers.

"Allison, please. Not now."

"When then? I can't stand seeing you like this, not anymore. Scott and I can't stand seeing you two tearing each other to pieces and bleeding tears. You have to do something L."

The shorter woman brought her hands in her hair, her lips parted in a "O" full of surprise. "You think I don't already know that? I- I'm no good for him. I keep saying the wrong thing, keep making the same mistakes, he needs to move on. It's my fault Allison. All of this. All of this is just my-"

The brunette tied her hair in a high ponytail pulling the hair bend so much her hairline hurt. "Shut up. Do not say that even as a joke. What happened- what happened wasn't your fault. And wasn't his. It was nobody's fault, you two just got caught in the crossfire."

Lydia flopped down on the bench, her voice broken. "You know it isn't true. It was me. I had-I have something wrong. I just can't- I'm not able to- I mean I tried, I did everything they said me to do. I-"

"Lydia. Quit it. Stop playing the victim." Allison put her hands on the redhead's shoulders. "Stop mourning and get that ass up, do something. I know you can, both of you. I've seen you becoming friends, becoming lovers. I was there at your wedding and all the days that came after that and I can say for sure your love is real. Stop complaining and start believing, okay?"

The redhead wiped her tears, suddenly ashamed of her outburst. She was glad the locker room was empty and got up wearing her dark leggings.

"Thanks, Ally. I- I needed it."

"I know." The other woman flashed her a warm smile.

---

Lydia closed the door leaving her keys in the little fabric-bin "I'm home." She murmured to no one. Stiles wasn't there: he worked till late on Tuesday and she didn't really mind that.