forced | d.m.

45.waning

July '01 | H E R

Twenty-four hours later, Althea is knocking at the door belonging to the only person who she wants to see right now.

Basil's smile morphs into a grimace as soon as he sees Thea's deeply puffy, red face. An entire day's worth of crying would do that to you.

"I'm sorry. I don't buy anything from strangers."

She snorts, glad to know she came to the right place. Without need of invitation, she strolls inside, half-surprised to see Rhode sitting at the kitchen island.

It's hit or miss if she's there.

Her sympathetic frown is not what Althea cares for, nor is the hug she intends to give when standing up. Holding up a hand to signal exactly that, she makes a beeline for the cabinet holding liquor.

"You don't mind?" She throws over her shoulder.

"Surely not." Basil comes and pick the glasses himself.

The first shot, Thea throws back before he can finish pouring the other ones. Slammikg her glass down, she demands another. Reluctantly, he supplies her with it.

Alcohol has to do it for her. Something has to.

Doing the same again, she says, "One more."

He slides a plate with a slice of pizza before her, taken from the open box. "First, clear this. You look like you haven't eaten all day."

"I haven't." And she is not being told twice to dig. Grease is exactly what she needed. "I haven't left my bed until I came here. I mean I apparated from my bed. That is such a random thing when you think about it—I mean, who apparates from under comfy covers. But it's so convinient because how long do you lie in your bed and procrastinate getting up and ready?"

Also the reason why she is in her jammies from the night before.

"Here," Basil puts a second slice on the her plate. "This one too."

Gladly.

"Okay, so, why exactly do you look like you have an allergic reaction?"

Basil magically tugs on Rhode's hair because he's on the other side of the island, too far away to reach her herself.

Thea doesn't understand and doesn't care to.

"Draco cheated, again," she informs. "To be fair, I just told him we could explore the option and he absolutely went for it. And then he came to me after and said some shitty stuff that I would really love to have obliviated and I can't imagine ever facing him again." She looks up from her pizza, blinking through the stinging. "How was your Friday?"

Basil and Rhode both blink at her.

"Why does it bother you so much?" The latter asks carefully. "It's what this has all been leading up to."

Althea looks at her. The look.

Thankfully, Rhode gets it because spelling it out would cost too much. "Don't tell me you're in love with him."

Okay, the disappointed tone may be justified, but Thea doesn't want to hear it.

Too soon. Too much. Too bad.

"I think I am," So it's easy to admit afterall, thanks to her tongue being loosened from the alcohol.

"Oh, please. I think we're dealing with Stockholm syndrome."

"What do you mean?"

"You're living with the guy for a year, willingly slept in the same bed for most of it, you married him, for godsake—you're bound to think you love him." Rhode leans over the counter. "But let me tell you something, sweet Lia—you're so much better than him. You deserve so much better."