Be Still

You can't bring yourself to hate Elphaba Thropp any longer.

You're not sure what's brought this about. It may be the way she lounges, stretched out on her bed, one hand holding a rather large book in her lap while the other arm drapes lazily over the top of the binding. It may be her quick wit, and the way she always has a counter attack for any slew of insults you direct towards her. Perhaps it is even that smile, small and fleeting though it is, that graces her face every now and then when she reads a particularly fascinating and engaging passage. But whatever it is, it's got the loathing inside you dulling to nothingness with each passing day.

The specific, defined turning point, however, comes one calm, quiet night in the room you share. You are awoken from your slumber by… well, you're not quite sure what's awoken you. A warm breeze flits in through the window, and crickets crick softly just outside, and all seems right and peaceful.

But it's not peaceful, and very much not right, if the whimper from across the room is any indication. You frown, curious, and prop yourself up on one elbow, listening. It comes again, a bit louder, the slightest bit more distraught, and altogether quite unsettling.

"Miss Elphaba?" you whisper, gently, nervously. "Miss Elphaba, are you quite all right?"

Your roommate does not reply, only shifts and hunches her shoulders, her back to you as she curls tightly on her side. You furrow your perfect blonde brow and then quickly reverse the action – you mustn't go about giving yourself wrinkles! You maneuver to the green girl's bed and peer down at her, and become increasingly unnerved.

Elphaba's eyes are open, but only just, and they are fogged. You deduce she must be dreaming. Tears make steaming red tracks down her face, and you remember her allergy to water. Her brows curve slightly in the way those of a person in pain might, mouth tight with sadness. Her jaw works, locking and unlocking, and she whimpers again.

"Oh Elphie," you sigh, the endearment slipping out before you can stop it, and you decide you rather like it. "You foolish green thing, you're hurting yourself." You mean it in more ways than one. You gently press the pads of your thumbs to the streaks on Elphaba's face, rubbing them soothingly. Elphaba moans again and says "Please. I'm sorry."

Elphaba does not have nightmares like other normal people. When any other person might scream and thrash, the green girl is mostly quiet, and stays quite still, rigid almost, all her muscles coiled to a point where you fear she might pull something.

"It's all right," you murmur, feeling you should reassure her. "It's all right, dear, don't be sorry. I'm not mad. Just relax. Shh." You gently rub circles into her back, willing the tension to eke out.

"It's my fault," Elphaba opines, voice breaking and small, and your heart cracks. "It's not," you say, even though you have no idea what she is referring to. "You didn't do anything. Please relax, darling, relax. That's it." You're relieved when she begins to do what you say, shoulders slumping and muscles unwinding. A small sigh slips through her parted lips and she blinks, and suddenly she has returned.

"Galinda?" She sounds small, scared. Sad.

"Go back to sleep. I'll stay with you." She looks too distraught, too exhausted, to deny you or make any obscene comments like she usually would, and that makes your eyes dull with sadness. Nevertheless you climb into bed behind her, draping one arm over her waist carefully, hoping not to upset her further. A pregnant silence ensues, and you shift before finally venturing to say "Consider yourself lucky, Miss Elphie. Only for you would I be caught dead in these hideocious brown sheets."

This elicits a snort and a chuckle, along with a sarcastic "I'm honored, truly." And you know she'll be all right.