A/N: Angst level is pretty high at the beginning of this chapter, as the trigger warnings suggest, but bear with me - it's going to get better. PLEASE review, fav, follow, tell your friends, all those lovely things. I adore feedback. And it makes me write faster.
TW: References to past abuse, and description of an anxiety attack and the aftermath.
BREAK
I wake up shaking in the middle of the night. There's someone here, in my bed. It's happened before, but I'm just as terrified as the first time. I struggle, trying to break away from the grip the attacker has on me. There's a scream in the back of my throat but I know that if I let it out, things will only get worse. My fist collides with something and I shrink back, waiting for the retaliation. I force my body to freeze. I can't stop my heart from racing, I can't control my breathing, but at least if I stop fighting, it'll be over faster. I shut out everything, sound, smell, touch-
"EMMA!"
I flinch. There's someone leaning over me. I hold my breathe and squeeze my eyes tight shut. I'm not here. I'm not even alive.
"EMMA! It's me, it's Regina."
Regina?
I open my eyes. I'm still fighting for air, I'm rigid on my back in a bed, her bed. She's close, not too close, but as if she's trying to see what's wrong. As I slowly ground myself, remembering everything I learned in therapy (when they finally accepted I didn't want to take pills), I realise she has a red mark on her face, around her eye. It's already swelling. Finally, I make the connections in my mind.
I woke up in her arms. Regina's arms. Regina, who was trying to look after me, who cares about me. I woke up in her arms and I had a panic attack. I had a panic attack and I hit her. I scramble out of the bed and run to the opposite end of the room.
She follows me, though.
"Stay back," I say, holding my hands out in front of me as if to hold her away. She stops, but doesn't retreat.
"Emma, I want you to breathe with me. I'm Regina, your friend, and you're in my bedroom. You were sleeping and I think you had a nightmare, and then a panic attack. Everything is going to be okay now. I'm here with you, you're safe, and it'll help if you breathe, nice and slow. Try to focus on my voice, Emma. I'll stay over here, but I'm not leaving, and unless it bothers you, I'm going to keep talking, so you can focus on my voice. Breathe, in for four seconds, out for four…"
She breathes; I copy. I've been taught this too. I breathe with her until my hands stop shaking, until my heart slows down, until my head stops pounding. By the time my body has returned to normal, the swelling on Regina's face is quite pronounced and a darker red.
"You should put some ice on that," I whisper.
She winks with her good eye. I see that she's terrible at winking. I giggle. It's what she wanted.
"You should see the other guy," she tells me. "Come on, you could use a glass of water."
I nod. She knows everything. I follow her downstairs; she fetches me the water, and only then does she finally get ice for herself - well, frozen peas wrapped in a cloth. She gasps softly as she presses them to her face.
"You pack quite a punch, Miss Swan," she tells me. I stare at the floor. I want to leave, I can't believe I hit her, but also, I hit her, and I want to do what she wants. Also, I'm burning with questions. There's one in particular that I can't hold back any longer.
"How do you know how to manage panic attacks?" I blurt out.
I'm thinking maybe she did a psychology class in college or something, but the real answer is far from any of my ideas.
"I have an anxiety disorder," she says. "I know what to do because I do it for myself."
I'm stunned. I have so many more questions. What happened to her? I realise I know almost nothing about her life before she had Henry. I panic because of what happened to me as a child. I begin to wonder what her childhood was like, and why she identifies with me so much. She sees me thinking.
"I'm not interested in helping you because I see myself in you, Emma. We do seem to have some… troubles, in common, but we are unique individuals, and I want to help you because of you, not me."
I nod.
"How did you get to be so smart?" I ask. She chuckles at the childish question.
"Baby, I was born this way," she jokes. "I read a lot, though. And I suppose, past experience gives me an idea of what your fears and suspicions might be. I still worry, when people are kind to me, whether they are genuine."
We're in her kitchen. She hops up to sit on the counter; I lean against the opposite one, watching her. She somehow seems far older, and far younger, than she is. I check the clock on the microwave. It's 4am. I take a deep breath.
"I was…" I whisper, my voice trailing off into the night. "Sometimes, when I wake up, I feel like I'm still back there," I say in the end. "I'm so, so sorry I hurt you."
She smiles from behind the peas.
"I'm fine, I promise. I'm sorry I didn't think to… I should have been more aware. Sometimes I snuggle in my sleep."
"No," I say. "No, it wasn't your fault, you did nothing wrong, and also…"
She waits. She almost asks, I see her lips move. She has so much control, though.
"I like it when you hold me," I say.
"You don't have to say that."
"It's the truth," I promise. "I… It was the nightmare. But I don't want to hurt you again."
"You won't."
"Regina, I-"
"I trust you, Emma."
"It's not as simple as trust."
"You're right… But I've seen it now. I know what to expect."
I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. I want to hug her. I want to believe that she's safe with me. There's a thought in the back of my mind suggesting maybe that's not the only problem. I know that I can control myself. She's not in danger from me, not really. But it's much easier to haul out what happened tonight, to turn it into something huge, to paint myself as a monster, than to admit I might be afraid that I'm not safe with her.
"You should go back to bed," I say quietly. "I'll sleep on the couch."
"I have a guest room-"
"The couch is fine," I say, my voice hard, almost cruel.
She slips off the counter. She's trying to read me, trying to follow my mind, but I remain cold. She dumps the peas in the sink, the loud thunk they make the only indication of her frustration. She reaches out and brushes her fingers against my shoulder.
"I'm not going to push, Emma. But neither should you," she says gently.
It's the first time she's implied I might be wrong, that she might be mad at me. I can't put it into words, or even into coherent thoughts, but I know what she means. I want more than anything to run after her, to follow her upstairs and get the hug I'm desperate for, but I hold myself back. I leave the kitchen and pad through the house. There's a blanket on the back of the couch and I curl up under it, hugging my knees to my chest.
BREAK
I wake up to see Regina sitting Indian style on the coffee table, complete with a cup of coffee in her hands. She's watching me, and boy, I've given her a shiner.
"You didn't come upstairs," she states. I sit up, pulling the blanket with me. I don't know what to say.
"You can tell me," she says.
"I know," I reply. "But you won't like it."
"I like this less."
I reach out and take her hand, inviting her onto the couch. She sits beside me. I can feel tears welling up behind my eyes as she puts down her coffee and envelopes me in a tight hug. I wrap myself into her and ignore everything else. I feel myself start to cry. She rubs circles on my back.
"I hurt you, and I'm crying," I say in the end. "This is stupid."
"I don't think it is."
"I… I want to trust you…" I begin.
"But you don't?"
I tuck my head down, snuggling against her chest. She strokes my hair. When I don't move, she takes it out of the braid, until it's a mass of curls pouring down my back.
"I want to." I pause. "But I don't know anything about you."
She still holds me, her moving hands telling me she's listening, thinking…
"You know about Henry," she says, but she's not really being defensive, she's just continuing the conversation.
"He's not you," I say. I feel her nod.
"You're right. You don't know about my childhood. Do you…" She's nervous. Somehow, I'm amazed. She's so put together. How can she be nervous? "Do you want to?"
I look up at her. Her dark eyes are glassy with memory. She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.
"I don't want to change the way you look at me," she whispers. "It's selfish, but with you, and even with my son, I get to feel like… I get to feel strong. Good. I don't want revenge or retribution. I'm not in pain. I can actually make things better."
I sit up, balancing us, putting us on the same level.
"But if you don't tell me anything, if you… If it only goes one way, we're not equal."
"I don't need what you do, Emma."
"No. But you need someone to care for you. Everybody does."
She smiles ruefully. "You're right, of course. I want you to know, Em, I never thought of you as anything less… In fact, I think you're better. You're far more of a person than I think I'll ever be. You have so much passion, so much drive." She bites her lip. "For a very long time, I believed myself to be worth no more than property. Property of my family, then property of my husband. My family had a lot of money, and assets they wished to preserve. I'm an only child, so the preservation fell to me. I did my duty, I did everything I was supposed to. Henry was born and for a little while, everything was perfect. I'd done everything I had to, and I'd done it well. He was a beautiful baby. But then we found out he was sick, and I was a failure again. This time, though, I wouldn't accept it. I loved my son, I didn't care if he was sick, I didn't want another baby to replace him, so I… I left. I got away. But I'm not a strong woman, Emma. Not on my own. I did it for him, not me."
"That doesn't make you any less strong," I tell her.
She shrugs. She looks smaller than I've ever seen her. For the first time, I consider the possibility that sometimes, she might be just as small as me.
"I allowed a lot of things to happen to me. Bad things. I never fought back. I never even considered fighting back."
I don't back down. "Maybe that was the strongest you could be."
Again, she shrugs, a tiny raise of her shoulders.
"You are too kind to me, Emma."
I look pointedly at her bruised face. "Then you're way too kind to me."
"Perhaps that's true. I…" she holds me more tightly as she considers her wording. "I share very little. Please be patient with me. Slow as you are to trust, I fear I may be even slower."
"Okay."
It's the first thing she's asked of me, the first thing I can do for her, and it feels wonderful. Suddenly I'm smiling, grinning at her confused expression.
"What?" she asks, catching my smile without meaning to, reflecting it back at me, looking almost childishly young.
"It's funny," I try to explain.
"What is?"
"Us."
And then I'm laughing, and it doesn't take long for her to laugh to. It's just so ridiculous. She's my teacher. I was supposed to be working with her to make up extra credit. And then I just wanted to sleep with her. And now she's like… Like my best friend. The one person I might trust. And she has a sick kid and a screwed up past to rival mine and we've broken so many rules and we aren't even doing that any more, we're just curled up on her couch under a too-small blanket, laughing our butts off at this crazy-ass world.
When we've calmed down enough, Regina leans forward and picks up her now lukewarm coffee. She offers the mug to me and in the end we share it, waking up, and then she puts the mug back down and pulls me into a hug.
"I'm so glad you're here, Emma."
"Me too," I murmur.
I tilt my head up to look at her again; she looks into my eyes and I can see exactly what she wants and it's what I want too, what I really want. No role play, no games, just… I press my lips against hers, slow at first, almost tentative. She waits, following my lead, holding me, but her mouth opens instantly when I suggest it with my tongue. We kiss more and more deeply, moving together. Somehow I end up on top of her, our hips rolling as we easily fall into a rhythm. All of the tension, all of the worry, seems to evaporate when I'm kissing her. I feel her relax, I feel my head stop aching-
"Emma?" She turns her head. I move down to kiss her neck; her breathing is a sure sign she's enjoying it, but I know she's about to stop me.
"Emma, we should go see Henry…"
Her body's still moving with mine, but reluctantly I slow down, giving her one final peck on the lips before pulling away.
"Breakfast?" she asks, getting up and strolling to the kitchen as if we haven't just had the deepest conversation of our relationship followed by a teenage-style makeout session on her couch.
I take a moment to get my head back in gear.
"I don't have any clothes," I realise. She chuckles.
"We'll find something. I guess shorts of mine won't look too strange? Or you can wear pants and roll them, like cut offs."
I stand up. I'm always surprised by how tiny she is when she doesn't have heels on. She's looking in the fridge, now.
"How hungry are you?" she calls from inside it.
I run my hands up her sides and when she shivers, it's not from the cold.
"Emma," she says with a sigh. She stands and turns so she's facing me. She kisses me on the cheek. "Later?" she suggests. "I can pick you up from work."
I sigh back. "Fine."
She laughs. "Remember, dear, I'm an old woman. I can't get going so early in the morning."
"Liar," I laugh back.
"Go raid my closet. I'll cook something."
"I'm fine with just fruit loops…" I say, exploring her cupboards in search of cereal.
"I'm afraid I don't have any. How about pancakes?"
I look at her in amazement. "Really?"
"Yes," she says slowly, not understanding what could be so special about pancakes. She follows me to the cupboard I have open and stands on tiptoe to take down a packet of chocolate chips. My eyes widen even further. She shakes her head, amused.
I go upstairs to find clothes; I choose a pair of denim shorts and a long sleeved black and white striped t-shirt. I leave my hair down for once, since it's still so curly, and after a search of almost the entire house wondering where I could have left them, locate my sneakers in the laundry room. They are somehow perfectly dry. My socks from the day before are clean and dry too. Maybe Regina's magic.
When I return to the kitchen, there is a huge plate of chocolate chip pancakes on the table, accompanied by a bowl of fruit, two glasses of OJ, syrup, and two mugs of coffee. Regina is not there, but she comes in behind me, slipping her hand in mine. We stand there, looking at breakfast, for a long time. I don't know what she's thinking, but I thank her in my mind, over and over, for giving me this… This place. This person to go to, this house where I'm safe, this table full of breakfast.
"You even dried my sneakers."
She's still looking at the table, but out of the corner of my eye I see her smile. It's a strange kind of smile, not even happy, exactly, just there, like… Like this is how things should be. I think far more than I say to her. I worry I'm not saying enough.
"Thank you," I say, putting emphasis on both words, trying to convey how much they mean.
"It was my pleasure," she replies honestly.
"I could wash your car!" I say suddenly. She does look at me, now. Her eyebrows ask the question her mouth doesn't need to. I stumble a little over my answer.
"I mean, you've done so much for me, and you have more stuff and a place of your own but really you have so much to deal with and I can say thank you until I'm blue in the face but what I really want to do is something useful for you, you know? Like you cleaned and dried my clothes and made me coffee and breakfast and fetched me when I ran in the storm like an idiot and let me stay here just because I wanted to and I want to do something back. And you're really clean and neat and I'm much messier so when I'm in my own crappy clothes, of course, I was thinking that I could wash your car."
I can see that she's trying not to laugh, but I know from her eyes that she's not laughing at me, just at the way I spoke. I want to laugh, too.
"Yes, please," she says, grinning. "That would be great." She takes a step forward, still holding my hand. "Shall we eat, now?"
I nod, but I don't move. "What were you thinking about?" I ask. She looks at the table, then back at me.
"It's hard to put it into words. I was thinking… To put it simply, I suppose I was thinking about how nice it was to have someone to eat breakfast with, and how much I would have liked that in the past, even though I didn't know it until this moment. I eat alone a lot. I never realised I minded."
"You should teach me," I decide. "So tomorrow, I can make breakfast for you."
We go to sit down. I don't want to let go of her hand, despite the impracticality. She laughs when I don't, then switches our hands so we're holding left and left, sitting opposite each other. It's silly, but I guess we need that. We eat one handed, goofy and awkward, and we don't let go until we leave the table. A lot of times in the system, I didn't know where my next meal was coming from, so I instinctively wolf down my food, focusing on consuming the greatest possible quantity in the shortest possible time. But today I manage to slow up a bit, enjoying the delicious food, enjoying the company.
I see her watching me. I'm watching her too. I swallow my last mouthful, then squeeze her hand a little tighter.
"This morning, earlier, you said everything's going to be okay. I believe you, you know."
She smiles, and returns the squeeze of my hand.
"When I look at you, Emma, I believe me, too."
BREAK
A/N: This section ended up a lot longer than I expected, but I felt like the characters needed it. Please tell me what you think!