AN: This chapter was revised as of 7/13/11. It now spans two chapters. A lengthier explanation can be found on ch. 11.
Chapter Ten: Seeking Good and Attention
As my carriage pulls through the gates of Shiz University, I swallow the lump in my throat and will my hands not to shake.
Spring term is almost over. The sun is blazing full force in the sky and the students have gathered outside on benches and blankets to soak up the hot rays. I have returned to collect my belongings. Or, rather, Galinda Upland's belongings. They are relics from another life. Only two weeks have passed since I left the campus to travel to the Emerald City, but it feels like a lifetime. Everything is exactly as it was, yet nothing is the same.
Students gawk at my carriage as it travels toward Crage Hall, but the Gale Force officers who are flanking me on horseback keep anyone from getting too close. I'm sure I've been the talk of all Shiz since my departure. I draw the curtain shut over my window.
If we never went to the Emerald City to begin with, I'd be out there on the dark blue stone walkways: just another student instead of a national celebrity. I'd be wearing my delicate lavender sundress and fanning myself with my Oznomics textbook, bemoaning the unfairness of classes on such a beautiful day. Once my last class was over, I'd meander down to the Humanities building, where a certain green girl would have just finished with her last class of the day, too.
She'd be wearing a sundress: perhaps my pale cream one. It comes to mid-calf on me, but it would graze the tops of her knees. The shortness of the dress, no doubt, would have been the source of an argument earlier in the morning: an argument I would have won. Elphie would have huffed about the scandal of showing her bony green kneecaps for all of two minutes before wrenching the dress from my hands and pulling it over her head. I might have brushed my bare toes over one such kneecap later, during our lunch, to reward her obedience. She would have shivered a little bit, her mouth twisting oddly as she tried to decide whether it would be appropriate to show pleasure at the gesture.
I did so enjoy pushing Elphie's boundaries and making her squirm, perhaps because I found it profoundly adorable. And for however stubborn she was otherwise, I had the girl eating out of my hand - sometimes literally. No matter how much she protested against my ministrations, she'd bend to my will eventually, even when it made her desperately uncomfortable. Miss-High-And-Mighty-Against-The-Grain was always strangely eager to please me. She received my approval with coy smiles and darkened cheeks. Her uncharacteristical girlishness and utter vulnerability were reserved for my eyes alone, and I was far too narrow-sighted to realize what a gift that was when I still had it.
I was so torn up over my own feelings that, by the time it occurred to me that Elphie returned them, forces greater than us were prying us apart. It was too late: too late to love her the way that she deserved to be loved, like something rare and beautiful.
I pinch the soft skin between my thumb and forefinger hard to bring myself back to present moment.
My guards stand respectfully outside my former dorm room, giving me some privacy to go through my things. My breath catches in my throat as I look around; it's as if we never left. Our beds are made; there's not a sheet untucked. Nothing is out of place. The books on Elphie's shelves are neatly organized, but they're starting to gather a fine layer of dust.
Her things were apparently of no value to her father or Nessarose, because neither of them has bothered to collect them. The lack of caring on their end disgusts me. I hope I don't cross paths with Nessa on this trip. Morrible has reminded me over and over that everything I do or say is now a reflection on the Wizard, and that is not a responsibility to be taken lightly. The political implications of a situation must always be at the forefront of my mind. Translation: I can not rip Nessa's hair strand-by-strand from her ever-so-grateful head, because she is successor to the Governorship of Munchkinland, and we do not want to compromise our relations.
A small part of me believed that Elphie herself would return for her things, creeping in under the cover of darkness to grab some clothes and a book or two. Perhaps she could have left a note on my dresser telling me that she was all right.
How hard would it be for her to magic-spell me such a letter? She could write a letter that only I could read, bewitch the paper to catch fire in anyone else's hands. Surely it wouldn't be difficult for a girl who can fly on a broom and make wings sprout from the backs of monkeys. Just are few words are all I'd need from her now. Glinda, I'm okay. Glinda, I miss you. Glinda, I loved you.
Obviously not enough. Shut the curtain, Glinda.
I look over my own things and sigh, because there is so much here that I won't be needing. My bed sheets, for starters: they will not fit on the huge, four-poster bed in the suite I'm moving into. Then, there is the matter of my clothes. Several days ago, I was fitted by one of the Emerald City's most prestigious dressmakers, who will be supplying outfits for all of my public engagements. I imagine there will be many more absurdly ruffled, glittering gowns to make me look like the fabled fairy queen herself. Perhaps one of the dresses will be made out of bubbles. Heavy leaden ones.
The wardrobe of a student, however fashionable, has no place in the Wizard's palace. I feel more inclined to hang onto my housecoat, slippers and nightdresses than any of the fashionable outfits I was once so proud to own. However, I pack the cream-colored suit and beret that I wore on my first day of classes: a little bit of nostalgia for a simpler life. Everything else can go to charity. And by charity, I don't mean Pfannee and company. The society girls of Shiz tend to turn their noses up at hand-me-downs, but I'm sure they would descend like vultures on my wardrobe if given the opportunity. I thought briefly about letting them do it, but there are those in Oz who are actually needy.
If one disregards my neglected former roommate, I haven't had much contact with the needy, the poor and the hungry. In fact, I have been brought up to avoid them. But that's all about to change. When I return to the Emerald City, I am departing almost immediately for an official tour of Oz: a charity tour designed by Morrible to elevate the public opinion of the Wizard. It's a counter-measure to Elphie's slander, which has appeared across many skylines. The odd thing about it is that she's been traveling North through Gillikin, but our first stop on the tour will be in Quadling County. We are traveling South to Qhoyre to deliver food and medicine to the struggling population.
I am nervous. I only hope that I can live up to the title that his Ozness has bestowed upon me: Glinda the Good. Learning to be a palace official isn't as easy as putting on a dress. And being truly good is harder still. It is hard to separate one's own selfish motivations and desires from truly benevolent urges. I am more than a little frightened by how much I like the sound of applause.
I've just finished clearing out the drawer in my nightstand. I stow letters from Fiyero, Boq and a handful of other lovelorn boys in my luggage, if only so that I can burn them upon my return to the palace. I've gone through everything that I own, but most of my trunk space is still empty. After a few moments of wavering, I take all the books down from Elphie's shelves and put them in with my things. It's a weird thing to do, but once I've started, I can't stop myself. I take every frock in her closet and every stocking from her dresser. I take her sheets and her pillow, noting the absence of the little glass bottle that was her mother's. She must have taken it with her to the meeting with the Wizard, tucked in her satchel or in one of her boots. I hope that, wherever she is, it brings her comfort.
I hope that if she returns it will be a comfort that I've saved her belongings. I hope she returns. We have so much unfinished business between us.
Quadling County does not agree with me at all. The humidity is brutal, like nothing I have ever known in the Uplands. My clothes cling to my skin in a most unappealing fashion. No amount of brushing can tame the frizziness that the climate has wrought on my poor hair. I have to pull it up in a tight twist just to keep it from sticking to the back of my neck. I am thankful that Morrible and I have separate carriages. However, the woman seems to be cursed with the smallest bladder in all of Oz, forcing the entire entourage to stop nearly every hour in search of a toilet.
And, with the exception of a few military outposts, the toilets here are nothing more than holes in the ground. I have never - literally, even - stooped quite so low in my life. Not to mention, if I step outside the carriage, I am instantly swarmed by mosquitoes. It takes all my willpower not to itch at the swollen bites which now cover my ankles. I want to just forget this whole mission and go home, but I don't know where home is anymore. Surely it's not Frottica, not Shiz. And it's not the Emerald City either. My trunks sit, unpacked, in my empty suite as we clatter on Southward.
By contrast to my misery, Helene seems thrilled to be here. She stares dreamily out the window at the marshlands, as if she can see rubies glittering beneath the mud. "I'm one-quarter Quadling, you know," she tells me. I think she's making that up. A girl who doesn't remember her parents surely can't know her own heritage.
"Your skin tone screams Gillikinese loud and clear," I say, with a gentle roll of my eyes. Aside from the freckles that litter her cheeks, she is almost as pale as me.
"I have some Quadling mysticism in me, though; I'm sure of it," my maid asserts. "That's why I am so good at reading fortunes. I thought about making a career of it, but Oz's oldest profession pays far better. You should let me read your cards sometime, Miss Prissybloomers. I've got to keep my skills sharp somehow."
"I don't wish to know my fortune," I sigh, leaning back against my upholstered seat. One of the carriage's tires hits a bump in the road, jarring my spine.
"But Miss Glinda, there could be some dark and handsome stranger lurking right around the bend," Helene grins slyly. "And if that were the case, you wouldn't want to be caught looking so Ozdamned miserable."
"There is no one," I say flatly. "And if I'm miserable, it's just because of this infernal mugginess."
"Oh, I have a suspicion that little pittery heart of yours has been very recently broken. Either that, or you've witnessed a bloodbath of epic proportions. I can't think of any other explanation for how numb and dazed you are," she comments.
"When you say that, I hear 'come on now, Glinda; tell your secrets to the palace gossip so that as soon as we return to the Emerald City, I can go spill them all over the scullery,'" I groan.
"I'm not a gossip!" Helene groans, looking offended.
"Then why do I know the torrid affairs of all the laundry maids, even though I've never met any of them myself? Or do you make those up too, quite like your Quadling heritage?" I think I am being mean now. It wasn't my intention. But I'm hot and cranky and the last thing I want is anyone prying into my past, however recent. The wound is still too raw.
Helene reaches over and pats my arm. "I only tell you their torrid affairs when you look like you could use some cheering up. It's not my fault that happens to be all the time."
"So, why Quadling County, of all places?" I ask, trying to change the subject. "I thought we might go North, on the trail of El- the Witch. We might try to calm the nerves of the people she's been terrorizing with her treasonous words in the sky."
"Don't be dense, you're from Frottica. You know that nothing terrorizes the Pertha Hills except for drops in the stock market," she says. She's right. There's very little method to Elphie's madness. The Uplanders are probably rolling their eyes at her displays, if they notice them at all. She hasn't stopped to consider her audience, whereas that seems to be all I do. That is why all of Oz is paying more attention to me than her.
I hope she's found some allies, wherever she is: friends to give her a warm bed at night and rein her in from doing anything too risky or irrational. I also hope that she doesn't get too close to them. I can't imagine anyone else being allowed to hold her at the moment her angry rants dissolve into tears. I can't imagine someone being allowed to see the softness that she hides behind her scowling sarcasm. I don't want anyone to replace what I was to her, however selfish that is.
I know that Quadling Country came up once, in one of her late-night tirades. I wish I could remember what it was she said now. Something about ruby mines exploiting the locals for cheap labor? She wondered why the Wizard didn't intervene, and I said that he must be busy attending to more important things. Apparently, those things included trying to eradicate the rights of Animals.
I am becoming a little bit jaded. Oz will never be a utopia. And we could have worse, as far as leaders go. The Wizard likes making his people happy. In the end, is it possible that he does enough good to balance out the harm? I think that we all do good and harm alike, but the challenge is to do a greater measure of good. I contemplate asking Helene for her opinion, but I decide against it. Most people don't think too much about these things.
Elphie did, but Elphie is gone. Elphie is gone, I mentally repeat, and I can't stop living because of it. If I constantly wonder where she is, what she's doing, or what could have been, I will drive myself mad. I got by just fine before I knew her. I will get by just fine again. But can't deny that I'm different now… I'm so much different than I was when we first met. My former roommate was always pushing my boundaries, too, forcing me to grow. And I've been forced to grow so much more in her absence than I ever thought I was capable of. I never thought it possible that I'd be living this life.
The carriage comes to a halt. "Don't tell me that woman has to piss again," my maid groans dramatically, forehead in her hands.
It turns out that Morrible called us to a stop so that we can prepare for our grand entrance to Qhoyre. For me, that means pulling off my cotton tunic and slipping into a draping gown of gold lame. Helene smooths down my frizzed hair with some pomade, dabs gold powder on my eyelids, and places a tiara on my head. Then we pull down a ladder from the ceiling of my coach and I climb through a hatch onto the roof. I'm not wearing shoes; they would make this feat impossible. I take a seat on the small bench, railed-in from all sides. Helene passes me my scepter and I give my okay to the driver to start moving again. As we pass through the city limits of Qhoyre, I pull a lever beside my seat to activate the newest bubble machine, which is the reason my carriage takes an extra horse to pull. Bubbles spew forth from every corner of the vehicle, drifting low in the hazy air.
My driver sounds a trumpet to announce our arrival in the city. Despite being weary from the road, we make an impressive procession, decked out in green and gold: from my outfit, to our carriages, to the uniforms of the Gale Force officers who ride alongside us.
According to Morrible, the Quadlings are used to military passing through; the presence of soldiers is necessary to protect shipments of precious rubies bound for the Emerald City. But the locals are obviously not used to bona fide Emerald City-style spectacle. Quadling citizens of all ages gather by the side of the Yellow Brick Road, eyes wide and mouths agape at the sight of our party. Ruddy-skinned, loincloth-clad children leap in the air, trying to catch the bubbles we spread. Giggling, I wave my scepter, as if I am creating more bubbles just for them.
For the first time since I can remember, the smile on my face isn't forced.
Over the course of the next three days, we are graced by a pleasant breeze, courtesy of Morrible. We spend afternoons outside City Hall, handing out parcels of Munchkin corn, flour and dried meats to the needy, which turns out to be almost everyone here. Most of the Quadlings do not speak our tongue, but their smiles of gratitude speak volumes. Many want to repay us with small trinkets of blown glass. Since it would be impolite to decline their gifts, I quickly end up with a collection of tiny orbs that mimic my bubbles in every imaginable color. I'm secretly pleased that I'm given more of these tokens than Morrible is. She does little more than tolerate the locals. She's more interested in schmoozing with the mayor - a man without a Quadling bone in his body.
Just like every leader in the state, he was instituted by the Emerald City, and if the pomp of his mansion is any indication, he reaps more of the profit from the ruby mines than any of the people he governs. It seems as if the Quadling populace is only, perhaps, a notch above Animals in the Wizard's mind: too innocent and childlike to be capable of ruling over themselves. So they starve in rickety huts while the mayor feasts on their labors. I can see where the word "exploited" may have come into play.
I'm surprised by the sympathy I feel for people who are so much different than I am - I never thought I'd like the common folk of any place more so than the aristocracy.
We are required to return early from our tour of Oz.
We are traveling North through Munchkinland when we receive word that a few farmers in the Corn Basket were forced to release their Animal servants by a green-skinned menace. When one farmer refused, she set fire to his field of crops with her powers, destroying his entire yield. The fire nearly spread to his home, where his wife and children were sleeping. In response to the event, the Governor publicly disowned his daughter, denouncing her as a scourge upon Munchkinland and Oz alike.
If we would have continued in our travels, we would soon be dining at his mansion. I am secretly pleased that I do not have to face the man that made Elphaba think she was unworthy of love, because politics-be-damned, I might have speared him in the eye with the heel of my shoe.
The Wizard is concerned that she will launch a sneak attack on our party. I rather hope she does. For one thing, I miss her desperately. Two months without her feels like an eternity. For another, I want to chastise her for endangering the lives of citizens for her cause, all-too-willingly stepping into the role of Monster that was scripted for her by Morrible and company. But as the thought of crossing paths becomes more of a possibility, I am getting terrified. I am in no way scared that my old friend will harm me. I am more concerned that if we meet on the road, her eyes will gaze coldly past me: that she'll see me as one of "them," like Morrible and the Wizard. I am afraid of discovering that I mean nothing to her anymore, or even worse, that she detests me.
And so, I cling to my mantra as we make our way back: I cannot stop living. I cannot stop living.
We return to the Emerald City without incident. There are no sightings of "the Witch." Back in the palace, I realize almost immediately, that throughout the short-lived tour I was riding on a high. It was the exhilaration of seeing new places and meeting new people, all of whom unquestioningly adored me. The crowds flocked without fail to see my carriage arrive in each new city, even if we came in the dead of night or the middle of a rainstorm. There were the gifts of blown glass from the Quadlings, a bouquet of lilies from twin Munchkin girls, tears of joy from an elderly innkeeper who was thrilled to meet me.
Every one of these people knew my name, but I knew as little about them as they'd ever come to know of the real me. Still, their love was the only source of strength that I had. They needed hope; they needed me, and I needed them just as much.
Without constant contact with my people, I've crashed. I feel lethargic and despondent. I don't know what would have happened if Helene wasn't here to look after me. Despite the hardships she endured before coming to work for the Wizard, she is a spirited little thing: not unlike I once was, if less refined. I can't help thinking the poor girl would have liked me better if she knew me then. Instead, she got stuck with Glinda the Resigned.
In any event, I think she is more excited about my new suite than I am; she keeps me busy with endless questions about where I'd like my furniture and what kinds of decorations I prefer. She fusses over my hair and clothes the way I used to fuss about them. And she worries herself far too much over my lack of sleep. She often finds me late at night, still awake in my study, and presses a mug of warm milk into my hands. She takes care of me. I am grateful. She's really the only friend that I have anymore. That is until the day that Fiyero shows up at my door in full Gale Force regalia.
I knew that my old boyfriend never returned to Shiz. At least that's the word I received from Pfannee, who writes faithfully every week to her "dearest friend" at the palace, in hopes that she will receive an invitation to visit. I am not inclined to answer her correspondence. Still, I wondered what became of the boy. I thought it would be foolish for him to give up on his education; I imagined he transferred to yet another school, where he dances on rooftops with another girl. That would be for the best. As far as I am concerned, there is no place for him in my new, complex misery.
And yet, here he is. In my opinion, he looks horridly silly in military clothes. I hope he didn't hide behind a bush, knock out a guard and strip him! Still, I feel a little panicked. He will obviously want some explanation as to why I cut him off, and I'm not sure that I have it in me to explain.
"What are you doing here?" I ask him frantically. "You shouldn't be here!"
"Nice to see you too," Fiyero says dryly before making a formal bow to me. "I just moved into one of the rooms down the hall and it seemed rude not to introduce myself, seeing as we're neighbors. Fiyero Tiggular, 2nd Lieutenant of the Palace Guard at your service. Now, will you be a good neighbor and invite me in for a cup of tea?" I suppose I might join the military, I remembered him saying once back at Shiz, My title will give me instant rank.
"Come in," I sigh, letting him into the front room of my suite and trying not to make eye contact. "Though the tea will have to wait. I gave my maid leave for the afternoon."
Fiyero struts over to the sofa, sitting down and kicking his feet up on the small serving table. I notice that he now has the muscles to go with his uniform. I might have appreciated that once. Now, I couldn't care less. "Too dainty to touch a stove, are you?" he asks. "You're just as I remember you. And how quickly you've forgotten me." He leans back far too casually.
"I didn't want you to get involved," I say, glowering in his direction. I finally meet his eyes, which have a new hardness in them, just like his biceps. But then again, I'm sure that my eyes do too. "I fought to keep you away! But I see you managed to get involved without my help. Congratu-fucking-lotions, genius."
"Galinda, you wound me," he says sarcastically, placing a hand over his chest. Since when did he become Elphaba? I wonder.
"It's Glinda now," I correct him.
"Right, Glinda the Good," he quips sorely, putting a finger to his chin in an expression of thoughtfulness. "You know, I've been trying to piece this whole thing together since you and Elphaba left Shiz and it doesn't make sense. She's an evil menace to society; you're the light and hope of the Ozian people. Not to mention, a you're a powerful Sorceress whose talents have somehow, suddenly, moved far beyond levitating stones. I would like to know, what happened?" His voice goes softer. "What happened to the three of us?"
"What didn't happen?" I sigh, going to lock the door then sitting down beside him. The damage is done. Fiyero has managed to work his way, without my consent, into the tangled web of palace life and servitude. He deserves to know the truth. Elphie was his friend too. So I tell him.
Well, I tell him the edited version: the one without the kissing and the awkward morning after. I suppose I could have told him about that too, since there is nothing left between us to risk. But it is a moot point now that Elphie is lost to me, and I'd rather not go through the pain of dredging up those memories.
"Hmm," he says, folding his arms across his chest when I finish my story. "I would have gotten on the broom. But I suppose you had ties. For instance, your shoes. Because you certainly didn't stay for me, or even your friends back at Shiz." His face clenches with disgust as he spits the words at me: a response which confirms that my own words sound just as hollow and emotionless as they feel on my tongue. I feel the sting of his anger like a slap.
"Fiyero!" I mean to shout, but it comes out more like a whimper. "You wound me! Really, what help would I have been to Elphie? You know I can't do any real magic! I would have only slowed her down. I'm of better use here, where at least I can make people happy. And I told you, I could stay in the palace or lose my memories. That wasn't much of a choice. You had a choice, so tell me why you chose this."
"I chose this because… for once, maybe I wanted to do something instead of standing idly by," he answers, some of the coldness finally leaving his voice. "Elphaba is making a difference, and I want to make a difference too. I want to protect her. I will see that if she ever sets foot in this palace, no harm will come to her. And as crazy as it sounds, I want to protect you, too. I don't trust the Wizard or Morrible. If they turned on Elphie, who knows when they'll turn on you…"
"I don't need protecting," I reply, once again lacking the conviction that I want to convey.
And then I see that we are both wounded, more by our circumstances than by each other. It is silly for us to fight about it. I reach out for his hand and take it in mine. "Friends?" he asks. I nod and lay my head against his chest.
I'm really not supposed to be leaving the palace unescorted, but that doesn't stop me. I understand that I'm a prime target for kidnapping or what have you, but I can disguise myself and slip away into the city unnoticed. For as much as I like my adoring people, sometimes I adore my solitude.
I borrow plain clothes from Helene, wrap my hair up in an ugly floral scarf, put Emerald sunglasses over my eyes and voila! I'm just another badly-dressed tourist. I guess I really am still more of a tourist here than a resident. I've been roaming the streets aimlessly with the architecture book that Elphie bought for me, visiting every building listed within its pages.
And I've found the most scandalaciously fantastical little bookstore! Yes, you've heard me right. I've taken to reading as of late. Perhaps some of this is my former roommate's influence, but my tastes still differ drastically from hers. (I've tried to read her books; I really have, but they're just so boring!)
Warrior of Vinkus sits on a shelf in my study gathering dust, its cover not cracked since my days at Shiz. But it is now surrounded by other romances. Different romances. There are stories of schoolgirls with forbidden passions for their female professors; ladies spellbound by street performers who dress as men; disreputable relations between the sisters in a mauntery. I devour these kinds of stories with a passion. In some ways, it's like picking at a scab, reminding myself of what could have been. But it's also a stand-in for the romance that my life is decidedly lacking in.
One day, Helene notices the books. "So that's the secret," she says as she wipes down the bookshelf with a dust cloth. "Miss Glinda's heart was broken by a girl. I'm a little bit surprised; you didn't strike me as the type, and I did know plenty of that type on the streets… But I guess it makes sense."
I'm sure I've turned as red as red can be. "It's not like that!" I protest feebly. I'm sure I have all of two hours before the news reaches all points East of the Vinkus.
Helene smiles at me. "My dear," she says, "I know you think me a gossip, but I assure you that I can have some discretion. I owe you my discretion, after everything you've done for me. I promise, I don't judge you. I've seen it all out there, and a passion for one's own gender is pretty tame, all things considered."
"Thank you," I say softly.
"You know, there's a girl that works in the kitchen that you might like to meet," Helene smiles slyly. "She's a bit boyish, but very pretty. And I've heard, quite skilled with her tongue…"
"Helene, I don't want to meet anyone," I said, firmly, blushing at the later part of the comment.
"Well, I won't have you languishing around in this funk forever," she chides. "This is the first time I've seen any color in your cheeks in a while. A little bit of real-life romance would be good for you. Or at least some sex. You can pay for anything in this city, including discretion."
"Me, pay for sex?" I fake a laugh, tossing back my hair. "I could get it easily if I wanted it. The fact of the matter is, I don't. I prefer to keep things in the imaginatory realm."
Helene shrugs off my comment. I am dead serious about not wanting to meet anyone, though. The thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I can't let another girl in; not after Elphie. I can't let anyone hurt me that much again. I don't know if there's anything even left of me to hurt. I don't know if my heart can be crumbled into smaller pieces than it already has. I'm terrified to find out.
But Helene is nothing if not persistent, and in the weeks that follow, a variety of attractive young ladies are paraded in front of me for totally arbitrary reasons.
"I am at my wits end with you!" I shout in disgust at my maid, after she returns from escorting the latest girl out of the palace: a friend who she invited over for afternoon tea without my permission. A friend who was very obviously a prostitute. She wore a short dress and kept licking her lips when she looked at me. I had to play dumb to the whole display. Talk about awkward!
"Was she perhaps too masculine for you, Glinda? You really need to let me know what your type is…"
"Get out!" I shout at Helene, shoving her toward the door. "I'm serious; get out!"
"I don't know why you're so mad, My Lady. I'm just trying to help…" she starts saying, but I slam the door behind her before she can continue. Ten minutes later, I am still in a huff when I hear a knock at the door. I pull it open, ready to take a swing at my maid, but it's Fiyero that greets me instead.
"Galinda!" he says breathlessly, as if he ran all the way to my suite.
"Glinda!" I correct him. I'm really in no mood for this.
"Yes… right! I came here as fast as I could to tell you! There's been another report! Elphaba… She hit another farm. It was her biggest one yet. More than forty Animals are free now… I don't know what she did to the farmhands, but two of them had to be hospitalized from shock! They're saying they'll need therapy… Galinda, isn't it fantastic?"
Yes. It is totally Ozdamned fantastic to have what I lost thrown in my face when I'm already in the foulest mood imaginable.
"Ga- umm, Glin…da? Is something wrong?" Fiyero asks.
"I don't want to talk about Elphie," I growl.
"But I thought… I know you've been worried…"
I don't know what it is that provokes me to wrap my arms around Fiyero's neck, or what exactly makes me push him back against the wall, pressing my mouth to his. He lets out a surprised gasp as I kiss him, but he kisses back with equal fervor.
I want nothing more in this moment than to banish Elphie from my mind. I want to banish all thoughts of soft skin, gentle green hands and slender curves. I want to forget the tenderness with which she kissed me. Fiyero is still far more rough with his mouth; right now that is a comfort. His scent and his taste are familiar. I can't move forward, but I can move backward. I'm moving backward at blinding speed.
And just like when I gave Fiyero my virginity at Shiz, it is me that is initiating everything. It is me that drags him over to the couch and begins to remove his clothes. It is me that drapes myself over his muscular body, hoping to melt into it and disappear. Just as our relationship ended, without any official discussion or proclamation, it begins again.
Fiyero said he came to the palace because he wanted to protect me. Perhaps, he can protect me from myself. Perhaps he can protect me from these feelings so strong that they are threatening to tear me apart.