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The nightmares were always the same, or, well, a variation of the same themes. The Swans bringing a toddler version of herself back to the orphanage, telling her they couldn’t keep her because they were expecting a better baby. Foster mothers yelling over and over that she wasn’t worth the monthly checks. Foster fathers who smelled like cheap beer and tobacco, who thought a good beating never hurt anyone – until it landed her to the hospital – and those who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. Some nights, she dreamt she found her parents, but in a scenario or another, they always sent her away with harsh words and cruel laughs.
Emma shot up in bed, panting, her sweat-soaked shirt sticking to her front. She kicked the covers, trying to free herself from the invisible hands they had turned into, quiet sobs ripping from her throat.
“No! Get ‘way from me,” she mumbled, still rooted in her nightmare. She raised her arms up to defend herself; the line between dream and reality blurred. Emma sat, slumping slightly forward, her shoulder shaking, tears falling down flushed cheeks.
“Emma?” Mary Margaret whispered as she made her way across the room and flicked the bedside lamp on, bathing the room in a soft, golden light.
The school teacher had been awoken by her roommate’s trashing and whimpering. She’d laid in bed for a while, waiting to see if Emma would fall back into a more peaceful sleep on her own, but when the whimpers had turned into loud sobs, Mary Margaret had rushed up the stairs.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“I didn’t do it,” Emma mumbled on, still trapped in her dream, “it wasn’t me. I’m a good girl.”
The childishness of her statement broke Mary Margaret’s heart.
“Oh, sweetie, shh, it’s okay, Emma, it’s just a dream. I know you are good,” the teacher soothed gently, resting her hands over Emma’s to lower her arms by her sides. Emma jerked at the touch, but her eyes remained shut.
“No…” she whined.
“It’s okay, you’re safe,” she reassured Emma. Mary Margaret sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and brushed back a curl of damp, blonde hair like she had done at least twice a week since Emma had move in into the loft with her.
The first time it happened, Mary Margaret hadn’t been sure of what to do. She hadn’t known Emma that long and she was certain the blonde wouldn’t want her to intrude on what Emma would most likely think was a moment of weakness. The teacher had tried to mind her own business and go back to sleep, but the anguished pleas coming from the upstairs bedroom had been, after a while, impossible to drown out, and an overwhelming urge to comfort and protect her new friend had come over her. At first, if Emma had been reticent to let Mary Margaret comfort her, she now seemed to desperately need reassurances in the middle of the night and craved gentle touches. Emma never openly asked for it, but Mary Margaret always offered them, and she soaked the affection up; but only in the dark of night. Come morning, Emma would sneak out, and they would not mention it.
Emma was still mumbling incoherently through her tears, looking terribly scared. Seeing that she wasn’t going to wake up on her own, Mary Margaret slowly reached out and shook Emma’s shoulder gently.
“Sweetie, wake up. I’m here, you are safe. Just open your eyes.”
Dark lashes beaded with tears began to flutter, and Mary Margaret got off the bed swiftly and kept herself at arm’s length as Emma would sometimes lash out when she woke up from bad, disturbing dreams.
This time though, when Emma finally awoke, she simply blinked a few times, looking completely lost. She took a deep shuddering breath, and her eyelids flickered heavily. Mary Margaret thought she’d fall back asleep, but just as she was about to lie back down, Emma seemed to notice that the light was on and finally registered her roommate’s presence.
“Mary Margaret?” Emma whispered, combing a hand through her long hair, as she glanced around the room. “What happened, are you okay?” she asked, confused.
“Yes, I’m fine, I just thought I’d heard something so I came up to check up on you,” Mary Margaret half-lied. If Emma didn’t remember having had a nightmare, the teacher thought it was best not to mention the dreams. “Go back to sleep,” she said softly as she turned off the light, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
Mary Margaret had only just got back into her own bed when she heard sock-cladded footsteps on the metal stairs, and soon enough, Emma appeared, baby blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her head poking through the curtains that delimitated the teacher’s bedroom.
“Emma?”
“Yeah…it’s me…” Mary Margaret couldn’t make out Emma’s features in the dark, but she was sure the blonde was biting her lip and she had sounded on the verge of tears. Emma was nervous, and that could only mean one thing.
“Do you want to sleep here tonight, Emma?”
“I had a nightmare,” Emma explained sheepishly as she tiptoed further into the room. She waited by the side of the bed and only slipped under the blankets when Mary Margaret patted the empty space next to her, inviting her in.
“Do you want to talk about it?” the teacher asked as she wrapped a loose arm around Emma’s middle to pull her closer. The blonde stiffened into the embrace, but Mary Margaret ran her fingers through her hair in a calming manner and she felt Emma relaxed almost immediately.
“I don’t remember what it was about. Just that I was…I was scared.”
A shiver ran through Emma, and Mary Margaret tightened her hold on her and kissed her forehead tenderly. “I’ve got you, Emma, nothing will hurt you.”
Emma turned on her side, buried her face in the crook of Mary Margaret’s neck and let out a sigh of contentment. Emma had never felt wanted, had never felt like she belonged anywhere, but here, in Mary’s arms, she felt safe, even loved.
Mary Margaret wondered if Emma lied when she said she didn’t remember what or who her nightmares were about. She often woke up disoriented and panicked, repeating over and over that he was coming for her, but when Mary Margaret had asked who he was, Emma had only become more agitated, and the school teacher had learned not to push.
After a moment, Emma’s breathing slowed to an even rhythm as Mary Margaret stroke her back lightly, drawing circles. Emma hummed sleepily and she nuzzled closer to her, slipping her hand under Mary Margaret’s shirt, her fingers unconsciously caressing the soft skin of her stomach. She bit her lip to stifle a gasp of surprised at Emma’s unexpected touch, not wanting to startle her and risk her fleeing. Mary Margaret lay still, willing her heart to slow down, and mentally kicking herself for the ridiculous feeling of hope that swelled bigger and bigger in her chest and pooled at her core with each innocent swirling of Emma’s digits against her flesh.
Only once Mary Margaret was sure that Emma was fast asleep did she dare move a bit to rearranged the blankets and rest her head atop Emma’s.
“Goodnight, Emma, I love you,” she murmured in the dark.
“I love you,” Emma breathed against her neck so quietly Mary Margaret thought she’d imagine it.
She thought that nothing had changed, but the next morning, for the first time, Mary Margaret woke up to the weight of Emma, warm on top of her, and the feeling of soft hair smelling of peppermint caressing her cheek. She was even more surprised to find Emma wake, emerald eyes peering up at her shyly.
“Good morning,” Mary Margaret whispered with a soft, but cautious smile, expecting Emma to bolt at any moment now.
But Emma didn’t move, not exactly. She tilted her head slightly upward and observed Mary Margaret, a strange mix of curiosity and fear burning in the green of her irises.
“Aren’t you going to kick me out of bed now?” Emma asked tensely after a while, breaking the silence.
Her heart shattering at Emma’s insecurity, Mary Margaret did her best to remain calm. “No, Emma. I want you here…”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Emma seemed to be contemplating the truthfulness of her statement.
“So can I get a morning kiss then?”
That question was so Emma, bold and brash, and simultaneously so nothing like her, that Mary Margaret burst out laughing, an indescribable happiness spreading through her like fire.
“Yes, yes you can, Emma.”