In the Woods When First We Met

174. In Marilla's Room (Warning- trigger)

She was pushing, struggling, but she couldn't break free.

Her arms pounded against the body above her, until finally they were carelessly shoved away- her arms being no more than an annoyance- and as they were shoved away, a sharp elbow hit the side of her head.

But the pain that hit her head was nothing compared to what was happening elsewhere.

Still asleep, Anne rolled out of bed. She gasped as she hit the floor, waking up with a start.

Now awake, she lay there a moment, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom, breathing hard and trying desperately to bring herself to the present.

But that was hard to do when the wood floor underneath her felt exactly as hard as the ground had that day. She could not move.

Finally her breathing slowed...and she came back to her room at Green Gables.

She untangled herself from twisted sheets and put them back on her bed. Her hands shook as she smoothed her quilt down and got back into what should have been the safest place in the world. But it's not. I'm never safe. Not even in my own bed.

She sat huddled under the covers, shivering. At least she wasn't sweating this time. But the nightmare didn't end just because she woke up: This dream- just like every one before it- impacted her body, not just her mind. The throbbing pain she felt between her legs was vivid. It didn't happen again. It didn't. Why does it feel like it did?

Then she remembered she wasn't alone anymore.

She waited for her heartbeat to slow to normal pace, and then she crept softly down the stairs. She opened a door and peeked in.

"Marilla..." she said softly.

There was no answer, the shape in the bed snored lightly.

"Marilla?" Anne whispered, coming closer.

She stood there at the side of the bed a moment, then leaned over and shook Marilla.

"What? What- oh, Anne. What is it?" Marilla groggily sat up in bed.

But now that Anne was here, she didn't know what to say. "Hi," she whispered.

Marilla was confused. "Hi?" she repeated. Her hair was down, mussed by her pillow. She brushed it back out of her face. She looked at the clock. "Anne, did you wake me up at two o'clock in the morning to say 'hi'?"

"...no." was Anne's small reply.

Marilla looked at Anne, then- really looked at her. Her small white figure was hunched over, arms wrapped around herself. Her pale, frightened face was wet. "What is it?" Marilla asked more gently now.

Anne did not say anything for a moment. She just looked at Marilla, wide eyed and hesitant. Finally she said trembling voice: "Marilla...could I...could I talk to you?"

"Yes, of course," Marilla said. In any other situation, she'd have told Anne to be sensible and go to bed, and they'd talk in the morning. But it was not any other situation, and Anne could not be expected to be sensible when she was shaking at two o'clock in the morning. "Sit down," she said kindly.

"Thank you," Anne said, sitting on the bed and hugging her knees. "I hate being upstairs all alone when I have these awful dreams."

"When you have...? Have you been having nightmares a lot?" Marilla asked. This was news to her.

Anne nodded in the dark. "All the time," she breathed. "I mean not every night. But at least a couple times a week."

Marilla felt awful. "What did you do in the past?"

" ...cried," Anne said.

"And you've cried tonight, too, haven't you?" Marilla said, seeing Anne's tear streaked face in the moonlight.

"Only in my sleep," she said.

"Do you cry in your sleep?" Marilla asked, her voice sounding unlike any voice Anne had ever heard from her.

Anne nodded. "Sometimes I wake up and I'm not crying but I must have been crying in my sleep because my face is all wet and my eyes are red and puffy and I can't breathe..."

Marilla's breath sounded shaky. "What do you dream about?"

Anne didn't speak.

Marilla waited.

"...I don't think I ought to tell you that," Anne said.

"Why not?" Marilla asked, moving to sit up all the way and putting her pillow behind her back. She thought they might be up for quite a while; better make herself comfortable.

"Because it isn't nice."

"Nightmares never are," Marilla said.

Anne took a breath. "I dream about being on the ground."

Marilla nodded. "Yes."

"And about...being held down. Arms. Holding me down." Anne took a breath. "Sometimes I get tangled up in my sheets and then I feel like I'm stuck again."

Anne hugged her knees to her chest. "My legs getting pushed-"

She stopped, swallowing hard, and Marilla wondered what she could say to help. She could not think of anything at all.

After a pause, Anne continued. "I still feel what happened. I thought that the pain went away, but every time I dream...it comes back again. Fresh. I'm hurting."

"You're hurting right now?" Marilla felt crushed.

Anne nodded, unable to speak, tears coming quickly.

She took a shaky breath once she could. "Marilla...can I stay here with you? ...I don't want to be by myself."

"Well, all right," Marilla replied, pulling back the covers. Anne didn't waste any time scrambling in. She burrowed down under the covers and pulled one of Marilla's pillows to her side, clutching it. Marilla tucked the quilt around her and patted her head.

Marilla said humbly, feeling helpless: "I don't know what to do, Anne. I can't think of how to help you."

But Anne looked up at her. "You just did," she said.