She is having a nightmare. I admit that I’m surprised. It’s been so long since she’s had one, three months at least. She used to have them every night. I know, because I hear them. Every single one of them. She’s quite loud when she has a nightmare. She thrashes and whimpers. She cries and shakes. She could win an Academy Award for her performances in her sleep. And unlike any normal person, she won’t wake up in the middle of her nightmares. She has to endure the whole thing, beginning to end. I wonder sometimes what she dreams about, who she dreams about. I wonder if tonight her nightmares feature Heero or Duo. I wonder if she dreams about me, if I’m ever the cause of her nightmares. My feet move on their own, shuffling to her bed where she lays under the covers, her head whipping sharply from side to side. I sit down beside her body and feel the tremors that she is emitting. I don’t believe that I’ve ever experienced a nightmare quite like Relena does. I have the occasional bad dream where I wake up panting and afraid, but even those are rare. I have not had one of those since I was a little girl. I remember those dreams, quite vividly in fact. It was always the same dream: me fighting with the parents that I hardly remember now. The fight was always different but it emanated from the same idea: they were holding me back, trying to control me. I ended up murdering them each time. Relena is whimpering now, her head movements are violent. She’s murmuring something that I can’t make out. But it sounds suspiciously similar to "Father". I’m not surprised. It seems only fitting that she would dream of her ‘father’, his death. I wonder if she’s dreaming that she killed him. I wonder if her nightmares are anything like mine used to be. I wonder if maybe we have more in common that I originally believed. She begins to thrash wildly, her whimpers turning quickly to cries. One of her flailing arms hits my leg, leaving a harsh sting. Her face contorts; she is in pain, emotional torture or maybe physical. I rest my hand on her forehead, for reasons that I don’t understand. I want to feel her pain, experience it for myself. Her tossing ceases. Her cries decrease in volume until they are a mere echo in my ears. She begins to look calm and peaceful. The only thing that even suggests that she has just had a nightmare is the sweat on her forehead, which I feel more than I see. She rolls her head and sighs quietly, leaning against my arm. I jerk my hand away, as though it has been burned. And for a second I’m sure that it has. It is hot, unbelievably so. I stand, not taking my eyes off of her face. She licks her lips in her sleep and nuzzles the pillow, a sign that I know all too well. She is happy, content. I am disgusted. I laid my hand on her and she calmed. I chased away her nightmares. My touch soothed her. I begin to back away towards the doorway, holding my still burning arm away from my body.
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