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She was hiding.
The wood of the cupboard pressed up against her back, and Elphaba wished she could disappear into it entirely, melt away into the darkness and vanish. Outside, the sound of footsteps made her shiver, though she held her breath, doing her best not to give away her hiding place, to stay safe, just for a little longer. Maybe, if she stayed here long enough, he would give up, go away. Decide she wasn’t worth it.
Didn’t he always say she wasn’t worth his time?
The cupboard had a small keyhole. If she crouched a little, she could see out of it, small fingers brushing over the wood, pressing an eye against the thin ray of light that made its way in from the room outside. He was out there, she could see him, muttering to himself, swearing under his breath, eyes dark with anger. She could see something in his hand - a riding crop, maybe, it was too hard to see, the edges of her vision were hazy, strained.
She shivered.
She hadn’t meant to do it. She was trying to be good, trying to fetch Nessa a glass of water - of course her little sister couldn’t reach the glasses on the higher shelves. She had to be a good sister.
But Elphaba couldn’t reach either.
And when the stool had tipped, when she was lying in a pool of water and broken glass, all she could think was Father is going to kill me.
So she’d fled. To her room, first, before realising that was too easy, too obvious, the first place he’d look. She darted out, dashing into a cupboard across the hall, drawing the door closed behind her. Maybe, if she stayed here long enough, he’d forget why he was angry. Or maybe Dulcibear would come back from the market, maybe she would talk him down. Or maybe Nessarose would wake from her nap and distract him. She just needed to hide.
“You better not be hiding from me, Elphaba Thropp,” her father said darkly, eyes sweeping down the hallway. Elphaba pressed a hand to her mouth, biting down on a whimper of terror. “I thought I taught you better than to disobey me like that. When I find you…”
Her father’s eyes caught on the cupboard. His eyes flashed.
Elphaba squeaked in fear as he strode forwards, seizing hold of the wooden door and throwing it open, exposing her hiding place.
“Elphaba.”
She cowered away from him, pressing against the back of the cupboard, shoulders curving inwards, fighting the childish urge to squeeze her eyes shut, knowing it was far worse not to see the blow coming. “P-please, Father - I - I’m sorry - I-I didn’t mean to- ”
Her father seized her by the arm, wrenching her out of the cupboard, throwing her into the hallway, and Elphaba bit down on a cry of pain as her body hit the stone floor. She pushed herself up shakily, though she didn’t dare stand, knowing he would only see it as defiance, the same way he saw everything she did. “I - I’m sorry - I d-didn’t - it was an accident…”
“You should have been more careful,” her father said harshly. “And hiding from me wasn’t an accident, was it?” That was a riding crop in his hand. Elphaba couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. “What have I told you about doing that Elphaba?”
Elphaba swallowed, hanging her head - though she was careful to keep watching the riding crop warily. It felt as though something had grabbed her heart and was squeezing it tightly, panic and resignation competing for dominance in her chest. “N-not to.”
“And you did it anyway,” her father spat. “When will you learn to stop disobeying me?”
He raised the hand holding the crop in the air, bringing it down sharply. Elphaba screamed, raising her hands to shield her head -
- and shot upright in her bed. She slapped a hand over her mouth at once, muffling the rest of her cry as it trailed off into a strangled whimper, her body trembling as she shut down her terror. She had gotten better at this, over the last few years, reeling her terror back inside of herself, slamming a lid on the memories, silencing herself upon waking before she even knew where she was or what had happened, before she had even opened her eyes. Silence was safer - silence was vital. She couldn’t let her father hear her. Not when her magic had already done… this.
Her bedroom was in complete disarray. Not as bad as it could have been - she used to have more things in it, when she was younger, before her father had realised that was a waste of money - and, frankly, she didn’t deserve to have nice things she would only break when she had a nightmare and her magic responded with destructive violence. She was used to that now, at fourteen, and she couldn’t disagree. She couldn’t even take care of the things she did have.
She instinctively strained her ears, listening for the sound of her father’s door opening, for footsteps striding down the hall, her whole body tensing in anticipation.
To her great relief, there was nothing. The manor remained still, so she let out a breath of relief, leaning back against the headboard, pressing a hand against her chest. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with that tonight. Provided she got the room cleaned up before he saw it, of course.
She slid a hand inside of her pillowcase. Her mother’s green bottle was still resting there. She kept it tucked away because it was the safest place she could think of - her father didn’t want her having any drawers that could lock - and her magic usually only lashed out at the rest of the room, not her own bed. With her head on her pillow, preventing the bottle from escaping the pillowcase, it was the safest place it could be.
She couldn’t say the same for the rest of her room. Opening her beside drawer and finding her glasses mercifully still in the right place, she put them on and surveyed the damage as best she could from her bed - the metal cage encircling her light was still intact, thank Oz - that was one of the only things she couldn’t replace herself, and she didn’t like the thought of confessing what she had done to her father. The windows were most likely also intact, thanks to the bars and the curtains, though she would definitely need to straighten them; they looked noticeably askew. Her wardrobe doors were open, her clothes haphazardly strewn across the floor, a few pairs of shoes scattered across the room, along with her winter gloves. That was fine, she could just put everything back, iron anything that was really crumpled before she wore it. Her father most likely wouldn’t notice, anyway. He avoided looking at her whenever he could, and Elphaba was only too happy to stay out of his line of sight.
She got up, keeping a careful eye on the ground as she did so, in case she had somehow smashed something and was at risk of stepping on sharp broken pieces. She had no desire to do that again. Besides, dripping blood across her bedroom floor would be a terrible way to add to the list of things she had to clean up before her father saw them.
She crossed to the windows and pulled back the curtains. The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the horizon. She breathed a sigh of relief, rolling her shoulders back, pulling herself together. Okay. I have time. I can fix this.
She knew what would happen if she didn’t. She was older now, but the consequences had always remained the same: whenever she did something wrong, whenever she broke something, whenever she disobeyed.
The cupboard that used to be outside her door was gone.
Her father hated it when she hid.