Chapter Text
“Wednesday, no working on the dreams until we receive your family book!”
Enid was standing near the desk on which were scattered the dream journal, W.A.’s Somnia, blank sheets of paper, and Thing. Wednesday was sitting just behind the crime scene, towered over by her friend. With a raised eyebrow, frustration twisting her features and her arms crossed under her chest, the werewolf was looking her straight in the eye. It was as if she was attempting to intimidate her, even though she ascertained perfectly that it would have no effect on her.
From her chair, the dark girl was immersed in a wall of silence; she was looking back at her with broad eyes, two huge black beads that expressed far too much emotion, unlike her face—practically—always impassive. Although the blonde knew she was trying to hide it, it was easy for her experienced vision to notice that thoughts were racing at the speed of light behind her deep irises. Her eyes were wide open and fixed intensely on her.
Sitting there, she reminded her of a puppy that had just been berated for doing something wrong, alongside her accomplice, Thing, who had assisted her in her misdeed. That idea almost made her scoff, but she held back; she had to remain serious. Her roommate never listened if she didn’t scold her.
She still couldn’t believe this was a necessary measure. But Wednesday was born stubborn and literally nothing could change her. It was in these moments she realized it harder than ever. She had left the room for barely five minutes, in order to go to the bathroom and get ready for the day; Wednesday had taken advantage of that to try to do the only thing she told her not to do. The thing that was driving them crazy, overwhelming them, and occupying all their thoughts.
Her rib cage heaved under a sharp, irritated breath. Sure, she understood that the dream they had just woken up from was deeply intriguing, and that she was craving to write it down. But they needed a break.
“Remember what we agreed on: it’s roommate quality time.”
The seer’s fingers tightened on the edge of the open book in front of her, without looking at it. At this point, it seemed as if her pupils were trying to dig into her own to reach her brain and find the answer that would satisfy her.
Thing remained motionless, “observing” the back and forth between the two girls.
Her voice was monotone and low when she finally spoke: “I did not agree to anything.”
At her words, a kind of tension arose between them. It was particularly accentuated by the proximity created by the taller one looking down at her, and their undivided attention focused solely on each other. Their eyes were anchored so profoundly in each other’s as they fought a relentless battle of who would give in first.
All of this was beginning to somewhat unsettle Enid, although she was the one that had set the wheels in motion for what was happening. The thickness of what was floating inside her sent shivers down her spine like frozen fingers, building a new layer behind each of their passage. At this point, it was so dense that it was difficult to slice it in half. But she ended up doing it when she saw that the other wasn’t about to add anything else: “But you didn’t say no.”
She would not let Wednesday win this. And the latter was clearly of the same opinion regarding this matter, but for her.
“Silence and agreement are different things.”
The blonde rolled her eyes at her answer. She might be right, and she hated that, so she quickly found a way to spin it around so as not to prove her right.
“Then what did your silence mean when I dragged you into town? I didn’t hear you complain once. If you didn’t want to, I know you would have told me. But there, you sure played your game very well; you actually seemed to be enjoying yourself at times!”
It was her roommate’s turn to appear greatly annoyed and taken by surprise. She scrambled for a reply and came back to her monotone mask too soon for Enid to pick up on her visible and recognizable expression and rub it in her face.
“I never enjoy, I tolerate.”
It was at that moment that the short-haired girl finally ran out of arguments. What could one possibly answer to that? She didn’t try to think any longer, however, as her irritation attained a peak. For the first time since she had returned from the bathroom, she made a move that the girl did not expect. Her hand reached for the cover of the volume she was holding and pulled it towards her with a determined motion. She simply took it away from under her nose, confiscating it for good.
“You can’t spend the entire summer studying and investigating. You need breaks,” she reiterated assertively, closing the book with a sharp clap.
The shock that marked the girl’s face, amid her usual indifference, was very visible, like a light in the darkness. The astonishment of her gesture quickly spread to Thing, who had witnessed the whole strange scene unfolding before him. He flinched distinctly, which finally drew the blonde’s attention to him, as if, in a flash, she remembered he existed.
“And what do you have to say for your defense? This counts for you too.”
She crossed her arms, holding the book against her chest; her hip leaned on the side of the desk as she stared back at him intensely. Despite his marked absences from the major portions of their investigation, Thing had participated quite a lot in the background. He had spent most of his time in the last week organizing all the notes that the two roommates were constantly taking. And if he wasn’t doing that, he was doing his own things, such as taking care of his nails.
Sometimes, she forgot he was there, but she had talked to him about it a few days before, and he replied he didn’t mind; he was just happy to be included.
Not right now, though.
Panic seemed to pass through each of his fingers under the insistent blue look directed at him; he appeared to want to evaporate more than ever presently. He didn’t answer straight away, too taken aback on the spot. So Enid quickly followed with: “I know you heard me when I said it was roommate quality time.”
The psychic’s dark gaze finally detached itself from her and slid towards the appendage. She inserted something sharp and assertive into it, as if trying to convince him. Thing suddenly seemed to melt under the two visions piercing him from side to side. This was only heightened when the Wednesday's voice rose, stark, dry, but low, as if her friend weren’t there: “Whose side are you on?”
Enid’s sight flicked to her with a hint of annoyance. “I heard you.”
She was fully ignored by the other, whose attention was focused wholly on the hand. The latter began to grow increasingly frantic. If he had had eyes—or even just a face—this emotion would have quickly spread there; his gaze would have started to dart from side to side in an attempt to look for an escape. But there was none, as both roommates’ heed was now entirely fixated on him.
The appendage was trembling and panicked. He began to gesture the letter “E,” but he didn’t have time to add anything else before a razor-sharp knife appeared out of nowhere. The inky-haired teen made an unexpected movement forward, and soon enough, she was holding one of his digits on the desk with one of her own. She pressed the shiny blade on it, imprisoning him against the surface.
“Whose side are you on?” she repeated in a voice that left no room for discussion. It wasn’t a question anymore, it was a statement, and everyone understood that the only answer was Wednesday, or blood would be spilled.
Enid’s reaction to this scene was immediate. “Wednesday!” All her features contorted in palpable disbelief.
Once again, she was utterly ignored. But that didn’t stop her from continuing in a tone that was nonetheless annoyed: “This is blackmailing!”
Her friend’s gaze returned to her for a brief moment. She looked her up and down, before articulating with a calmness that contrasted significantly with her contrary attitude: “It is not.”
The blonde made a frustrated gesture, her arms coming down on either side of her body in exasperation. “Blackmailing by threatening him! This won’t work like that, Weds!”
Then, without waiting, she leaned towards her guest to snatch the weapon directly from her hand.
“No weapon threatening in this house.”
Anyone else trying to do that to the Addams daughter would earn themselves a stab in the stomach faster than they could anticipate. But Enid was different, and she knew it. She had this “best friend and roommate protection,” as she kept telling herself. She would have been proud of that again, yet too many other emotions were stronger at the moment, and they buried that thought quicker than it appeared. So she effortlessly removed the weapon from her hold and freed the visibly quivering hand.
She sighed again, but this time it was evidently one of defeat.
“Let’s just stop this right there right now and go eat breakfast, or I’ll be forced to drag you there by the pigtails.”
Wednesday had an expression that was almost comparable to a mocking and amused version of a smirk. She glared at Thing, whose tremors intensified. Her friend didn’t see any of this, however, as she was already walking towards her bedroom door. She had resigned herself to moving on and wouldn’t push the issue further. Despite her intimidation, she would let the dark girl do as she pleased, and the latter knew it; if she wanted to come, she would, and if not, well, she would just remain here.
Before leaving, she placed the book on the nearest desk, along with the knife.
Strangely—and perhaps because Enid had suspected as much, since Wednesday always listened to her—she did not have to be asked twice before following her. Soon, she got up from the chair, threateningly told the appendage to stay there, and solemnly walked towards the door. She grabbed her knife on the way there to put it back in its usual place, as if nothing had happened.
She joined Enid in the hallway before she reached the stairs. The teenager didn’t look at her, but she was immediately aware of her presence. She knew without even hearing the almost inaudible, low thumping of her feet—which her werewolf audition recognized by heart at this point. She slowed her pace just enough to wait for her and allow her to follow her downstairs. When they reached the ground floor, she was quick to return to her side, settling in next to her, as customary, to walk to the kitchen. It was nearly as if none of the previous scene had taken place. Neither of them really held a grudge against the other. The words they exchanged were, as usual, only lighthearted banter.
Since their fallout after the events at the Gates Mansion, they hadn’t argued seriously. They would bicker, but no offense was ever taken by either side. No insults or reproaches had been hurled at each other since, especially with what had happened on the night of the blood moon.
Before penetrating the kitchen, where movement and life were concentrated, Enid took a deep breath. Then, she coerced a beautiful big smile on her face and entered the room with her guest beside her, like a shadow clinging to her.
“Hi Mom, hi Dad!” she beamed, although something false was palpable in her tone.
Because she was not happy to see them again. When was she?
Never was the answer.
Every interaction with them always ended badly, either with her upset, or with them upset with her and her feeling terrible about it.
Thankfully for her, since her guest’s arrival, she hadn’t seen them much. Both of them worked day shifts, and her brothers were either at school, doing who knows what outside, or at their jobs. All of them were only—sometimes not—present for evening meals, which she hadn’t attended a single time.
The last few nights, her routine had been disrupted thanks to her visitor, but mostly because of that whole dream and red thread thing. She and Wednesday spent most of their time in Enid’s room studying or investigating, and they always skipped family dinners. They were too busy for them, and her parents weren’t the type to chase after her to impose her to eat. If she didn’t show up at dinnertime when her mom was screaming that it was time for it, then she wouldn’t eat. Her plate wouldn’t be made and would go with the leftovers in the refrigerator. And if she arrived on time later in the evening, she might have a chance to grab one before her voracious brothers devoured the rest. It was as simple as that.
She quickly developed a habit of choosing this option for her and her roommate before her siblings got there before her. After the first meal with all of them, she refused to allow her to eat at the same time as her family again. It had been too catastrophic, and she categorically refused to let it happen again. She couldn’t bear to see her being insulted.
So needless to say that she hadn’t interacted with them much in the past few days. And doing it again made her really nervous, among all the additional reasons why. The only other time they had talked was to greet each other when they passed by, and that was pretty much it. And that suited her just fine, since hearing their nasty comments about her and her friend was the last thing she longed for right now.
However, she was bound to see them again, sadly, as they were living under the same roof.
So by showing up like this, she had already anticipated the first blows.
Her mother, standing behind the counter, beamed at her. “Enid and…you!”
She had forgotten her name. What did she expect?
Wednesday only nodded at her once, looking as calm as usual. She followed the Sinclair daughter, who walked over to the island with stools, where her father was sitting reading a newspaper. He gave them a small smile and nodded in greeting, which the seer returned—without smiling, of course. Enid was about to ask what had been made for breakfast, as a faint, sweet smell wafted through the air. But before she had time to open her mouth, Esther suddenly turned to her.
“Oh my wolf, Enid!” she exclaimed in a voice vibrating with joy.
She didn’t wait for another moment before walking around the counter and rushing towards her. In a pure reflex, the mentioned one’s whole body flinched, as if she had expected to be hit. That wasn’t the case, however. Of course, the woman didn’t act like a regular parent would after not talking to or seeing their child for days, like giving her a hug. Instead, one of her hands rested on her shoulder, the other roughly grabbing one of her immaculately blonde waves.
The teenager had an expression of sheer surprise that only intensified with the next words: “I can’t believe you finally got rid of all these farcical colors. You finally look somewhat normal!”
She then swiveled to her husband and showed him one of her strands. “Have you seen that, Murray?”
The golden-haired teen peeked at him sideways, her cheeks gradually turning red. A deadly spike of anxious heat had just begun to climb in her chest. Her attention bounced back to her mother.
“Still not quite as feminine, but it’s a good step,” she commented without really addressing anyone in particular; just to whoever would hear her. Then all her focus returned to her daughter. “Next step you’ll let your hair grow back, hm?”
Enid bit her lip. She nodded, but it was only to please her; she had no intention of having long hair again. It just wasn’t for her.
She watched her mother, scrutinizing her expression, and observed how delighted she was; she didn’t think she had ever seen her so thrilled about something that came from her. This made her feel so terribly awful that she felt her eyes fill with water, along with that itchy, disagreeable sensation in the tear ducts. Tears menaced to spill at any moment, and she would have burst into sobs if the woman had commented on anything else. Fortunately, her whole attention was instantaneously drawn away by the sudden high-pitched whistle of the kettle on the stove.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. She finally released her child without another word on the subject, leaving behind the damage from the bomb she had just dropped.
The next thing she said was when she turned off the stove and asked, “Tea?”
Despite her humiliated, red face and tear-filled eyes, the blonde obliged herself back to life. “I’ll take coffee, please.”
Then she turned to Wednesday, who was standing a little apart but still close enough, hands clasped in front of her lap. “You want anything, Weds?”
Instead of answering right there and then, the somber teen did one of the last things Enid expected at that moment: her hand came to rest on her arm without warning. The next thing she knew, her face was leaning towards her ear to whisper low enough so only she could hear it: “Disregard them.”
The shivers that ran through her body at this contact, at her words, and at the sensation of air brushing on her skin were so powerful that she felt as if she was going to suffocate. Her own breath caught in her throat for a few moments. Surprisingly, it was only a few.
Sooner than she expected, she took a profound respiration that chilled her to the bones. With it, she inhaled all the odors around her. The distant, saccharine aroma of breakfast, the bitter but sweet scent of the blend of coffee, milk, and sugar, and the distinctive odors of each member of her family.
Everything was in place, it was normal; it was a cocktail of fragrances that she had sniffed a multitude of times in the past.
Yet, something was off about it… something was different.
Wednesday’s scent.
She didn’t expect it to strike her this hard.
Never before had she focused on it this much. But it stood out so much from the combination of smells she was accustomed to that it seemed to jump into her face without hesitation. It felt as if it was there more than ever; it felt as if it was stronger than anything else floating in the air.
A nice mix of papers collected from ancient, dusty books, a smoky yet sweet fragrance of black tea, and some kinds of herbs. It was sweet but earthy, old but pleasant; it was Wednesday’s, and she instantly loved it.
And a portion of the reason was because every part of it was coated in her own scent. The smell of her freshly washed blankets, coupled with her shampoo, soap, and perfume; everything was stamped on her like an aftertaste that refused to go away no matter what measures she took to get rid of it.
All of this mingled with the physical contact. And as if it wasn’t enough, as if she wasn’t going through so much already, something else added itself too quickly.
Something unusual above the clatter of the kitchen: the rustling of the pages of her father’s newspaper, the buzzing of the refrigerator, the sound of drops falling quietly one by one from the mouth of the tap and the noise of clothes as her mother moved.
A heartbeat. Slow, placid, and steady. Grounding, bringing anyone hearing it back to a normal, agreeable reality.
Wednesday’s heartbeat.
The same one she listened to every night to fall asleep. The same one that lulled her into serenity and guided her into every slumber. The same one that never failed to calm her down.
Tears stopped trying to make their way out of her eyes, the burning sensation on her face subsided as if she were splashing her skin with ice-cold water, and her swirling thoughts decelerated. Although none of them disappeared thoroughly, they faded just enough to permit her to focus on the scene before her.
Her friend spoke, not to her, but directly to her mother. She did not remove her hand from her arm and acted as if she had not performed this unexpected gesture towards the werewolf. She stood solemnly and upright, ready to absorb any strike that might be thrown at her.
Her words were gentle and polite; however, “Do you happen to possess any black tea, Miss Sinclair?” she asked simply.
Enid, who finally returned to a more normal reality in which she wasn’t about to burst into tears every living second, watched both of them with her gaze alternating from one to the other.
“Of course! I believe there is some Earl Grey Murray drinks from time to time.”
And now that she was no longer holding back the sadness from overflowing onto her face—even though her heart still remained heavy—Enid’s whole mind was drawn back to the physical contact between them. It lasted longer and longer with no movements to indicate an intention to escape. And her friend had been the one to initiate it.
Without her being able to control them, her reflections were thrust back to the way she had also initiated contact with her during their dream. How much care and affection resided in a single touch of the hand guiding her to the correct place. How crazily it had made her head spin and caused her heart to miss so many beats that she thought it might just stop thumping altogether.
And at that point, she didn’t know anymore if she preferred the previous version of Wednesday, or whatever was currently happening with her. The latter scared her more than the first one, which was quite ironic.
“That would be perfect.”
Esther nodded as she reached into a cabinet to take a small tea bag out of a box. She dropped it into one of the two mugs now on the counter. The smell of coffee was already emanating from the second one with a wisp of steam rising from both towards the ceiling.
Once done, she transferred them to the countertop to slide them towards the girls. She did all this under the silent gaze of her husband. “We made pancakes; they’re in the fridge,” she informed them. She smiled, but it was apparent that only malice was behind her pupils.
The one with sandy locks almost shook her head to help herself snap back to reality. She had to act. To help ground herself in the present moment, she grabbed her cup, taking her friend’s on the way to give it to her. “Go wait for me in the dining room,” she said in a voice that could have sounded wobbly if her roommate concentrated hard enough on it.
She passed it to her, their fingers lightly brushing together. But it was enough to make electric shocks dash all over her arms until they reached her spine.
Wednesday attempted not to fixate on those feelings, but she lamentably fell short. That tender smile playing on her lips, as gorgeous as ever, but looking so… sad.
She seemed to have calmed down, to not be on the verge of crying every second anymore, but she still appeared so sad; her expression was so sad despite what she was trying to show.
And nothing was sufficient to shake that feeling away, nor the heaviness that accompanied it.
So she hesitated for far too many seconds before obeying. She didn’t want to leave her alone with her parents and their sharp words. But she had no choice; it would be weird to just stand there watching the scene and monitoring everything that was said to her friend. And Enid had already lived sixteen years with them enduring their comments, so what were a few more minutes?
And it wasn’t as if she could intervene anyway; she had promised. She didn’t want to get them kicked out of the house.
Besides, she wouldn’t always be there to supervise what was going on between them.
Not if she didn’t allow herself to go away.
In the dining room, she seated herself in the same spot she had occupied the last two times she had eaten here. Her spine remained locked straight and her hands on either side of the glass despite its heat burning her skin. She didn’t drink, not right away; her entire attention was directed at the entrance of the room near the kitchen. Her eyes lingered on it with exaggerated intensity from the moment she sat down. She waited with impatience disguised as neutral patience for her friend to return, while listening rigorously to everything that was uttered.
She tracked every sound, every movement, every word, and every silence with immense care. Although she wasn’t even in the same room, her interest remained focused there; she made sure to listen meticulously to everything that was happening. Fortuitously, not a lot was said, only some information about the food that had already been prepared. This made the girl tremendously glad that her host’s parents did not speak further on the last subject, or any others filled with ill intentions.
When the teen returned to Wednesday, she smiled briefly at her. But none of the usual illumination was present behind her expression; her eyes did not light up with her traditional whimsy. She was not genuine, and it showed. Something was still bothering her deeply. She had always been pretty bad at hiding such emotions.
The dish was placed in front of her, she thanked her, and they started eating in silence. A thick aura and heavy quiet floated around them, only broken by the sounds of cutlery on porcelain plates.
Wednesday was, once again, unable to really focus on the plate in front of her; it was hard for her to eat anything, just like Enid, who was picking listlessly at her food. Her eyes remained fixed on her face, as if trying to decode her sole expression and discern every thought crossing her mind. She watched her discreetly, attempting to uncover all the possible reasons why she was acting this way.
Strangely, she found nothing. She, who solved every obstacle that came into her path, found herself at a dead end.
She did not have enough information about Enid to decipher this particular part of her life. It was like those kids at the park and the whole situation that had unfolded, which kept running through her mind; she still had so many questions about it.
The only time she took her eyes off her was when the subject of her attention looked up at her. In an impeccably synchronized reflex, the seer lowered her vision so as not to meet hers. All this care she was feeling was already too much to bear, so she couldn’t add such a gesture at a moment like this.
She said nothing and did nothing more.
Eventually, the atmosphere, in addition to the silence, began to weigh on her. The gut sense of uneasy discomfort that came over her was quite strange, especially from someone who loved quietness and not talking such as her. Yet, it was there, and it was growing so much every second that she soon found herself finally speaking:
“What burdens your mind?”
Enid’s body tensed up at once, as if she hadn’t expected the question, despite the fact that both of them knew this would happen at one point or another. She made it as subtle as feasible, but Wednesday noticed everything; she always did. And she would never let something like this go unremarked.
The golden-haired girl pursed her lips for a few seconds with what appeared to be a hint of irritation. Then abruptly, she dropped her fork onto her plate with a rattle of metal against porcelain. Her hands clenched into fists against the table surface as she looked up at her.
They met in the middle, finally, for the first time since she had entered the room.
Her voice was low and tinged with cold, calm anger simmering deep inside. But it was painless to discern resolve that came out of nowhere:
“I need you to help me dye my hair with even more colors.”
☾
The two roommates were back in the bathroom. Like the first time, Wednesday stood behind Enid, who sitting on the same chair. Once more, her nimble fingers labored through her hair, grabbing lock after lock.
However, this time, it wasn’t to fix the problem that Enid’s meltdown had created. It was to create a new mess.
Instead of removing all the hues, she was adding them. She spread pink, purple, and blue dye sparingly throughout her hair, granting some blonde strands to show through. She worked methodically and stoically, ensuring that everything that needed to be colored was properly done.
The Wednesday from months ago would never have believed that she would willingly find herself agreeing to color her hair. The Wednesday who had just entered Nevermore; who swore on her life that she loathed this girl and all the colors attached to her at all times, who spoke colors, dressed with colors, and vomited colors around as soon as she opened her mouth. This girl who, straight away, tried to become her friend and who, despite all her attempts to push her away, never gave up. That girl, who never pushed her to do anything, and who understood her like no one else ever did.
The Wednesday from months ago, who had vowed herself to stay away from her and her colorful toxicity. Here she now here she was in the house of said girl, dyeing her locks once again with those eye-piercing shades. Here she was, looking at her hands covered in gloves, occasionally working directly through her hair, but often using a brush. Here she was there coloring something she had persuaded herself she was pleased about.
Too focused on her task, she hardly spoke, displaying a placid air that betrayed not the slightest thought. For beneath her skull, tons of reflections were jostling like bumper cars. So many were crashing into and tackling each other to get to the front row. They pushed so hard that eventually they were propelled to her lips. Yet, she let them burn the inside of her mouth for as long as she could, attempting to hold them back, to keep them far down at the back of her throat. This didn’t stop them from growing more and more ferocious with each passing second.
They commenced to take up more and more space, until they were so great that they broke through the barrier she had tried so ardently to keep together.
“What occasioned this sudden change of heart?”
She instantly was disappointed in herself for not resisting longer—or to simply let it slip away. But, obviously, she did not show it; she dipped her brush into a pot of dye to add to her fabricated nonchalance. She began to color the next strand of hair a flashy blue. “Merely yesterday you yearned to be ‘normal.’ And now you are asking me to dye your hair again.”
Her tone was calm, without the slightest trace of accusation, let alone concern. It was just a genuine question.
Reflexively, she glanced at her in the mirror hanging above the sink in front of them. Enid's own eyes were lowered to her hands, her fingers entwined, resting on her lap. She appeared pensive for a little bit, as if she was trying to form a proper response, as if she wasn’t even sure herself of what to answer.
She eventually replied softly, “I thought a lot about what you said.” She shifted on her seat with apparent uneasiness. “That I should not take their words as gospel; that I’m stronger than that. And I agree.”
Something firm slipped into her tone, even though she still seemed so anxious. “I decided I don’t want to conform to others anymore, to be someone I’m not. I’ve let myself be dictated enough who to be, how to act, and how to dress.”
There was a pause.
“I let myself be bullied enough like that…”
The shorter girl froze in her movement. The brush she was holding, its bristles coated in the same color, stopped in midair. Her eyes remained fervently focused on yet another strand of hair that she was detaining in her hand. Her heart, without warning, flared up with something incandescent and dangerous that she could not pinpoint forthwith.
Enid noticed her change of attitude far too quickly, filling the room with palpable tension. “What?” She seemed somewhat confused.
That was enough to bring her back to reality. She didn’t speak right away, however, trying to ponder how she could phrase her next sentences in a way that wouldn’t be too blunt or too mean. She gathered all the strength she needed to remain calm; she didn’t let the slightest emotion show through her words:
“Were they some of them?”
Enid’s confusion deepened. In the mirror, her friend could explicitly see her eyebrows furrow. “Who?”
“The teenagers at the park. Who were they?”
A silence ensued. Wednesday finally looked up, prompting her to cross the werewolf’s gaze in the reflection at the same moment; she was looking up at her with such bewilderment. The girl with the two braids stared back at her sternly. Her brows were slightly scrunched and the corners of her mouth stiff with wrath despite her best efforts to keep a straight face. She was dead serious.
This probably helped the blonde give her an answer, hopefully because she was feeling threatened—which was not even the case. She sighed before saying awkwardly, “Yeah… They were old classmates who were bullying me…”
The fury grew into a perilous blaze inside her chest. She stopped everything she was doing to try to dominate the rage that captured hold of her soul.
It took her a little too long to respond, “Names. Now.”
Her voice was cold and brutal despite the savage burning flames dancing under her rib cage.
Enid’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? No, no, no.” She looked directly into her pupils and, in a heartbeat, saw that she was as solemn as she could be. She was not playing nor joking.
This prompted panic to rise inside her.
“I-I don’t remember their names…” Her thoughts were racing everywhere around in her brain. “Weds just. No.”
Her refusal made the latter exhale a silent breath.
For her, it was truly incomprehensible why anyone would be willing to be intentionally mean to her. Enid was just so… sweet and generous. She gave and gave. She smiled and giggled; she offered but rarely ever got any kindness back.
Sure, in the past, Wednesday had said some things to her that could be perceived as mean. But none of them were ever meant to hurt her.
Because an Addams would only hurt someone if they hurt their loved ones in the first place. Despite her passion for the macabre and blood, she never caused any deaths for fun.
The only reason she had unintentionally hurt her had always been to push her away from her as far as possible. This was the only way she could find to prevent herself from letting her drag her in.
Clearly, she had not calculated that it was only a matter of time before she began to fail in each attempt. And she had never failed in any of her calculations, which was highly unusual for her.
To let none of her thoughts show in her voice, she resolved to ask only one cold, serious question: “Why would they do that?”
The blonde gave an anxious chuckle. Her friend persisted in hitting sensitive nerves over and over again; she kept striking exactly where it ached. It pained her heart, but she knew it was for the best. Occasionally, extensive digging to the source was required to heal what had been broken. Like a tumor. She had to cut her flesh open to find the anomaly and work on it.
It took a moment that stretched on and on for the teenager to form a new answer. She appeared even more sheepish and ashamed as their conversation progressed.
“Because I’m different… They already don’t like Outcasts, and I’m not helping myself by being… me.”
She breathed shakily.
“Being a werewolf among Normies granted me a lot of comments. And when that wasn’t enough, they attacked all the colors and the loudness.”
She started fidgeting with her own hands; if she could have, Wednesday would have held them.
Obviously, to stop her from this distraction, she quickly corrected her mind with a slap.
“My parents were my first bullies, along with my brothers. As you may have seen, they don’t really like me… I’m the unwanted child, the accident, the runt. And I’m not saying that for you to pity me; it’s just the truth. It’s what they keep telling me. And everyone else quickly picked up on the difference.”
The dark girl’s hand stiffened, hair caught between two gloved fingers, to the point where her tense muscles started to throb. She restrained herself from any further comments about this very topic, which had been the breaking point the day before. The first time in that bathroom, where she let herself slip, it had ended very poorly. She had displayed too many emotions, too much weakness, and too much care for her. This must never occur again.
“This must never happen again,” she told herself, as she was doing something similar that was becoming too akin to care.
It was not, she told herself to reassure herself; she was simply doing this to avoid another overflow of sentiments.
“So I compensated by dressing in colors, asserting myself, talking loud enough to bury everything I was feeling. Both because I liked it, but also because I thought maybe it could make them see me as more than just the weird wolf girl. As me.”
An embarrassed laugh escaped from the figure directly in front of her.
“Needless to say, it did not; it made it worse.”
She paused briefly, during which Wednesday tackled another purple strand. She hadn’t added anything and didn’t intend to; she just wanted her to unload her baggage on her.
Though her next words were not the kind of baggage she had been expecting. It wasn’t emptied on her; it was thrown in her face.
“Frankly, you’re the only person who ever saw me as me.”
And that hit her hard.
In the past, she had thought the same thing about Enid herself. And it never occurred to her that she might feel the same way about it.
She vainly aspired for her next sentence to make everything come down. Vainly.
“And hanging out so much with you, and seeing how confident you are in yourself and in your identity, and how you hold your takes and your stance so assuredly. And you telling me all…that… It all consolidated everything; it made me realize how important it is to remain myself despite what everyone keeps saying.”
She laughed again, but there was less sadness in it this time.
“WWWD, what would Wednesday do? And I know she would stay herself no matter what.”
An unusual and odd sensation spread everywhere beneath the mentioned one’s ribs. It calmed down the flames raving inside her. They did not disappear, though; they only turned into something softer and nicer, until they reached her heart. It got heavy with what was akin to a joyous sadness dripping down each of its outsides. It squeezed and twisted and poured out so many emotions down to the bottom of her viscera.
She was so proud of her.
She felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips, but she swallowed it just before it could slip away from her gasp.
Enid did not notice it, too focused on her own thoughts and how to put them into words; now that she had started talking, it was as if nothing could stop her. “I realized only this morning how impulsive and foolish it was to have cut off the colored ends of my hair. I was just angry with them, and with myself for letting their words affect me.”
She then continued quietly, but with a certain determination: “And now that I realize it, I’m done more than ever conforming to what I’m told, to try to become who they want me to be. They piss me all off and I’ve had enough of that, of them, and of their comments.” She seemed less blue, and that pleased the somber teen. “And I do not want my parents to be satisfied with the choices they made for me, so I’ll never do anything ever again that would make them proud. Just like the wolfing out thing.”
It was at that moment that Wednesday finally finished coloring her hair. She glanced at the clock in the room to mentally note the time and calculate in how long she would need to rinse it off. It did not distract her from the girl, though; she kept all of her attention directed at her.
“I still don’t regret my decision not to tell them; they don’t deserve to know how happy I am that this finally happened. And it’s not because I can finally ‘be normal’; I’ll never be no matter what, and now, I’m fine with that,” she said with newfound confidence. “I’m proud and happy because I finally managed to accept that after years of beating myself up for it.”
I am proud of you for finally accepting yourself. And should you falter, know that there will always be someone proud of you no matter what, were Wednesday's immediate thoughts. She could not let them out.
For the first time since she began speaking, the werewolf looked up. She met her roommate’s sight in the mirror, even though she was already busy putting away the dye pots in an attempt to move on to something else; she had been eyeing her at that exact moment, which made shivers intensify all over her back. It was as if her regard was always drawn to hers as soon as she was peeking at her.
The blonde smiled at her, gently, softly, genuinely, looking up at her with so much affection in her gaze. “After all, we’re not that different. Two Outcasts among Outcasts. But at least we’re together.”
Instantly, Wednesday’s face felt as if it started melting; it flushed too much for her own good. Her heart stopped beating in her chest, as if it was preparing to combust. That sensation spread to her whole skin, which tingled with little electric shocks.
It was electrifying, magnetizing; it made her feel as if she was being assaulted from all sides. Yet, nothing was strong enough to pull her pupils away from hers.
The other finally averted her gaze, much to her friend’s relief. Then, her voice lowered, almost as if she didn’t wish her to hear what came next. “I’m glad I found you… And I’m glad that whole thread and dream thing fell on you. I wouldn’t want anybody else to be my investigation partner.”
Me too.
Once more, she did not say it out loud. But she was feeling the same.
☀︎
Enid’s smile felt unusual on her face. It was bright, akin to the sun finally peeking through thick storm clouds that had prevailed for far too long. The sadness and bad feelings she had been dealing with too frequently in the last few days had ultimately cleared away, making room for a nice sensation filling her chest with warmth; it was like a hot and comforting shroud of steam covering and dissolving all the negative matters that had been troubling her.
And this time, she felt as if it was for good.
She had talked about what had been on her mind, what had been making her feel awful; what had thrust her back into a past she wished to forget: a past that had shaped most of her existence and personality. And now she felt light, as if the leg iron slowing her down had finally been cut off her ankle. Besides that, she had opened up to the person she considered her best friend—a status she hoped was reciprocated.
Even if she hadn’t responded much, the simple fact that she listened attentively had aided her in cutting away what she had been dragging for too long now. Nothing was entirely gone, obviously, but knowing that part of her burden was carried by her roommate helped to alleviate what had been tormenting her for so long.
That smile had been triggered after the conversation—or more like the monologue—she had had with Wednesday. Since then, it had refused to leave her visage. At first, it was small and in the corner of her lips, just a little smile of satisfaction due to the new lightness she felt. But it soon grew and expanded the second she observed herself in the mirror after wiping the steam off it from her shower.
Instead of twisting into something angry and melancholic like the day she had cut all those shades, her scarred face immediately took on a whole new spark of life; a gleam infused in her eyes, bursting into fireworks of excitement everywhere in her mind and in her abdomen.
It triggered the moment she met her own gaze and viewed what had been done with her hair. Among the strands that remained blonde, including her roots, some had been dyed in flamboyant blue, pink, and purple, in an intentionally irregular manner that gave the result a charming air. It created a mixture of bright tints reminiscent of cotton candy. It reminded her of herself.
She observed the girl peering back at her on the reflective surface, and she finally saw someone true. Sure, not a lot had changed physically if she didn’t count her shorter hair, the bangs hiding her forehead, and the abundance of colors adorning her mane—not to mention the large scars lingering on her cheek. But she did not feel the same, not anymore.
All the years before, every time she had looked in the mirror, all she perceived was a facade; someone she pretended to be to fit in with others, someone she had created from scratch to please others, and not herself.
But truly, all she was was a lonely girl who had started to dress vibrantly to appeal to others and get attention—which failed monumentally; chasing after friends and boys, and letting herself be walked all over by her family.
This era was over now; she would never do anything like that again. She was done with it. If she attired in pink or any other colors, if she dyed her hair a thousand shades, if she acted overly cheerful and bubbly; it would be for herself and herself only, and not to appear upbeat to coax others into thinking she was.
And that decision authorized her to see her true self, and to finally be content with who she was and what she looked like.
Her friend had really opened her eyes.
So, as soon as she finished getting dressed and drying her hair, one of the first things she did was rush back to her room with a single goal in mind.
“Wednesday! Wednesday! Wednesday!” she exclaimed as she burst through the door. Her voice was filled with so much euphoria, and her heart was tight with such bliss that she felt as if it was going to squeeze into an explosion.
Said girl did not jump at her sudden entrance; she had expected it. She always expected everything. And she did not answer right away. Instead, she finished typing the few letters left of a word and took a few seconds before moving. She had been sitting at Enid’s desk, her back facing the room’s entry. Her typewriter was set up in front of her, and she was busy rewriting the pages on which she had made so many shameful typographical and grammatical errors. This required her to turn around to see what was up with her roommate.
Forthwith, she wished she had taken more time.
The blast of colors and vibrant happiness that welcomed her felt like a stun grenade had been flung directly at her. It blinded her and took her breath away in such a way that she felt she would have staggered if she hadn’t been sitting down. She might as well have fainted.
She started feeling lightheaded. And not because her friend was lively and breathtaking; it was because her arrival brightened the room so much it burned through the other’s retinas and made her sick to her stomach—so she told herself.
She looked at her with big eyes, not blinking and not making any gesture. She did her best to not let any emotions appear on her face, which remained as impassive as ever.
The girl in front of her brought her hands to her hair, which shimmered with many hues under the afternoon sunbeams coming through the window. It made them glisten like the angelic ones in the cathedral. Beams of colors pouring out and illuminating the whole room with a heavenly glow.
Enid was divine, Wednesday thought once again. This time, she struggled to push it away. What was happening to her?
“What do you think?”
The teenager swallowed with difficulty. She suddenly found herself in the same situation she had gotten herself into in that dressing room. Her friend had asked her an identical thing, and she had felt as if she was about to choke.
This sensation was not shy to return with full force.
So instead of getting bogged down in her own mistakes by answering the question directly, she turned it back to her: “What do you think?”
Enid smiled so broadly that the dark teen felt as if her cheeks were ready to rupture. It was so big that it exposed her upper canines.
The second she saw them, Wednesday believed she was going to die on the spot. And it wasn’t in the way she always loved, like after swallowing poison and waiting for the devastating effect it would have on her innards.
That vision, instead, sent her whole body into a spiral of flush, warmth, and too many thoughts. There were so many that she couldn’t understand any of them—or she could, but she simply decided not to. Because this would be too much to handle.
Her face became so hot at this mere sight that she feared immensely that this heat would show on her skin, giving it a traitorous reddish tint. She lowered her head just enough to hide the potential color behind the shadow of her bangs. She pretended to focus on something invisible on the floor or on her lap.
She had to escape.
“I love it so much! I finally feel so… me.” The werewolf grabbed a pink strand and brought it up to her face to examine it. Mercifully, she didn’t seem to be paying attention to what her companion was doing and what she was looking at—or rather, what she wasn’t looking at.
“Thank you a million times again, Weds. For all the words and the help.”
The teenager was starting to see a way out of this situation.
“Don’t mention it,” she said. She tried to slip a threatening tone into her voice, but it came out too soft despite herself.
She was already planning a method to get away from her host to collect her thoughts, when the latter let out an unexpected squeal reminiscent of an animal being slaughtered. It unwillingly made the other flinch. She looked up quickly to see what had just happened and if the blonde had all of a sudden wounded herself for some reason that didn’t make sense. She was swifter than her, however. Her hands came down like two clawed paws of a predator on her arms.
Wednesday’s brows furrowed with perplexity and consternation as adrenaline brusquely rushed through her veins. Once again, she didn’t react first, as Enid did the honors. “I’ve been thinking!!” she started excitedly, purposefully cutting her sentence in two to add suspense.
She smiled at her so widely once again, openly exposing her fangs. The seer cast her eyes slightly down to her newly colored hair so as not to look at them too directly.
“Now that this is taken care of, I have a proposition for some last roommate quality time before the book arrives.”
A hint of worry crept under Wednesday’s sternum to envelop her lungs and heart, compressing them. The last moment she let her proceed with one of her ideas, she ended up in situations she never thought Wednesday Addams would be able to get herself into.
“I’ve always wanted to watch a movie with you.”
The raven-haired girl had begun to imagine tons and tons of scenarios, each more ridiculous than the last. So she was vividly taken aback when she finally spat put her proposition. “A…movie?”
Enid’s answer was prompt and enthusiastic, “Yes!” She was grinning so hard and sweetly and so adorably canine that it had her heart clenching. Her smile had been rare lately, so—once more—it felt good to see her elated again and back to her usual bubbly, jovial self.
She had strangely missed it.
“Obviously, it can be any type of movie you want! A horror movie, a thriller, a mystery, or anything! I’ll let you pick.” She paused, before concluding a little more softly, but still highly excited: “I just think it’d be nice.”
The second Wednesday heard horror, thriller, and mystery, her attention piqued. She didn’t watch many movies; she was more the sort to read books and stick to those—not as if Machiavelli or Sappho were getting literary adaptations nowadays regardless. But she was never against watching a film. However, only on the condition that it was very dark and not full of cheap jumpscares that tore at her ears more than startled her. She had a particularly strong hatred for those.
And rare were the modern movies she enjoyed, for the few she viewed. So she steeply thought of the entertaining possibilities of overtly mocking the sordid details in these money-grabbing films. And also just to please her friend.
She was beginning to like seeing her happy way too often, which was very worrying.
But she wasn’t about to say that directly to her—or to anyone else, for that matter. So she adopted a sarcastic tone. “Aren’t you terrified of those?”
“Absolutely not!”
☀︎
Enid was absolutely terrified of those
She would never have willingly suggested watching a horror movie under normal circumstances. She wouldn’t have touched one with a ten-foot pole. But she wanted to please Wednesday; she knew she liked dark stuff, so she wouldn’t put it past her to appreciate gruesome cinematic creations featuring blood, screaming, weapons of all sorts, and gory and horrible demises.
Needless to say, it was not Enid’s genre of films. She favored comedy and romance, not horror where people got ripped to shreds in front of her. But she would do anything to spend time with her friend; to enjoy their roommates quality time she had with her. The book could arrive at any moment, so she wished to enjoy it before this investigation took up all her attention and she had none left for her.
Despite the fear she knew she would be going through, she was still widely ecstatic about it.
The day was already drawing close to the evening, thanks to the dyeing hair sequence that seized a good chunk of the afternoon. They decided to eat—of course after her family, because she would not hang out with them again after this morning—before watching the movie.
While Wednesday was in the bathroom changing into pajamas, the other set up the room to match the film. She closed the curtains—even though it was dark outside, thanks to the end of November. She opened some red ambiance lights and lit up some fragrance-free candles—she knew her guest would not appreciate her donuts, candies and fruit-scented candles. She arranged her bed with pillows against the headboard and fluffy blankets everywhere for a comfortable seat; she got her laptop out and prepared the movie so it could be ready to start.
She then waited happily, yet patiently for her friend to return, akin to a dog wagging its tail and calmly staring at the door awaiting. She did not have a tail—not in her human form—to wag, but she still kept an intense stare on the entrance of the room.
Her roommate ended up coming back. Right away, as she was closing the door, her gaze traveled everywhere around. She did not comment anything about the ambiance created in the room, but a glint in her eyes visibly appeared. She liked it.
This made the blonde even more thrilled. She smiled widely at her when she was close enough and gently tapped the empty place on the bed next to her. “I’ve prepared everything!”
Once more, the girl did not say anything, but she quickly listened; she sat down just next to her host, and astonishingly, she snatched a blanket she had been letting on her side. It was one of the least flamboyant she had, simply a white one checkered with light pink. She did not use it; it was merely there; it was tolerated by her in the space she occupied on the bed. So this was quite a shock to see her grab it and put it on her lap as she straightened her back against the headboard.
Enid couldn’t help but smile at this scene.
She soon crossed her glance, immediately understanding she was ready; she started the film.
Just like every other horror movie, it began with an appalling murder sequence to present the story. Enid shuddered at the sight of the blood and all the red present on the screen, but she just curled her fingers on her own blanket covering her and clenched her teeth to hold everything in. Luckily, it quickly switched to the introduction of the main characters and their smooth daily lives. Obviously, until another tragedy happened, because why wouldn’t it? It was not a slice-of-life film, unfortunately, for the teen. And then everything snowballed.
Mystery, blood, action, gore, tortures, homicides and chase scenes.
Enid’s nails dug into the soft blanket the more time went by, the more hemoglobin spilled, the more bodies dropped like flies. Her teeth clenched, her canines bit her lips, all her muscles tensed, and she even found herself leaning closer to her roommate, presumptively for comfort.
And when the first jump scare arrived, that was the icing on the cake; she got so frightened she let out a high-pitched squeal. Her initial response was to grab onto the nearest thing to her, as if it would steady her and save her from the dread. Wednesday. She clung to her arm in a plain reflex, wrapping her arms around it. Her action was so sudden that the other girl winced in surprise. Even though she knew this would happen at one point or another, it had not been in her plans to be grasped like that.
And it had been even less in her plans to respond. Not by pushing her away, but by placing her free hand back on one of her arms. It settled on her bicep in a steadying and consoling gesture, with a gentleness she hadn’t planned either.
She did not say anything, though; she did not acknowledge it outwardly. She feigned she did not care; she pretended she was not currently freaking out inside at her stupidity for letting her enter her personal space like that. For letting her do it without trying to push her away. To actually appreciate the closeness between them and the lack of safe distance.
She simply continued to enjoy the movie. Or she attempted to, despite that, despite all the warmth coursing all over her skin and turning it into a surface of metal heated by flame. What was playing in front of her was pretty cliché; the story was poor and predictable by moments, as the plot had been used and reused by countless other tales before. But she appreciated the gore scenes, the creative killing methods, and how realistic the reactions to being purchased and brutally murdered were.
Enid obviously did not like those. But she managed to—somehow—enjoy it even though she knew how not fond of these. She attempted to the best of her ability to ignore her nails digging into her skin.
Oddly, for herself, she did not comment on anything when the taller teen hid her face behind her shoulder after yet another scary scene. She let her do.
At some point, predominantly focused on one of the most violent situations so far, she, peculiarly, even found her thumb slowly tracing circles on her friend’s arm. That one, she stopped it. Or more like, she compelled herself to cease it the second she noticed it.
Yet, she accepted for the other to cling to her arm throughout the movie. She permitted her to slide closer and closer to her until her whole side was pressed against hers, with no sense of personal space anymore.
Wednesday didn’t mind.
She even caught herself…appreciating it.
Enid was a ball of warmth radiating against her. Her hair was soft, brushing on her cheek, and despite the force she was using to hold her close, the contact was soothing.
She felt nice.
And somehow, in all this chaos, between all these screams, among all this blood splashing on the screen, the werewolf also seemed to feel the same. She even found enough comfort and enough safety in the proximity with her roommate to progressively commence drifting into sleep. Her head was still resting on her shoulder, at the beginning, to hide her face from the massacres, but now having taken up residence there. As for her arms, they were still wrapped around her own, holding her tightly like a plushie.
It took at least a dozen minutes for the psychic to realize something was wrong; it only needed one more jump scare—that did not make her wince herself. But Enid did not jump, nor scream, nor destroyed her arm with her iron grip further, nor pierced her flesh from side to side with her claws. She stayed in place, completely immobile.
The absence of immediate reaction took the coal-haired teen a little bit by surprise. Her brows faintly furrowed. What was happening? This prompted her to gingerly peer in her direction for the first time since the beginning of the movie.
Enid, leaned against her with her whole weight, holding her as if she was the safest thing she had ever come across, was sleeping. Her eyelids were delicately closed, soft and fragile, her cheek squeezed on her shoulder, and her entire body pressed on her side, all the while still clutching her, albeit a little more loosely.
For a moment, a long moment, Wednesday stared at her, wondering how this could have happened. Why did she feel safe enough to fall asleep so close to her? And while watching a movie that was profoundly frightening her?
She couldn’t understand how this could have occurred. But she didn’t search any further; she didn’t care, because sleep had already begun to creep into her soul before finally taking over.
The corner of her mouth stretched gently, cautiously, barely visible, but very easy to notice. She would hold it back with all her capabilities if anyone else were awake; she would, under no circumstances, let it see the light of day. She would swallow it whole and shove it into one of the darkest recesses of her psyche so that it would never be viewed again.
But she did none of that.
Slumber was gaining ground, and nothing could stop it. She watched Enid sleep, rested against her, drowsy, and couldn’t find the resilience to push her away. As the end credits began to roll, her own eyelids grew heavy, her skull filled with concrete, until she started to struggle to stay awake. At that moment, she let her guard down completely, permitting her walls to snap for good; she abandoned once and for all the barricades she had been working to maintain in place for years. One by one, one after another. Everything warped, cracked, broke. She finally authorized herself to let go; she ultimately allowed her armor to shatter without a care in the world, and didn’t even try to hold it up; she just let it clatter to the ground in a senseless din that didn’t even manage to bring her back to reality.
It wasn’t even enough to lure her back to her senses and stop her heavy head from descending lower and lower, until it rested on Enid’s.
She slowly fell asleep leaned against her.