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The rage that boiled under her skin felt like molten lava, slowly burning her body from the inside out, but even that didn't hurt as much as what the rage stemmed from. Failure, embarrassment. She felt like a child that did something socially unacceptable and recognized it, spinning around to see all of the faces scrunched up with laughter. The sound buzzed around in her mind, even as the students around her were dead silent. She slowly reached up to touch where the blade had landed across her cheekbone, her hand trembling ever so slightly with the swirl of emotions threatening to spill over at any moment. Blood stained her finger tips, but it would wash off easily. The feelings would not.
The coach called it, but she already knew. She had lost. What was worse than Bianca's smug look was the feeling of those around her still staring, watching. She loved eyes, but only when ripped out of a skull. She forced herself to stand, having many words to say but none leaving her lips. The buzz in her head remained, clouding her thoughts, so when the coach told her to go to the nurse her legs moved on their own. She didn't need to be patched up; the cut was incredibly superficial, just barely deep enough to bleed. She could've left it alone and it would've stopped bleeding in just a few minutes. Nonetheless, she arrived to the infirmary in record time.
It was empty of any patients with only a few nurses standing idly by, allowing her to sit on an empty cot and stare at the floor. She didn't speak nor move, even as nurse after nurse bustled around in her vision with question upon question upon question. She hissed when they attempted to touch her, flinching under any hands that landed on her skin, but otherwise remained deep in her thoughts, silent and frozen. She was used to anger, she would even go as far to say it was a happy, welcome roommate in her head, as was bloodlust, violence, and all things morbid. Embarrassment was not a feeling she was familiar with. She cared too little about those around her, but one thing that would always bring it up from the deep depths of her soul was failure. It made her feel stupid, small, pathetic. Feeling it so infrequently made it affect her twice as much, which with feeling her emotions so intensely already made it unbearable. She hated how much it affected her, a storm of inner turmoil that made her body shake and clench like being struck with a defibrillator.
She tuned into the voices as a particular word fell upon her ear, causing her to look up at the male nurse crouched down in front of her. She met his gaze with a piercing one, not one to shy away from eye contact. If anything she excelled at holding it, unblinking, as long as possible, whether intentionally being frightening or just out of habit. He stared back before speaking again, repeating himself slower, "are you nonverbal?" Wednesday continued to stare for a bit longer, processing the words in her mind. Nonspeaking, she thought to herself, the urge to correct him so strong but unable to act on it. Well, even more correct would be a verbal shutdown or "losing speech," but a lecture on autism would be even harder than a simple correction, so that was a bust, too. She nodded slightly, which he mirrored before speaking again, "are you touch adverse?" She gave another nod, quicker this time. Finally, a professional that knew how to problem solve, what a rare commodity. She glanced away from him as he brought out some bandages and other supplies, focusing instead on a mirror across the room. She looked even more dead than usual, which was a win in her book, considering her flat affect kept her emotions from showing through. Maybe she could let herself fall to the ground and slow her heartbeat enough to induce rigor mortis, allowing herself to be taken to a cemetary to be thrown in a hole in the ground. Alas, she had projects to continue, namely escaping Nevermore to never be seen again, so she let the nurse do his job without objection. He told her what he was doing before doing so and never touched her unless absolutely necessary, such as while cleaning the cut and applying the bandage. He then asked simple questions that she could reply with a nod or a shake of her head, things like where it happened (asked like a game of 20 questions one can only say yes or no to, eventually getting narrowed down to the fencing arena) and so forth.
Only when that was finished did she notice the stares of the other nurses, plunging her right back to her previous state of embarrassment and failure. She had been distracted enough to almost forget, to feel just a bit better, but now the urges to kick and scream and hit things returned full force. She stood up abruptly, recieving a nod to leave from the nurse that she appreciated but also resented. She would've left either way; she hated the feeling of needing permission to do things. She shoved her hands in her pockets to try to quell her nerves, then when that only made her more restless she began to straighten out her uniform over and over. Any wrinkle was beaten into submission and her collar was tugged at until it assumed the perfect position. It made her feel even worse, the fabric against her skin bunching under the excessive touching and flattening, rubbing and pushing and grating against her arms and chest. She stumbled over her footing, her shoulder grazing against a large pillar that incited a sharp noise of pain, akin to that of a dying animal. It drew the attention of bystanders, creating a new sense of embarrassment and a static feeling building up across her eyes. She didn't care that they were looking, she never cared-- but now she was in a state of weakness, so the prying eyes had an effect on her now. Familiar faces mixed with unfamiliar ones, creating an amalgamation of eyes that peered into her soul, poking and prodding the mistakes and failures that hummed beneath her skin.
She snarled at them, having long ago learned to perfectly mimic the vocalizations of various predators to terrorize those around her, especially snobbish children. A werewolf responded back in kind, baring their teeth intinctively, which caused their friends to erupt into laughter, the focus being shifted from her to them. She took a breath with only a bit of relief before making her escape, forcing herself to walk with only a slight urgency as she started to repeatedly fix her clothes again. Over and over, the fabric pressed against her skin, creating an agonizing burn against her hand and the places she rubbed until she couldn't handle it anymore, shaking that hand furiously at her side to rid it of the feeling. It eased the tension, but brought more emotions to fester painfully behind her eyes, once again being aware of the weakness she was showing. It put others at an advantage, which would never do. She always had to be perfect and ready for all situations, but in a state like this she was anything but.
She flew up the stairs to her room as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the echoing of her footsteps as it bounced around the hall and rattled in her head. She shoved open the door much harder than necessary, stumbling as she fell through it and pushed it close behind her. Fast, high-pitched K-POP struck her eardrums like lightning. She hated the way it affected her, she hated the way her eyes closed so tightly and hated the way her hands cupped over her ears. She had never been shamed for it by her family, nor did she care about how others viewed her autism, but it was a moment of weakness, and she couldn't handle weakness. It made her anger grow, her nails digging into the sides of her head as she slid to the floor, curling up into a sad, pathetic ball that made her feel even worse.
After a few minutes the music stopped, however, and even more agonizing minutes later was spent counting to 60 over and over again. She took a deep inhale when a heavy fabric suddenly draped over her back and shoulders, allowing her to breathe properly again. Slowly in, slowly out. She carefully, sluggishly removed her hands from her ears, only to move them to her braids, feeling up and down the bumps and smoothing any hairs out of place. It soothed her. She did the repetitive movement over and over, and only after a few minutes of that did her senses sharpen and refocus on the world around her. Smell was the first, a soft cherry scent gently wafting over to her nose that she breathed in slowly. It was sickly sweet. She'd much prefer rotting fruit or black mold, or even better the savory smell of a boiling cadaver, but it was something to hold onto, so she focused on it. She had only been near her roommate for so long, but she was becoming accustomed to the sights and smells far sooner than she anticipated. That being said, when the sound of soft sniffing broke through her thoughts she knew who it was. The werewolf was likely trying to gauge her status, being used to relying on the scent pheremones of other werewolves to determine how they were doing. There were still factors like sweat and heartrate, Wednesday supposed, but she had already mastered control over those.
She squinted, opening her eyes just enough to see if she could handle the brightness of the room now that she had calmed down more. It was much darker than normal, she found, as all the lights had been turned off and a blanket had been mounted to cover the circular window that cut through their rooms. She blinked once, twice, and gradually her gaze moved from the state rest of the room to the likely perpetrator, who was looking at her with her face all scrunched up. Wednesday stared, eyes slowly tracing the lines in her face and her furrowed brows, her slight frown, her wet eyes. She continued to stare, analyzing in her mind the emotions such an expression could be protraying. Her gaze went down to her form; kneeling down with tight shoulders and hands flexed, her colorful claws spread out to poke into the wooden floorboards. She had previously noted that Enid's claws only went out when presented with a strong emotion, leading to the conclusion that she must be angry. No other reason for the werewolf to tower over her in her moment of weakness, and yet she took the steps to reduce the light and sound in the room, presumably to benefit her. That didn't make sense.
She watched Enid relax a bit, claws slowly retracting as she shifted to a more comfortable sitting position, glancing at her with what she assumed was murderous intent. However, she could've been projecting. What a wasted opportunity to not be attacked by a strong, monsterous werewolf in her state of weakness. It surely would be something to be remembered... It was only with that bias out of the way did she realize Enid had been sitting uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, letting Wednesday take her time in looking at her, analyzing the situation, to slowly understand what was going on. In her vulnerable state, Enid was being patient and quiet, giving her room to take everything in before she spoke.
"Are you alright?" She asked at last, her voice soft in a way Wednesday thought was reserved for speaking to her stuffed animals. It seemed it was reserved for her, too, but that would be presumptuous to assume-- Enid could be soft with anyone in private and she'd be none-the-wiser. Not that she cared, of course not, but even as she denied it her heart jolted a bit at the thought, a stake twisting into her chest. It was too much. She placed her head back down on her knees, covering her face with her hands as she focused on breathing again. She didn't expect to be spoken to again, but she didn't flinch at the sound, if anything it was soothing to listen to her roommate speak. She swallowed hard. "Do you want me to get your bat guy? I usually feel better with a plush with me."
"Asmodeus." She corrected instinctively, her voice raspier than normal from her atypical display of emotion. Of course she'd find her voice not when in the presence of medical professionals, but instead when she must correct someone. It was the Addams way, she supposed.
Although she hadn't given any indication of yes or no, she heard her roommate stand and head over to her side of the room. She was grateful when she felt the soft fur of her companion pressed against her hands, removing them from her face to take him into her arms and finding an amputated hand accompanied it. Thing hopped onto her shoulder and rested against her comfortingly as she gently pressed her face against the soft plush. She already felt significantly better from the weighted blanket, but her furred friend was enough to instill a sense of relief and calm that brought tears to her eyes. In turn she felt worse again, despising whenever her body would go to cry over something so.. unimportant. If she had to cry, it should be memorable and dramatic, like crocodile tears over a husband she murdered.
"I'm autistic too," came Enid's sudden voice, sounding a bit shy, "we present pretty differently but I get it. If I can help in any way let me know, okay?"
Wednesday took a moment to process the new information, rolling it around in her mind before pulling her head up to meet the werewolf's gaze. She blinked, a tear or two spilling over but the rest remaining firmly where they were. She refused to cry more than necessary for her body to de-stress. "You have autism?" She finally settled on as her response, but it came off as more of a statement than a question with her flat tone. She had read the DSM-V multiple times out of her own interest; she knew most disorders and conditions by heart. Her failure to notice these traits in her roommate surprised her, but the moment her personality was put under that light it made all the more sense. The restlessness, distractibility, strong emotions, hyperverbality, almost theatrical way of speaking and expressing herself, strong morals and interests, and so on.
Enid scratched the back of her neck and found a sudden interest in the flooring, something about the question making her nervous. What it was, Wednesday couldn't tell. "Yeah, I, uh, flew under the radar for a long time since I'm a girly girl or... whatever. It was just seen as quirky or eccentric." She chuckled to herself, but there wasn't joy in it. "Most people just thought I was a handful. I even got misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder, which is messed up for me and for those who actually have it."
Wednesday nodded along, finding she wasn't uninterested or as apathetic as she normally was towards learning about someone. She had already found Enid to be peculiar and interesting, what with how she managed to be a calming and even comforting presence even with her bright colors and theatrical demeanor, the latter she now understood was likely a mix of masking and just being much more expressive than neurotypicals. "Yes," she stated simply, "you are clearly autistic, you meet the diagnostic criteria easily and check off a majority of the boxes for autistic presentation in girls."
The girl in question grinned and clapped in her excitement -- Wednesday noting the stim down in her mind as another body cue to look for -- before she replied. "That means a lot to me! And we have something in common-- I didn't think that'd happen!" Wednesday winced at the shrill sound, her pitch and volume having grown to match her joy, which Enid quickly apologized for.
"It's alright," she responded instantly, "I have trouble with that stuff, too." She stopped for a moment before she could speak any further, not understanding why she had the urge open her chest and spill her guts, both metaphorically and literally, for the other girl. Not used to being understood, she presumed. Enid had opened up to her though, so she may as well respond in kind to further their friendship. "I often talk too quietly to be heard," she admitted, "or I don't show the socially acceptable amount of emotion. Not that I'd adhere to such superfluous norms, but it is a complaint I recieve frequently. You don't need to apologize for anything of the sort." She rubbed her fingers over Asmodeus' bat wings, holding unblinking eye contact while Enid looked away every so often-- also likely masking, or just discomfort. She looked away herself to give Enid piece of mind, focusing instead on Thing. He was still on her shoulder, not moving much other than small movements to show he was listening and trying to provide comfort wordlessly. He began to mimic her movements, gently running one of his fingers along the fabric of her shirt like she did to the plush. A sign of solidarity. "Thank you, Thing, I appreciate the sentiment."
Thing did what she could only describe as a happy little dance in response, curling and uncurling his fingers as he bounced in place. He signed a few words quickly, a simple 'WHAT YOU NEED?'
She thought about it, then stood, using the door to help herself stand. She was wobbly, her balance worsening when she was overwhelmed, but found a hand quickly on her elbow to steady her. It burned her skin through the fabric, which Enid must've understood because she didnt react when she flinched away from it. She sent her a small nod of thanks, before realizing she hadn't answered Thing -- not to mention the werewolf was looking at her expectantly, too -- so she voiced what she believed was obvious (though she knew theory of mind wasn't her strong suit), "I'm going to move to my bed." The way Enid's face changed tugged at her, it seemed almost disappointed, and she found herself adding "if you'd like to join me, you can."
A wide smile grew on Enid's face and Wednesday swore she could see a tail wagging furiously behind her as the werewolf hurried over to sit on her bed. She sat down next to her with much more grace, only for the moment she let Thing down on the mattress Enid bounced back up into a standing position. "Oh! Could I paint your nails? I noticed yours were chipping and it always soothes me when I'm overwhelmed-- I use more colorful shades but I have black and silver, too! Or a very dark purple, or navy if that is more your style, I think you'd look good with a dark red! Or maybe--" She closed her mouth tightly, before it turned into a shy smile. "Didn't mean to ramble. And only if you're comfortable with it, I mean."
Wednesday tilted her head to the side, studying her again. She was sure the blonde had been compared to a sun many times before, what with how it perfectly encapsulated her soul. A bright pink soul, that is, with colorful claws and a toothy, werewolfish grin. Wednesday found the sun didn't blind her like it normally did, its warmth comforting. She exhaled slowly, releasing some residual stress with it. Seeing Enid shift uncomfortably made words fall out of her mouth, instinctively wanting to soothe whatever worries she had. "I enjoy when you talk, it is soothing."
"Really? Are you being sarcastic?" She asked slowly, skeptically. "You seem bothered when I do, especially if I have music playing."
Wednesday stood to be on the same level as her, stepping forward into her space to assert herself. "I get overstimulated sometimes. And yes, most songs you listen to are garish." The werewolf winced, drawing her arms to her chest to gently rub her hands together. Wednesday reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, being able to handle physical contact that she initiated herself, and continued, "but I will always speak honestly about things that are important to me. It would be a disservice to speak wrongly of them."
Enid's cheeks turned a gentle shade of pink, glancing between the hand on her arm and back to the other girl's face. "I'm important to you?"
At that, Wednesday abruptly stepped back and sat back down on the bed. She pushed away the feelings that rose with that statement, mostly defensiveness, and pointedly changed the subject, forcing herself back to a calm expression. "You can paint my nails. No unnecessary touching."
Enid hopped right to it, hurrying over to rummage through one of her drawers and humming excitedly as she filtered through all the polish. "What color? Just black?"
She repeated the humming, but only for a moment before she made herself stop. She cleared her throat, "whatever you think would look the best."
"Red!" Enid blurted out instantly, not missing a beat. "Red would look so good on you, it'd bring out your eyes and your cheeks and-- uh, w-well it'd just look nice on you. Yeah."
"Blood red, preferably." Her voice was calm, but there was thinly veiled amusement at her stammering. She didn't point it out.
Enid feigned a serious expression, nodding slowly. "Of course, only themes of blood and death for your outfits." She then smiled again, dropping the seriousness to grab a dark red polish and nail polish remover before skipping back over to sit next to her roommate. She held her free hand out in a silent ask for permission, which Wednesday only hesitated a moment before complying. The heat from the other hand burned for a moment, but as Enid gently rubbed away the nail polish she slowly settled into it. She didn't mind the werewolf's touch as much as she expected, especially now that she was calm, instead finding it nice.
When Enid eventually got to work on the first coat of nail polish, she began to ramble again. It seemed she didn't like silence, jumping to fill even what Wednesday would consider a comfortable silence. Well, she considered all silence good, but she couldn't say she wasn't pleasantly relaxed by Enid's soothing voice, enough so that she blocked out what she was saying entirely. She heard a few words here and there, something about a friend of hers, Yoko, and then a name of another student she hadn't met, who must've done something repulsive to warrant the expression on her face as she told the story. She was watching her face intently, every small detail as her face changed to fit the story. Joy, annoyance, jealousy, disgust-- none made her face any less enchanting.
And that was when Wednesday decided to look away from her face and focus more on the story, distracting herself from her thoughts. If Enid noticed anything, she kept quiet, but she couldn't contain a small smile and a faint blush from the attention. Maybe this would work out after all, they had at least one thing in common.