Chapter Text
Wednesday doesn’t do tears, color or emotions. Especially emotions.
When Dr Kinbott asked her the question, her frigid body and death stare wasn’t just because she disliked Kinbott’s unwavering (and suspicious) determination to drill into her head and peel apart her very being, but also because she simply did not know the answer.
“How did you feel about it?”
The question plagued her as she laid in bed, hidden under the safety of her dark hair and even darker sheets.
There was a stack of empty mood charts sticking out of the trashcan in the corner of the room, unseen and untouched.
All the little colored circles with faces depicting different emotions haunted her mind.
She was an excellent writer, yet she lacked the vocabulary to describe her feelings on a stupid piece of paper—with multiple choice questions of all things.
Her sessions with Dr Kinbott had left her with more questions than answers; questions only she knew the answer to.
Yet, despite being a detective and Addams, Wednesday couldn’t find any evidence or draw any proper conclusions.
She had tried mapping out connections with string pushpins, similar to the one she had made earlier for the hyde (the one her roommate had called “Ted Bundy’s Pinterest”), but there were too many unknown variables.
The latest addition to the investigation was a simple list of like and dislike, with miscellaneous words and names under each category, with some exceptions in the middle.
One of Wednesday’s observations was that she had a hard time putting names in the ‘like’ category.
Words were easy: murder, torture, writing, black…but when it came down to who, it was like having to put a list of words in the category and not being able to exclude the ones she disliked.
For example, her family.
There was something about her family that she tolerated more than others.
Even if the world rejected her, she knew she would always have a place in the Addams’s family portrait.
Perhaps it was the blood connection, but Wednesday felt they were the few who not just understood her (to an extent) but made her fit somewhere, hence they were important.
Ironically, it wasn’t black and white. She still had her ups and downs with her mother and heavily disliked her parents obsession with getting her to conform to Nevermore’s ways.
And love. She hated that they wished for her to fall in love.
Despite the distaste, Wednesday couldn’t bring herself to put them anywhere other than in the ‘like’ category.
Wednesday wasn’t emotionless. In fact, she felt quite the normal range of emotions.
Perhaps sometimes at abnormal intervals, but that’s because she’s an Addams.
Her only problem seemed to be recognizing and admitting said emotions.
Despite being a multilingual badass, she was not well versed in this.
What’s this feeling called?
The black mood ring on her middle finger felt itchy with the thought of emotion.
She rubbed the swirly surface with her left hand, feeling the little engravings on the side.
It was too hard to see in the dark, but Wednesday hoped it was black.
According to the chart, black meant dead…or frustrated, conflicted…or that the ring just wasn’t sensing anything. Dead seemed about right.
The ring had been sent in the mail from a certain blotch of color she was all too familiar with, and had come in a small coffin shaped box with a sticker decorated envelope.
Inside the envelope, there were instructions and a chart describing the meaning of each color, as well as a note.
The note detailed her adventures in San Francisco, and even had some polaroids attached with scribbled captions (Wednesday didn’t really do texting).
Wednesday wasn’t originally going to wear the ring, but after losing the snood said blotch of color had made for her, she decided she needed to display [her] appreciation more by displaying the gifts she was given.
Speaking of her roommate, she wasn’t due to come back for another week or so, so Wednesday had time before she needed to tone down her “loud old library lady” typing or give up one of her blankets because she’s “like a frogcicle” and “doesn’t even need blankets.”
She had no idea what a frogcicle was, but she was sure she was nothing like one.
Does she sound like an amphibious stick of frozen juices?
Wednesday was suddenly reminded that she hadn’t seen the blanket on her bed or among her roommate’s colorful mush of colors earlier that night.
Perhaps Thing had taken it to wash? She would have to interrogate a werewolf later.
She would get the week to thoroughly enjoy the spooky creaking of the floors and whistling winds outside.
It was good timing too, she had needed time to focus on her novel anyways.
She was making excellent progress; Viper was solving her inner mysteries, which were far more complicated and morbid than the trail of fraud and murder she had written a few chapters ago.
They included blocked memories and suppressed realizations, as well as a horrible paper trail.
Wednesday had left off where Viper had just received a letter from her companion containing details on their own investigations and cases, which helped her unlock some of her own memories.
With the thought of her novel, Wednesday’s mind rid itself of restlessness, and started to drift off to sleep.
Her lips upturned against her will as she remembered how—every night—her roommate would demand that her head must be visible and not under the blankets so she would know she’s there.
Her head was still buried underneath her blankets; there was no need to have her head out like usual though, she had quite a few more days to be alone.