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Before I start, I should make one thing perfectly clear, for the sake of keeping my character intact.
This was Enid's idea. Not mine.
It was Enid's, and I should've said no, but I didn't, so here I am now, knowing what Enid’s lips taste like.
(To quench your curiosity, they taste like raspberry lip gloss.)
But regardless. Let me set the scene for you. Let me tell you a story.
It was Friday night, seven p.m., and we'd just gotten back to the dorm from dinner. Enid had spent the entire week being the most unbearable she's possibly ever been, which is a lot , and being unbearable is somewhat of a personality trait for her, as I've come to understand.
Imagine my horror.
And all because Ajax asked her out on a date and she was, in her words, too nervous and excited to function properly. She could barely send one text without grinning and giggling like an ill-tempered toddler, and for three days she'd gone through five different identity crises, suddenly very self-conscious of the color of her hair, her makeup of choice, the pattern of her tights, etcetera.
It was hell. Worse than it, even. I know for sure hell itself has less color than this.
That particular Friday night, the height of her self-consciousness and anxiety about said date had reached an all new record. I swear, I couldn't make my eyes focus on her. Enid was practically vibrating with nerves, and her voice was positively screeching. I'd considered times aplenty the possibility of stapling her mouth shut, but in a stroke of generosity I let her have this one, thinking that her focusing on her little love story would make her leave me alone.
Wishful thinking, of course. I should've been better than this. Next time I won't be as merciful.
After dinner, Enid was supposed to get ready physically and emotionally and leave to meet Ajax. I did not think I'd need to be included, in any way, shape, or form.
Once again, wishful thinking.
Because once we'd settled in, Enid in front of her vanity, incessantly painting her face as she always does, and I in front of my typewriter, eager to clock in some much needed progress in my novel, she abruptly stopped, turned on her seat, and spoke to me.
There are a total of three mistakes I made after this point in time. Said three mistakes brought me where I am currently. Let's go over them together.
"Do you think Ajax will kiss me tonight?" is what Enid asked.
I paused my typing, fingers freezing over the keys. Of all things I could think of her asking, I certainly couldn’t have predicted this .
"How should I know?" I asked back.
Here is my first mistake: I engaged with her in this topic of conversation in specific, as if it mattered to me or affected my life in any capacity. To act like Enid’s worries and anxieties impacted me at all, would be a lie, and therefore by entertaining her train of thought I was lying to her straight through my teeth.
I felt her shrugging, even with my back turned and ourselves sitting on opposite sides of the room.
It’s funny because, unbeknownst to me and very much to my horror, at some point during my so far short stay in Nevermore, I started being very attuned to Enid’s reactions. I know when my words will be met with a shrug, or a horrified stare, or a half-creepy, horrifying, beaming smile full of teeth, or worse, a hug. The hug she very rarely acts on, thankfully. I’ve made it as clear as possible how I feel about them and she’s eventually caught on, either out of respect for my personal wellbeing or out of fear due to my endless threatening to her if she hugged me one more time.
Probably out of fear, though.
Nevertheless, to my question, Enid shrugged and replied, “I don’t know, I was just wondering.”
“Would a kiss not be the end goal of such an expedition?” I queried her once more.
She shrugged again, frustrated. Keep in mind, all that time my back was turned to her. I could not see her, yet I knew her.
This here could be my second mistake, being aware of her to such an extent. But it did not directly lead us to our current, awkward situation, so I am not going to label it as such. Maybe the reason for her highly anticipated reactions is simply her being too predictable, not me being extra observant of her and her mannerisms (because I really was not), so therefore I am not to blame about it all.
“I mean, I guess it would,” she said, and sighed.
“Question answered, then,” I stated, forcing my fingers to continue their typing. Thing was at my side at the time, on top of the pile of written pages for my novel, and he may not have human eyes, but his laser-like focus on me burned through me. I shot him a glare.
Enid didn’t say anything, but I knew she wanted to. The gears in her brain were turning too fast for my liking.
“You’re thinking too loud,” I informed her, and she sighed again.
At that point, I started to realize this goddamn scene I was trying to write would not be finished unless she finally left for her date. All I’d written the past fifteen minutes were two sentences and I was falling behind significantly.
“Just spit it out, Enid.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” her chair creaked as she apparently lifted herself from it. She started pacing up and down the length of the dorm. “It’s just… Nevermind, it’s stupid.”
“Enid.”
No reply.
“You’re more annoying when you mince your words.”
“I thought I was more annoying when I talked nonstop.”
“You were. But now we found a new contender.”
Again. No reply.
“Enid just say what you want to say or I’ll drag it out of your throat myself.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone before!” she screamed. The pacing stopped, and so did the clicking of the keys, once again.
Right here lies my second mistake. It’s perhaps the gravest one of the three, solely because I did it without thinking.
What is it, you ask?
Well, I shall explain.
Upon hearing Enid’s admission, I turned to look at her. Not to judge her, or condemn her, I would never, not for something as meaningless as kissing , I just turned to look at her.
Her eyes were the widest they’ve ever been, staring right into mine, and despite the hint of makeup she’d spent the last half hour applying to her face, it did nothing to hide the fear in her expression.
And now I shall explain why looking at her was a mistake.
As soon as our gazes met, I found it impossible to look away. She stared as if she were a puppy dog, lost in a storm and doting upon the first person it encountered, placing all its hope and trust on them just to be returned home safely. It was unnerving. I’m big on eye contact, normally, there’s nothing more direct or threatening than meeting someone’s eye, but it’s only fun when the other person is the one to feel unnerved. I’m usually the one doing the unnerving. In that case, the tables were flipped, and for a reason beyond my understanding, I was at a loss of words.
I didn’t really have the chance to reply to her, though. A second later, Enid scowled, and started pacing anew.
“I knew you’d be weirded out,” she said.
I almost laughed. Key word: Almost. “You insult me.”
“I’m not! It is weird. I’m sixteen and I’ve yet to kiss anyone, not even as a joke.”
Wow. I mean, she sounded really upset about this.
In hindsight, I should’ve seen this… situation of ours coming. The conversation spiraled out of control and towards that direction long before I could contain it. But Enid, annoyingly enough, has this curious, unintentional for her habit of throwing me out of balance. Confusing me.
“I’d be weirded out if you’d told me you’ve never thought of murder,” I replied, in an effort to change the subject.
Enid gaped at me. “I’ve never thought of murder!”
I cocked my head at her the slightest bit. “You’re more off putting than I thought.”
“Wednesday, this is not the time.”
I attempted to somewhat calm her down. It was a first for me. “Ajax doesn’t strike me as the type to care about something as trivial as that. Frankly, he doesn’t strike me as the type to care about anything at all. Being a Gorgon must be his entire personality.”
“Wednesday!” she squealed. Her voice was turning more and more high-pitched by the second. I was sure that by the time the night was over, she would only be audible to bats.
“I’m not entirely sure what you want me to say, Enid. I told you, I don’t think he’ll care.”
“But what if he thinks I’m not as cool as I seem? What if he tries to kiss me, and I get nervous, and I accidentally wolf out?”
I pursed my lips. “Then your mother will be delighted at last.”
Enid hid her face between her hands and sat down on her bed. A big mound of clothes she’d thrown on the bed earlier that day toppled over and onto the floor with the movement.
I sighed. This was really irritating.
“It will be fine, Enid.”
“You don’t know that,” she mumbled from behind her palms. Then she let herself fall back, her back hitting the mattress with a thump . “If only I could just… kiss someone and have it mean nothing just to practice a little and not make a spectacle of myself later.”
And here it is.
The godforsaken current situation I keep mentioning, the reason for my newfound knowledge that raspberry lip gloss is something that exists, and Enid wears, all laid out and spoken by her in a half-serious, half-joking manner I didn't even know she previously possessed.
At least I like to assume she was half-joking. Maybe because I refuse to believe she actually meant it.
You may ask; Why, Wednesday? How did that sentence bring you here? Enid spoke in hypotheticals.
Well, yes. She did. At first.
But then, barely five seconds later, the lack of a reply from me caused some certain gears into that eccentric mind of hers to spin a certain way and click together in a manner unforeseeable for me and her both, because as if in a trance, she uncovered her face, sat up straight on the bed, and beamed at me with eyes the size of the moon.
“Wait!” she exclaimed, lips curling into the brightest smile. “What if I kissed you?”
Yes. She said that.
If I was at a loss of words before, imagine how I was then .
“Your brain works in curious ways,” I told her.
If anything, I was just shocked that Enid Sinclair , of all people, had managed to unnerve me in such a manner. She’s the least threatening person I know, and I am never taken aback.
“Think about it,” she said, rising to her feet and approaching me slowly. “It would be so simple. No strings attached at all. There’d be no risk of it meaning anything, because you kind of hate me, so it’s basically the perfect practice session!”
And here, dear reader, comes my third, and final mistake.
I should’ve shut this down immediately. I should’ve said no, and rid her of any hopes that I could be coerced into agreeing. By not doing so, I let her think it was okay for her to convince me, because I didn’t actually express with real words how much of a bad idea I thought this was.
I was sure that if we were to do this, it would not mean anything at all, like she’d said. I believe myself to be very self-aware, and thus I was certain that practicing would not prove to make things awkward between us in the slightest. I didn’t care about her enough to be the cause of tension, even after kissing her.
Even after kissing her and knowing I’d been her first kiss. And she mine, for that matter.
Of course, now that I recount that, I can see how naive and simple minded I was to think that. But in the moment, I’d thought it best to quiet any thoughts of the contrary with the reminder that at least till then, I didn’t think I cared about her that much. She meant nothing to me.
Till then.
It’s not like I told her any of that, of course. I didn’t want to indulge her. And I didn’t need to, either, because Enid continued listing arguments as if she was proposing a walk in the park on a sunny day. Her smile was unbearable. “Think of it as a trial run. A very needed helping hand for your favorite roommate.”
“You’re no favorite of mine,” I said.
“Even more reason for us to do it! Thing, help me out here.”
I turned to glare at Thing once more. He had left his post on top of the papers and was slowly creeping downwards to the floor, as if inconspicuously. When he heard his name, he paused, accidentally sliding down the leg of the desk as a result. He got himself together and then twisted his fingers into something resembling a shrug.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Enid.” I said.
She deflated. “Why not?”
I refused to tell her why. I just did.
To be completely honest, kissing hadn’t yet proven itself an activity worth doing for me or my time. I wasn’t opposed to it, the opportunity, or the need, just hadn’t shown itself before this talk with Enid.
But then that mess I’d gotten myself into just.. occurred out of the blue and, to my dismay, it had me thinking about it for the first time. It became something I could see myself enjoying, let alone doing.
I didn’t know whether it was the thought of kissing by itself that threw me down that mental rabbit hole or the thought of kissing Enid specifically. And to be frank, this was a thought process I did not like experiencing. I never thought I’d be needing to think about it in the first place, it really took me by surprise. And to make things worse for me, I abruptly realized that, for Enid to ask, she probably thought I’d done this before, and the fact that I hadn’t yet almost made me feel embarrassed, raw. I felt as though someone had stripped me of my multitude of emotional layers and exposed me to a crowd, their steady eyes on me, ready to judge and pick and choose what to make fun of.
I knew in an instant that I could not begin to explain to her anything of what kissing her could be for me, because once I did, I’d introduce myself to a layer of mine completely unexplored and foreign. The mere thought of kissing Enid made me nauseous, but not in the (often pleasant) way that I was previously familiar with.
Ugh. If Pugsley had been in the room during this whole interaction, he would have laughed at my vulnerability. And he’d be right to. He is the sensitive one, not me.
All in all, for what seemed like the first and last time in my life, the weight of Enid’s stare on me felt too heavy, and I couldn’t help but look away. I’d dug my grave, I needed to accept I’d lie in it.
Enid may had sensed my inner turmoil, because then she sighed, began to walked away and said, “It’s okay. Forget I asked. It was a stupid idea, anyway.”
If anything, the entire ordeal was ironic. Once the thought of kissing Enid crawled into my mind, alike to a proper pest, it’d refused to leave. It was a very unpleasant thought, don’t get me wrong, but it was somehow more unpleasant thinking that she wanted to kiss me, and only I was the one to hold her back. If I’d said yes from the start, she’d already had kissed me, and this would’ve been over with.
Tragically, rejecting Enid sounded like a terrible, woeful thing. And I had no other choice.
She went to return to her vanity, to finish up her makeup, but before she sat down, I pushed my own chair back. My knees trembled vigorously. I hadn’t known they were capable of doing that. I hadn’t known I was capable of feeling nervous in the first place. If that was how it felt, then no wonder people hate it.
I walked towards her slowly.
I’d regret this. I was sure (and right) that I would.
But curiously, I was also sure I would regret it more if I did nothing.
I reached her side of the room, forced myself to ignore the dizzying array of colors splayed out all around me. My legs felt like they would give out, and my heart beated erratically in my chest.
I hated this. I hated this so much. I regretted this before I even did it.
I approached her. In my head, I counted the decreasing distance between us. Three feet, then two, then one last one. Our height difference, always present, suddenly felt insurmountable to me. Her eyes burned into mine, her face twisted into a quizzical expression.
I took another step closer. Six inches left. With small, slow movements, I got on the tips of my toes, leaned in, and placed my lips on hers.
Okay.
Maybe I should clarify once more. For the record.
This was Enid’s idea.
And I still hate that it was a good one.
The kiss was chaste, feather-light, barely perceptible by anyone other than us. It was simply the match of one pair of lips to another, a tentative one, frightened, as if leaning in to it further would put us both in danger.
Have you ever been afraid to do something you really anticipated doing, just because you fear how much you’re going to like doing it and how soon it’s going to end?
My first decapitation was like that for me. Apparently this was also what kissing Enid felt like.
Who would’ve thought.
Mere seconds later, seconds that felt like three thousand years, we parted, and I started to properly understand the full scope of what I’d just done.
I couldn’t think much. I just knew I wanted to kiss her again. And the godforsaken raspberry flavor lingering on my lips was not helping my case.
I suppressed a shudder. Who was I turning into?
When I opened my eyes, Enid looked right at me, eyes blue and bright and shocked.
“Huh,” is all she said, and I noticed her cheeks were tinted rose, matching in color with the highlights in her hair. I couldn’t stop looking at her, or even blink. I feared that if I did, the spell would break, and I’d need to live with the consequences of this. Whatever this even was.
“How’s that for a helping hand?” I asked, and immediately I made a note to punch myself for it later. I sounded suggestive, curious, inviting for more.
Maybe I was, but I couldn’t let her know that, no matter how I felt.
Enid knitted her brows together, deep in thought. It confused me as much as it pissed me off. She looked like she right then had the brain capacity needed to think about the kiss in a rational manner. I’m the one who’s normally rational. Why was my head in such disarray? Why didn’t I have the needed brain capacity to see this as nothing more than just a kiss?
At last, Enid spoke. “To be honest, I thought there would be more to it.”
I frowned slightly. “What?”
“Kissing,” she explained, and I was livid.
I was going to strangle her. I was going to kick her in the shin. I was going to burn her side of the dorm to ruin, and use the cinders of her stuff to warm myself in winter.
I thought there would be more to it.
Please.
What was she going to suggest next? Another kiss? As if one chaste one hadn’t done enough damage?
At lack of an answer, I lifted a single brow, expressionless. Unbothered by my perplexion, Enid was still visibly thinking.
“Can we go again?” she asked. Yes. I was definitely going to kick her in the shin. “For good measure.”
“For good measure,” I repeated, and I did not recognize myself.
But make no mistake.
Despite my nagging, I wanted to kiss her again. God , did I want to kiss her again.
If you’re still reading, please cease your judgment for my momentary weakness.
I’d never before felt so dumbfounded, so taken aback. I barely knew what to do with myself. I barely know what to do with myself right now , thinking back to it.
I waited for Enid to offer me a nod, or something at all to confirm she was still somewhat aware and conscious about what we had done and were about to do again. When she did, smiling shyly, I inched closer, placed my hands on her waist, and kissed her anew, our eyelids falling shut.
I will not lie. The second time, it was clumsy. I’m good at many things, but it appeared that kissing I still needed to get used to. And if Enid hadn’t been nervous before, she definitely was this time around. Her embarrassment about her inexperience radiated off to me. My hands had managed to go the extra mile when I decided to bring them to her, but hers still hung awkwardly by her sides. The kiss itself was soft still, unrushed, and cautious, but this time there was more body to it, more heat. I kissed her like I wanted to be kissing her, like I wanted to be there, with her, right then, because the truth is that I was.
If anything, the kiss was honest. It left my chest aching, and the synapses of my neurons burning up.
And to add salt to the wound, after a few seconds, Enid started responding. Kissing back.
My legs would surely give out anytime soon. And my heart… Well. It’d never beaten so fast.
Her hands flew to the sides of my neck, forcing our bodies closer to each other and simultaneously rooting me in place. She tilted her head and opened her mouth just slightly, enough for this to no longer be something insignificant and meaningless, but deep, and longing, almost passionate, as if we were two lovers, and the date Enid had that same night was with me. Every point of connection between us felt like it would tear right through my skin, leave me bleeding out, but I never wanted it to stop. If Enid pulled away right then, I would disintegrate.
I should’ve really kicked her instead. That would’ve saved me from a lot of trouble.
I broke away a short while later, heaving for breath. For a moment, neither of us moved, we just stayed there, holding each other, breathing in each other with our eyes closed. My mouth worked too fast for my brain to advice me against it and I immediately moved to kiss her again, my lips craving hers, like water in a desert, but I stopped myself before that last kiss, the third in total, escalated more and I, or worse, she, regretted it further.
I was not the person Enid should’ve been kissing that night. I tried to remind myself of that fact.
I forced my hands to drop from her waist, letting her go. Her eyes snapped open, and I could swear she looked disheartened, or sad, at the loss of contact but she pulled away as well.
I looked down to my feet, ran a self-conscious hand down the length of my pigtails, smoothing them out.
“You’re going to be late for your date,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek.
Enid didn’t instantly respond, so I sneaked a glance at her. Her cheeks burned a pink so vivid I was afraid they would never return to their original pale hue.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “You’re right.”
With hesitant movements, she took a few steps backwards, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.
“Thank you.” she mumbled, and it’s almost too quiet for me to hear.
I stared at her.
“You know. For the trial run.”
I kept staring at her even after she’d walked away and sat back down in front of her vanity. I knew she could see me through the mirror, still standing there as if glue under my soles rooted me to the floor, but she pointedly avoided my gaze.
So much for no risk of it meaning anything. The tension between us ran thick and electrified like wires on a current.
I felt something tugging at my foot. I looked down, and sure enough, Thing demanded my attention.
I rolled my eyes. “Move or I’ll step on you.”
Thing begrudgingly crawled away, whatever he wanted to say left unsaid, and I went to sit back down to write, even though words evaded me.
If before I’d been aware of Enid’s every action and reaction to my prompts one time, afterwards I was aware of her a thousand times. Which is how I knew she was not as nonchalant as she had once been about this, not anymore. She moved as if in a trance, as if making excessive noise would awaken something unpleasant and force her out of it.
I let myself smirk, victorious amidst my muddled feelings.
If I really thought about it, I almost didn’t mind her going on her date with Ajax later. Sorry if I shock you, but it’s true.
In the moment, I wanted her to go, surprisingly enough. And not for the obvious reason that might pop into your head. I had not become suddenly possessive of her, or felt jealous. I truly wanted Enid to go on the date. In fact, I wanted Ajax to kiss her, and I wanted her to kiss him back.
And that, dear reader, was because I knew for sure, without even a shadow of doubt, that if she kissed him, she wouldn't feel the way she felt when she kissed me. Her cheeks wouldn’t burn as red. Her eyes would not look at him with as much yearning. Her heart would not beat as fast in her chest.
If kissing Enid were a contest, I had won it, beating Ajax by a long distance. And no matter what Enid acted like, she’d eventually come to understand that she was wrong.
This wasn’t meaningless at all. The strings were, in fact, attached. What a pickle we were in.
My smile widened. This was bound to be a very entertaining circumstance.
I tore away the half-written page of my novel and added a new one to the typewriter. I skimmed through my written pile, deciding I would need to make a few tweaks to it in the next draft. I was suddenly determined Viper had an antagonistic side of her yet left undiscovered, and it would be a pity never to explore it.
I start anew on the blank page. My fingers fly over the keys.
Let’s play a little game, Enid.