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It begins with the occasional emotional night, after Enid hangs up the phone call with her mother, hands shaking and on the verge of tears. Yet another lecture about how she needs to wolf out soon, or she’ll be sent to one of those stupid conversion camps her mother seems so hell-bent on forcing her into. The words ring in Enid’s head even if she tries to block them out. You’re not going to make anything of yourself if you can’t wolf out, Enid. The translation? You’re a disappointment to the pack. Always the same words, just phrased differently. Always the same meaning behind them, and it always leaves Enid feeling so empty inside.
Enid knows Wednesday was listening in on the conversation over the phone, because her fingers had stopped their movement on her typewriter. From the other side of the room, through her tears and blurred vision, Enid sees Wednesday’s head turn slightly towards her, before she turns back to her typewriter. Enid wishes Wednesday would say something, anything.
She doesn’t.
Enid isn’t surprised — Wednesday is a person of little words. She only speaks when she deems necessary, and her choice of words are always calculated and thought through.
And so Enid lets herself fall into the comfort of her sheets, turning away from Wednesday and facing the wall before she finally allows the tears to fall. The clacking of Wednesday’s typewriter resumes, and it lulls Enid into a restless sleep.
The days that follow are uneventful, mostly consisting of Enid’s one-sided conversations with her less-than-willing roommate who begrudgingly tolerates her incessant chattering. Wednesday never mentions the night of the phone call, and Enid doesn’t bring it up either. Things return to normal, and she can almost forget about the phone call.
Then Parent’s Day approaches, and Enid feels the dread creeping up on her throughout the week. She doesn’t really want to see her parents, especially not her mother. She knows that all they’re going to talk about is how she needs to wolf out soon.
True enough, her mother spends the whole day questioning her about her eating habits, her sleeping habits, and everything else that could be the reason behind why she’s not ‘normal’. Her father glances apologetically at her but doesn’t make any effort to stop her mother’s interrogation.
All Enid can do is sit there and listen while she gets torn apart inside.
That night, Enid doesn’t bother trying to muffle her sobs under her blankets. Wednesday has definitely seen and heard much worse than a teenage girl crying over her mother’s harsh words. Enid should be used to this. It’s all she’s ever heard from her mother since they realised she wasn’t going to wolf out anytime soon. She shouldn’t expect anything else, but for some reason she can never explain, a small part of her always holds on to the hope that her mother will care about her well-being, or her personal life, or anything besides her inability to wolf out. It takes an hour for the tears to stop, but even then her shoulders still shake with every gasp of air. She feels Wednesday’s eyes on her even with her back turned, but she ignores it, and Wednesday doesn’t say a word. She wishes she was stronger than this so Wednesday wouldn’t have to see her so weak and broken.
Her cries eventually drift her off to sleep, and when she awakes a few hours later with her eyes almost swollen shut and her throat hoarse, there’s a cup of water placed on her bedside table. Enid takes a sip, and the emptiness inside is filled just a little. She glances at the other side of the room, where Wednesday sleeps peacefully. Enid swallows thickly, the swell of emotion stuck somewhere in between her chest and her throat. After the events of Parent’s Day, it’s nice to know that at least someone around her cares about her well-being, even if that someone is her mildly terrifying roommate.
The first time Enid feels the warmth of Wednesday’s touch, she’s just barely escaped death. Face smeared with blood and body marred with countless cuts and gashes, Enid tumbles into Wednesday with reckless abandon. Wednesday’s smaller frame stumbles back before she gently pushes Enid away, looking at her with wide eyes. It’s only then that Enid starts to step backwards, not willing to push the boundaries of their friendship. Then Wednesday is stepping forward, face pulled tight with a storm of emotions Enid has never seen before, and Enid is swept into Wednesday’s arms. Wednesday stands strong and solid against the force of Enid’s embrace, her arms wrapped tight around Enid’s back, grasping at the thin coat as if it’s the only thing keeping her here in this moment. Wednesday’s hands are cold, as is her body, but her embrace is the warmest thing Enid has felt tonight.
Enid doesn’t trust herself to keep pretending to be strong, so she entrusts herself to Wednesday for the night, and when they’ve both been patched up at the infirmary, the walk back to their room is silent. The door opens, and they go to their respective sides of the room for a change of clothes. When Enid returns from the communal showers, Wednesday isn’t back yet. The room suddenly feels twice its size, cold and unwelcoming.
Enid lays in bed, facing the wall. Traces the fresh wounds beneath the numerous bandages and stitches. When she closes her eyes, the images replay behind her eyelids: Tyler nearly choking Wednesday to death; Enid rushing at him from the side; Tyler’s claws slicing through her torso. Enid winces at the thought, the huge gashes across her chest hurting slightly more. All she sees when she tries to sleep is the scene of Tyler nearly killing her, and all she hears is Wednesday’s gasps for air before Enid had saved her. It’s all too much, too fast, and the tears fall so quickly it’s almost pathetic.
The door squeaks open, and quiet footsteps make their way to Enid’s bedside. The need to have someone, anyone, close to her comes abruptly, leaving Enid hollow and yearning. She doesn’t care if Wednesday can see the wetness on the sheets of her pillow. It feels demeaning and humiliating to ask, but Enid swallows her pride.
“Please,” Her voice sounds so foreign to herself, all raspy and scratchy from the crying. “Stay.” She manages to croak out, hoping against all odds that Wednesday would understand. Stay for the night. Stay with me until we’re alright.
No reply comes, and the footsteps shuffle away. Enid tries not to let out another sob. She shouldn’t have expected anything more. That hug had been a one-time thing, an anomaly. They were riding the high of their emotions and adrenaline, and Wednesday had hugged her back only because she had nearly gotten herself killed saving her.
The lights flicker off, and Enid feels the emptiness within her deepen just a little more. Then the footsteps are nearing her again, and the side of her bed dips down with the weight of another person. Wednesday. Enid’s mind and heart calls for the raven-haired girl, yearning for her presence.
Wordlessly, slender arms wrap around her waist, careful not to touch the wounds, and cold skin is pressed against her, nestling into the crook of her neck. Warm breaths just below her ear, and a soothing voice that barely sounds like Wednesday herself.
“Try to sleep. I’ll be here.”
Enid hasn’t realised just how much she’s needed this. Someone to be here with her, someone to hold her close. She hasn’t realised just how much she’s needed Wednesday in every way possible.
Guilt and shame gnaws at her for thinking Wednesday would ever leave her here like this. Because of course Wednesday would understand. Wednesday always understands. Even without words, she just knows. And Enid knows Wednesday will stay. Until the morning comes, and beyond that.
Wednesday’s steady breaths draw Enid into a fitful sleep, and every time she wakes up in the middle of the night, Wednesday’s arms are still holding onto her, as if they’ll never let go. They don’t let go until the sun rises and they’re forced apart by the routines of the day, but even then, Enid still feels the ghost of her touch for the rest of the day.
Nightmares become a regular occurance for Enid. Sometimes it’s the same one that repeats itself over again, causing Enid to jolt awake, hand hovering above her torso where the wounds have healed and been replaced with scars. Other times it’s memories from the past — things she’d rather never bring up again. She’s lucky if she doesn’t dream at all during the night.
It had taken weeks for Enid to be able to close her eyes and sleep without having to open them almost immediately after. The same images burned into the back of her eyelids, she dreaded having to sleep. Wednesday had held her through it all, every night of every week without question.
Even when things started to feel more normal and mundane again, Enid still waited for Wednesday to return to their room, just so she could fall asleep next to her. On the days their schedules don’t match and Enid doesn’t get to see Wednesday the whole day, she often finds herself in Wednesday’s bed, surrounded by the faint scent of ink and cedarwood that could only belong to Wednesday. Sometimes Enid gets too tired before Wednesday comes back, and she can only vaguely remember Wednesday climbing into bed beside her the previous night, the only proof of it happening at all being Wednesday’s body curled up against hers the next morning.
Being with Wednesday like this, so close yet so far apart — it tears Enid apart in the most beautifully painful ways possible. Skin to skin every night, while Enid’s heart reaches for something it may never find. They never speak of it, but when Wednesday always comes back to Enid’s side at the end of the day, she secretly hopes that this — whatever this is — lasts forever. Getting to see Wednesday when she’s asleep, face relaxed, listening to her breaths and counting the freckles on her face, Enid thinks she would never tire of this. She would take Wednesday in whichever way she could have her, even if it squeezes at her heart and chokes her lungs.
Wednesday ruins Enid like no one else has before.
Enid wouldn’t have it any other way.
Months into the tacit agreement, Enid starts realising that she wakes up to Wednesday watching her more and more often. She would crack open her eyes, straining against the sunlight, only to find her roommate already awake and looking at her. Enid would grin at Wednesday, greeting her with a good morning, and Wednesday would offer a quirk of her mouth (Enid has since figured out that this was the equivalent of a smile), her eyes gazing at Enid with a gentleness that would never be seen elsewhere.
It makes Enid’s head hurt — the way Wednesday acts so indifferent about it all. She notices the little changes in Wednesday’s words and actions towards her, but she never knows if it’s because Wednesday has finally warmed up to her as a best friend, or if it’s something else.
And so Enid allows herself to be torn down, relishing in the pain it brings her, because as long as it’s Wednesday, she could never be hurt. She finds comfort in knowing that it’ll always be Wednesday whom she finds her way back to. Enid waits and waits, longs for Wednesday to be hers in more ways than one.
She waits, until she doesn’t have to.
On a particularly stormy night, Wednesday says softly into the silence that surrounds them,
“Enid?” The blonde hums in reply, turning around in Wednesday’s arms to face her. A hand stops her by the shoulders, gently turning her back around. “Don’t turn to face me. I don’t think I can do this if you’re looking right at me,”
“Do what? What are you talking about?”
“Enid. I… care about you. Very much so,” Wednesday starts, choosing her words carefully. “And I’ve come to realise that you are perhaps the only person I’ll ever care this much for. I would never wish to see you hurt, but I’ve also realised that maybe I’m the one who’s been hurting you,”
Wednesday pauses, willing her heart to stop beating so hard and fast.
“I apologise if you’ve been in pain because of me. I know now how it feels to lay so close to the one you dream of every night, wanting to be closer but never knowing if it’ll disrupt the haven you and I have created.”
The words hang in the air, and the breaths against Enid’s neck stop — Wednesday has been holding her breath in the tense silence, waiting for an answer. Enid can hardly believe it, but then Wednesday’s hand finds Enid’s own in the darkness, and she squeezes Enid’s hand lightly.
“Are you saying you like me, Wednesday?” Enid squeezes Wednesday’s hand back. Cute, Wednesday thinks.
“Unfortunately so, it seems.” Enid can almost hear the exasparated sigh in her voice.
“Well, unfortunately for you, I like you too. So I guess you’re stuck with me now,” Enid laughs, and if Wednesday lets a smile slip past her lips, she’ll never mention it. “Can I turn around now?”
“No. We’re perfectly comfortable like this. Good night, Enid.”
Enid disregards her words, turning in her arms anyway.
“Good night, Wednesday.”
She presses herself closer to Wednesday, and even though the latter had grumbled about how Enid was far too warm, Enid still woke up with arms around her waist and legs tangled in the blankets.
It stops hurting to love Wednesday.
Enid wouldn’t have it any other way.