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“Jesus, what happened to you?!”
Wednesday winces at the influx of light assaulting her throbbing head, dropping her bag to the floor to shield her eyes. They snap comically wide when a warm hand wraps around her bloodied forearm, groaning at the searing heat from the wound that sends hairpin trigger shots of lightning up her spine. It feels as though every nerve in her body is being decompressed all at once, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
Grits her teeth, inhaling sharply. “Nothing. Just a little scrape.”
She gently pulls her arm out of Enid’s grip, going to walk around her. Enid stops her with a firm tug on the waist of her coat, and she’s helpless as her feet stutter backward on the wood.
“A little scrape? I can see your bone!”
Enid says lowly, pulling Wednesday’s arm back into her grip with a tenderness that her eyes do no carry. She looks furious, eyes ping-ponging across the eaten up flesh in a desperate twist of ochre and blue.
The other girl inclines her head, feeling something light in her chest. It’s almost like the golden hour of day kissing the sea’s surface, and it’s harrowing.
Wednesday sighs in resignation to the attentiveness of her roommate, tilting her head back when a wave of dizziness makes itself present, crawling from the throbbing base of her skull and streaking to her aching temples.
She’d just returned to the dorm- the clock had hit 3 am when she’d attempted sneaking back into the room. Of course, Enid was acutely aware of even the slightest sound like a feather falling on a cloud, and had appeared at her side before she’d even had the door shut properly behind her.
She truly hadn’t anticipated the fact Thornhill might go all “Home Alone” on her family house, booby traps that were far too advanced for even Wednesday to disarm. Most of them had been easy enough to dismantle or avoid, but as she ventured deeper into the dark catacomb of a building, she’d found herself with her skull bouncing off the bottom of a snake pit. Having to defend herself from the venomous reptiles with her hands and feet alone took up more of her energy and concentration then she had to spare, and was left at a disadvantage clamouring up the moldy and decrepit grave of dead snakes, and along the hall to her final destination.
Her first mistake, was even allowing herself to fall into the Punji trap of nocturnal ambush predators in the first place. The second, not noticing the artillery that had carved its path into her flesh.
When untying the snarled up snood from the handle, she was so disoriented from the head injury and overexertion of feeble muscles- (mentally promising to train with Xavier at a later date)- that she hadn’t realized the the caltrop had been triggered.
All she could really remember was the excruciating feeling of metal splitting open her arm, cinching its spike deep within her muscle tissue. She’d seen the tear in her coat and the rusted tip of the spike, soaked with her blood but hadn’t anticipated the severity of it.
Enid used her claw to remove the jacket from the elbow down, gasping at the sight of 3 inches of weaponry lodged into pale skin.
Even Wednesday’s nose scrunches at the scent of festering flesh, it nearly choking her from the thickness of it. Some of the fabric was lodged into the open skin, crusted with blood and pus. The iron caltrop must have had some form of poison on it- the skin was eating away at itself to expose more and more of the quickly paling hypodermis with every passing moment.
More disturbing, was the fact Wednesday was genuinely horrified by her own carnage rather than fascinated. The adrenaline in having to escape the house a second time, even without a Hyde licking her heels had kept the pain at bay, but now she was feeling the extent of the damage and it was excruciating.
She had to admit, in her own suffering, the fiendishly clever booby traps were a nice touch in place of a sired monster.
Wincing at the fingertips exploring the purpled skin around the laceration, she slouches her back against the wall with a grunt. “Aren’t you-“ hisses when the blonde presses down. “Meant to be asleep?”
Enid growls lowly- something that has Wednesday’s brows raising weakly. It sounds primal- and she seemingly doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. It tapers off, though, when Enid spots the black and shredded fabric peeking out of Wednesday’s bag.
“Is that- did you go back to get the fucking Snood?!”
Enid drops to her knees, pulling the torn up and dirty snood out and waving it around like some form of battle flag. Wednesday‘s eyelids twitch in a roll.
“Why would you go back and get this?” Enid’s eyes are locked on the snood in her hands, the pads of her thumbs stroking over a piece of it that hadn’t been mauled by the Hyde. Wednesday bites her tongue. Enid looks up, a golden sea hue clashed by the rolling tides of a storm.
“Does this- is this meant to mean something, Addams? Because if it does- I mean.. why would you risk your life if not for-“
Dryly. “I am bleeding out and you’re upset about the scarf.”
Huffing, she stands, tilting her head to examine the slouched over goth inscrutably. “It’s not a scarf.! And you’re avoiding and- God you’re so- ugh!”
She throws the snood backward onto her bed, stomping into the bathroom where Wednesday can faintly hear the faucet running.
She wraps her healthy arm around her abdomen, feeling something queasy squeezing at her innards. Perhaps if she clutches it tighter, the organs will stop trying to rearrange themselves.
That would be quite the autopsy. Death from an infection caused by a jagged block of iron, with her kidney lodged in her throat and small intestine wrapped around her lung like a snare. Would a embalmer, fascinated by the macabre, place them back into their spots like a game of Mr. Potato head before throwing them away? Or perhaps, leave her chest cavity open for all to see. Her parents would be so proud.
Perhaps, she could have the caltrop moved to pierce her heart instead. Benignly, she thinks of Enid at her funeral- with the ends of her hair dyed black and nails painted grey, and it doesn’t amuse her as much as it should. It makes her feel as though the iron spike has already taken up residence in a place where cotton candy perfume and cherry lip balm that paints her lips like a caramelized apple should be-
No. That was… too much. Enid was just that. Sweets and colour and horror. Horror like that godforsaken movie The Notebook she’d been forced to watch.
Scoffs to herself. Forced? As though she hadn’t had her gaze fixated on the blubbering idiot beside her out of her peripheral the entire time.
The snood didn’t mean anything. She just wanted to explore the house. See if there were any cool trinkets and stumbled upon in. And she just wanted to unburden herself of the heavy feeling that made itself known every time she caught a glimpse of Enid’s pink one around the room.
Distraction. She needs a distraction.
Her gaze falls to her arm, stretching it out with a downward twitch of her lip, balling her hand into a fist. More and more of her pale skin was turning purple. It looks like a Reuben sandwich, she muses slightly.
God, she’s losing oxygen to the brain, her lungs heaving with these shortening breaths she can’t funnel into her lungs fast enough. She flexes her healthy arm, feeling the chills running up and down from her clammy palms to her aching shoulders.
Aren’t these the signs she’s in the early stages of sepsis?
Sepsis would soon lead to death. Her legs were getting heavier to stand on, like leaded weight, and bent at the hips to prevent herself from collapsing.
“Enid-“ she calls softly, swallowing against the dry grain. “Enid!”
The blonde appears with hair dying gloves on, toilet paper over her mouth and nose serving as a mask, and her hair tucked beneath a shower cap. Wednesday snorts. “Well don’t you look… pretty.”
Enid rolls her eyes. “Hey! I’m trying to save your life here.” She stomps over, slinking one arm beneath Wednesday’s knees and the other around her waist. Pulls her to her chest in a bridal carry.
Or funeral march.
Wednesday’s eyebrows raise, blinking away the bleariness from her vision. “Well, this is mortifying.” Lolls her head to rest against Enid’s shoulder.
If she snuggles into Enid’s warmth, she chalks it up as needing to keep her body temperature regulated and not from how her comfort is soothing the building anxiety in her.
She’s always wanted to die- always. But Enid is colour. Enid can’t wear black and wear a veil of morning or have the shadow of grief following her every movement.
She couldn’t die. She couldn’t bear to leave Enid, and that thought is as terrifying as the colossal man-made horror of Enid’s side of the room flashing in pallor shades as they rapidly approach the bed. Her bed. Everything smells of Enid, and would it be so bad to bundle up in it for an eternity? To rest her weary bones beside someone that has shown her nothing but love?
Enid lays her down on her bed, batting the teddy bears and pillows to the floor like they were an obstruction of care. She flickers the bedside table light on, collapsing onto her rolling chair (an upgrade she was still trying to convince Wednesday of trying). Nods resolutely to herself.
“Scalpel!”
Wednesday lolls her head to the side, blinking wildly. “Huh?”
Enid smiles. “Kidding. But I’m gonna fix you up now so you don’t die because I actually really like having you as a roommate.”
softly lifts Wednesday’s arm onto her lap.
Wednesday blinks at her friend, a soft smile covering her features despite the pain burning every muscle she has. Because Enid cares.
Enid. Always. Cares.
The werewolf winks, before she pulls her focus to the array of things Thing had been carrying over to her like a soldier.
She grabs a saline solution, squirting it onto a clean piece of gauze to sterilize the outskirts of the wound, and pours some into the wound itself.
“Okay- so I don’t have any sedatives and there’s really no time to, like, smother you to the point of unconsciousness, so this is gonna hurt. Like, really bad.”
Wednesday huffs, looking down at her arm that Enid had propped up on her leg. She was staining the blue fabric of her jeans rapidly, and tried to focus on the maroon mix as Enid wraps her fingers around the spike with a steady hand.
Maroon. Red and blue mixing together like blood in water and perhaps they’re maroon.
Since the day they met- Wednesday spilled into her life with nothing but gore, and Enid welcomed her without the bat of an eyelash. Tied together. Fated. Two things that could not be separated.
She flicks her gaze tiredly up to Enid, and her features are blurring together. “I can imagine a worse pain.” Flashes of black and grey and obituaries on a gossip page before it’s shut down for good. “Bite the bullet.”
Enid nods, pulling the iron spike from Wednesday who howls out in pain, her back arching off the bed when a hot wave licks up her body in a blistering heat.
“Okay! It’s out!” Enid sighs, holding the spike up and it’s nearly the size of her hand, and carroded from whatever chemicals had reacted to her blood. Wednesday moans, coughs.
“Thing-“ the hand scampers toward the eldest Addams obediently. “Go put that in a jar for me, will you?”
Enid looks down at his expectant hand, chuckling. “Glove first- and be very careful. It’s heavy, for you.”
Thing flips her off, doing as told and swinging it onto his back(?) before dissapearing beneath Wednesday’s bed.
Enid turns to look at her with a quirked brow.
“What do you keep under there?” She smiles brazenly. “More of my gifts?”
Wednesday lolls her head back, blinks up at the ceiling. “When will this torture end.”
Enid giggles, and it tugs at the corner of Wednesday’s lips and she’s too tired to fight it off. But the other girl is busy hoisting a large bottle in an ornate glass onto her other thigh. Wednesday wiggles her fingers. “What’s that?”
Enid pops the cork out, tilting it and a steady stream of the translucent cream pours out, searing the dead tissue away, while the skin slowly reknitts together. Wednesday blinks in surprise.
“A very potent Dittany from home.” She cleans the drying blood around the sealed wound with some more antiseptic, her face an awkward twist of a smile. “My mom makes it. I used to get into a lot of trouble when I was little, and modern medicine wouldn’t help a werewolf whose body heals faster than a normie can move. Sit up?” She helps Wednesday to sit, holding the brunt of her weight with one hand on her upper back. Instructs the girl to tilt her head forward, and pours more of the dittany onto the head wound.
Wednesday feels the potion like warm water over her tousled brain, her senses realigning themselves. “Don’t scrimp on the werewolf magic next time I traipse in here battling my mortality.” Wednesday huffs out, relieved. “As much as I love death, I wasn’t quite prepared to die today. It would have been a very disappointing death.”
“Yes. Because I’m sure that’s why you didn’t wanna die today.” Enid chuckles, her hand rubbing soothing circles on Wednesday’s back. The goth girl clears her throat, swinging her legs off the bed and moving away from the touch.
Her touch felt as potent as the dittany, leaving little splotches of heat from where her hands touched, and soothing her all the same.
Enid takes off her makeshift scrubs, her face splotchy with a blush. Wednesday thinks it suits her, and blames it on the lingering affects of metal poisoning.
Although, poisoning wouldn’t cause the fleet of crows in her stomach to take flight.
“So, the snood? Why’d you go back for it?”
Wednesday blinks, looks to her side of the room. Her blood probably soaked Enid’s mattress down to the metal springs and loose threads. Her voice feels thick with feeling, and it’s heavy and her head feels heady.
Prepares her excuse.
“I was looking for any interesting body parts left behind I could take.”
“No. That isn’t why.”
Wednesday inhales sharply through her nose, juts her jaw out defiantly. “I am not sure what you’re looking for, because that’s the truth-“
“Oh cut the crap, Addams!” Enid groans in annoyance. “You always do this. You’re scared- and I get it. I get that you’re scared and that this-this is all new to you. Feeling the good feelings. The happy hormones. Trust me, I was terrified too, when I first found out I was.” A wry laugh. “Different. And it’s not easy. Your minds at war with your heart and you choose to think logically 6 ways from Sunday every time. But you cant keep hiding. Or running away- or getting yourself nearly killed to take the path you think is necessary for your own survival, or lack of or- fuck! I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing, Wends, because you don’t talk to me.” Her voice falls to something tentative- soft, and broken and it hurts worse than an iron spike, Wednesday thinks. To hurt Enid. “And I just wish you’d talk to me. So I could know what goes on in that beautiful, twisted mind of yours.”
Oh. Perhaps, busying herself with Tyler and Crackstone and Xavier was, in vain, to avoid hurting Enid the entire time. To spare them both the sorrow of Wednesday baring her raw, and mangled heart to the purest spirit. Because her family loved her, out of obligation. Her school loved her, in sorts, because she served them. But being loved? By Enid? That would only break her heart.
The way she broke Enid’s heart by abandoning her in lieu of the mystery. By not being there when she was stood up by that idiot at the dance. By not opening her heart.
Wednesday looks to the ceiling, counting the wooden panelings. She’s counted 46, before, without looking, she stretches her good arm out. Her palm grazes the cool puddle of blood on the sheets, settling on the abandoned snood, offering. She feels fingers thread with hers, and releases a breath she thinks she’s been holding her entire life.
“Because you made it for me.”
“What?-“ Enid’s thumb rubs absent circles on the back cool skin, squeezing. She can feel Enid’s blood pulsating between her fingers. Perhaps it’s her own heartbeat.
“Oh! The snood- I could have made you a new one. It’s not a big deal-“
“- it is to me.”
A silence falls. The only thing breaking it is the interim scattering of Thing resurfacing to bring the bottles back to the bathroom, before he clamours out the window in what’s a disembodied gesture of fleeing the scene of a crime.
Blood. Pain. Love. It truly was the most devastating crime of all, and deliciously so.
Wednesday sucks her teeth, drawing strength from the comforting warmth of Enid. “You made it for me even when I was horrible to you. You continued being so kind and helpful, despite my contempt. Even if I didn’t ask for the help, or it made it worse.” Enid snorts, remembering what landed the snood in the Gates house in the first place. “You still tried. And wanted to be near me no matter how far I pushed. You even cleaned the rent in my skin so I wouldn’t perish.”
Enid stands up, circling to kneel in front of her room mate, intertwining both their hands. Looks at the little red streaks where the blood stained Wednesday’s skin.
She waits for Wednesday to look at her, and smirks. “I wasn’t about to let you die on me.”
She reaches up, pushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair behind Wednesdays ear. The latter teen shivers at the contact, drawing her eyes shut and swallowing her pride.
“You are my death and my rebirth, a thousand times over, for a thousand eternities that the sun may burn. And if you shall ever rest, I shall burn in your stead.”
Her eyes flutter open, looking at the awestruck expression on saccharine sweet features.”You are my crown of death.”
Enid beams, releasing the hold on Wednesday’s good hand to wipe at her eyes, smearing mascara and tears across her face like war paint and it’s a beautiful sight.
Wednesday smiles slightly, leaning forward with an incredibly sore body to cup Enid’s face , rubbing at the wet streak beneath Enid’s left eye.
She drops her gaze to flicker between glossy cornflower and a lip worrying between teeth, her voice falling to barely above a whisper.
“Tell me how we will murder each other at the end of this affair, how love is killed because we were too raw, because we loved too bloody.”
Enid reaches up to cup the hand on her cheek, and without breaking their eye contact she turns Wednesday’s palm to press a kiss to the skin there. She trails her lips up her wrist, up the soft expanse of her arm, and back again. Settles her heated skin into a cool palm.
Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s- my father does that to my mother. How do you know that?”
Enid shrugs, offering a dopey grin. “I pay attention to the things you say, you know. Kind of what friends do.”
Wednesday huffs through her nose. “Friends. Do my words not carry, or do you simply not reciprocate their meaning?”
Enid’s smile is blinding, as she leans on her knees and reaches up to stroke the sides of Wednesday’s neck, the shadows from the light, and Wednesday doesn’t expect more than to marvel in the aesthetic delight of soft tones on softer features, in a haze of cherry scented lip balm and vanilla body lotion and something entirely Enid. Doesn’t shy away when their noses brush, and she can feel Enid’s giggle against her lips like the bewitching melody of a cello piece.
And then, their lips meet.
Wednesday notes that Enid’s lips are softer than she’d thought, almost silken, and pillowy against her own. She could feel the soft tickle of breath beneath her nose, clawed fingers carding through blood-slick hair as they breathed each other in.
Wednesday thinks she’s been playing dead her whole life and she gets this feeling- this stomach lurching, heart burning feeling-
that by feeling this good, it is surely to be the last time. But Enid draws back, to press soft kisses to her cheeks, jaw, the bridge of her nose, the parts of her head that had been aching and back to her lips.
But Enid is serotonin, and oxytocin. Happy hormones. She’s a pain killer; hydromorphone.
She is part of her. And she vows between breathless kisses that she will take great joy in wearing the snood every day to class.
Because if she can provide Enid even a fraction of the happiness and safety she feels, she will wear it to every important occasion in her life. Will leave a note for the embalmer to dress her in her finest clothes and snood.