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Enid Sinclair was an affectionate monster when she was on her period.
Whenever her shark week hit, she wanted cuddles. Constant cuddles. Unfortunately, her girlfriend was Wednesday Addams, a creature who approached physical affection with the same enthusiasm one might reserve for tax audits or dental cleanings.
“Hey, Wedns,” Enid murmured. “I’m on my period.”
Wednesday didn’t look up from her typewriter. “Unfortunate. There are tampons and sanitary pads in the cabinet.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Enid bounced on her toes, waiting hoping that Wednesday would offer more. “It hurts.”
“Would you prefer ibuprofen, aspirin, or acetaminophen?”
“I already took medicine.”
“Then a heating pad will suffice.”
Enid inhaled dramatically. “I would prefer a living heating pad.”
“Karma must be around here somewhere.” Wednesday’s eyes scanned the room and landed on their cat, sprawled across Enid’s bed like she paid rent. “Ah. She awaits you.”
Enid flopped face-first onto the mattress. Karma jolted up, then, realizing the threat was only Enid, settled back down and pushed herself against Enid’s side. Enid pet her in defeat.
“Maybe after writing hour we can do something together,” Enid tried. “We have two hours before dinner. I wanna spend time with you.”
“I may write longer today,” Wednesday replied. “I am in the middle of an intense scene. But after dinner, I would enjoy time with you.”
Enid sighed dramatically and fished for her laptop with one hand, trying to move as little as possible. Any shift sent pain pulsing through her abdomen. Sharp angry, unforgiving. Lying still was the only relief, and even then, it was nothing more than a dull throb instead of a knife twist.
Laptop found. Earbuds in. YouTube open. Reddit story time. It was the only thing chaotic enough to distract her brain. Maybe she could rewatch the Poop Knife Story for the hundredth time.
Five videos later, Wednesday stopped typing and turned. Enid immediately pulled an earbud out, hopeful.
“Dinner?” she asked.
Wednesday nodded and stood. Enid struggled upright with the emotional energy of a dying Victorian orphan. The sudden internal waterfall effect hit, warm, unpleasant, and horrifyingly familiar. She froze, cursing under her breath.
“I’m just gonna change my pad real quick,” Enid muttered and hurried to the bathroom.
Wednesday nodded. Karma meowed, equally concerned or equally hungry. It was hard to tell with cats.
Mrrrrp.
Enid truly hated periods. Every cycle she swore she lost ten pounds in blood and gained twenty in bloat. And the clinginess? Awful. Embarrassing. Objectively terrible.
She wanted affection. Any affection. Negative attention? Fine. Positive attention? Better. Wednesday attention? Necessary for survival.
Right now, Enid Sinclair wanted one thing and one thing only:
Her emotionally constipated, gothic, beautiful girlfriend.
Enid returns from the bathroom with the sluggish gait of a wounded soldier. Wednesday is already by the door, coat on, posture straight, expression neutral. Karma sits at Wednesday’s feet, tail flicking, as though she is prepared for battle.
Enid trudges past them and slumps against Wednesday’s shoulder. “I am dying,” she announces.
“You are menstruating,” Wednesday corrects. “Historically survivable.”
“Barely.”
Wednesday allows exactly one second of stillness, then reaches up and places a stiff, hesitant, trying hand on Enid’s shoulder.
“You are leaking blood,” Wednesday says, tone sincere. “This is admirable.”
“This is going to be the death of me, Wednesday.”
“Blood loss often creates dramatics. I will not shame you.”
Enid groans. “I’m not being dramatic.”
Wednesday hums an approval.
Enid blinks. “…lets just get dinner over with.”
“Yes. Refuel. Hydrate. Acquire iron.” Wednesday pauses, grinning.
Karma meows, winding around Enid’s leg. Wednesday reaches down and scratches the cat under her chin with a rigid two-finger motion, as though following a manual titled How Normal Humans Pet. Karma purrs anyway.
“Come,” Wednesday commands. “Let us feed you before your hormones force you to cry over something nonsensical, such as a fallen leaf or a moderately touching commercial.”
Enid sniffles. “…That puppy learned to walk, Wednesday.”
“Yes. Tragic.”
The scent of seasoned chicken and pasta drifted through the Nevermore cafeteria as Wednesday and Enid walked in. Normally, Enid would be thrilled, food was her love language after all. But today, her stomach twisted like someone wringing out a wet towel. The idea of eating was...dangerous.
She grabbed some pasta and vegetables anyway, trying to look normal. Trying to pretend her uterus wasn’t actively plotting her assassination.
And then she saw them.
Her older brothers. Felix and Howell. Great. Perfect. Exactly what she needed while bleeding like a discount horror movie.
Both stood near the serving line, shaggy-haired, built like they were auditioning for a lumberjack calendar, and annoyingly smug. They were everything Enid wasn’t. Tall, broad-shouldered, annoyingly athletic. And loud. Always loud.
Enid slowly attempted the “avoid eye contact and pray to every moon deity” strategy. It failed instantly.
“Yoooo, Enid!” Howell called. “Why’re you here with Addams?”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed dangerously, calculating. Enid could practically see her mentally picking out which throat tendon to cut first.
“We’re getting dinner,” Enid said tightly. “And going to our room. We have things to do.”
“Like getting freaky?” Felix asked.
Enid choked. “I—what?!”
Felix shrugged casually. “I can smell you’re on your period. Isn’t that the best time for lesbians to—”
“Nope! Leaving!” Enid cut him off. “Wednesday, let’s go. Now.”
They walked out. Enid sulked. She had not gotten dessert. But at least she escaped without committing a felony.
“I could have taken them,” Wednesday muttered.
Enid let out a weak laugh. “I know. But please don’t fight my brothers.”
“Why do they believe menstruation is the best time for intimacy?” Wednesday asked, genuinely baffled. “It is biologically inefficient. Ovulation is far superior.”
“Because they’re idiots,” Enid sighed. “And probably have weird kinks.”
Wednesday grimaced with disgust like she’d tasted hope and found it rotten. “You also did not get dessert. I acquired cheesecake for you.”
Enid perked up. “Strawberry?”
Wednesday nodded. “Of course. I know it’s your favorite.”
Yep. Enid definitely wanted to kiss her. Right now. Public be damned. But boundaries. New relationship. She needed to be cool.
Her cramps chose that moment to stab her from the inside. Very romantic.
They returned to their dorm. The smell of cheesecake drifted through the air. Sweet, gentle, tempting. And completely useless to a girl currently dying from internal organ betrayal.
Enid collapsed face-down on her bed like a fallen soldier. The pain pulsed, nauseating and sharp. All she wanted was Wednesday’s arms around her. Warm, safe, perfect Wednesday.
Wednesday watched her with uncharacteristic softness. “Mi lobita, are you alright?”
“No,” Enid groaned. Moving sent knives through her core. “Cuddle me? Please?”
Any other time, she would have died before begging like that. But hormones destroyed dignity. There were rules.
“Of course,” Wednesday said. “Allow me one moment to finish eating. Then we may cuddle the rest of the night. Would you like the heating pad as well?”
“Yes,” Enid breathed.
She clutched Maize, her beloved stuffed unicorn, as if he alone could protect her from uterine violence. Poor Maize. He had suffered many squeezings in his time.
Wednesday ate quickly then returned. She plugged in the heating pad, handed it over like an offering, and slipped under the blankets beside Enid.
Enid melted. She burrowed into Wednesday’s chest, sighing as Wednesday rubbed her lower back. Bliss. Real, magical, almost-religious bliss. Her pain didn’t vanish, but it faded into something tolerable. Simple background noise compared to the comfort of Wednesday’s touch.
“I wish periods didn’t exist,” Enid mumbled. “I wonder what life would be like. I’ll Google it later. Right now I just wanna lay here while your angel hands fix everything.”
“I should have known this was what you wanted,” Wednesday murmured. “Next time, simply tell me. Subtlety is wasted on me.”
“I know cuddling isn’t your thing,” Enid whispered.
“Yet I crave you,” Wednesday replied softly. “My body betrays me. It seems I desire you as fiercely as you desire me.”
“That seems impossible.”
Wednesday chuckled. “Rest, mi loba. You will feel better.”
“Doubt it,” Enid mumbled into Wednesday’s shirt. “I’ll probably wake up with period poops or something.”
Wednesday winced.
Enid toyed with the ends of Wednesday’s hair. Silence settled, warm and safe. She still hurt. But she wasn’t alone. And that made everything bearable.
Because in Wednesday’s arms, even the worst pain felt survivable.
Cuddling Wednesday always made everything better.