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Migraines are amongst some of the most common pains Wednesday Addams is used to feeling. Seers like herself were usually privy to most any head-related ailments, and migraines seemed to be the easiest in the bunch to deal with. The raven knows exactly how to handle the ear-splitting headaches: no lights, extra rest, and lots of water at the first sign of an attack. She even knows how long they last, what other, full-body symptoms they usually come with, and how severe they’ll get before letting up.
She’d been plagued with the severe headaches since she was a child, and had perfected getting rid of them by the time she turned eight. They almost always start the same for her, luckily. Her peripheral vision is always the first to go, with blurry eyes crawling out of the framework not long after. The end of a migraine was then always accompanied by a moderate bout of nausea, and an inane desire to sleep and never wake up. A migraine was easy to diagnose. A comforting fact that keeps her grounded during the first signs of an attack.
The flu, however, is something Wednesday Addams has never experienced, and never hopes to come in intimate contact with, either.
Upon waking up this morning, Enid had briefly mentioned that their fencing coach had fallen ill with the disgusting disease. It wasn’t a surprise, really- nearly half of Nevermore had been corrupted by the illness, and it only seemed to spread faster as the seasons changed and the temperature plummeted. Wednesday had seen many illnesses pass through the halls of the school since her first year, and the flu was one that seemed to go around nearly constantly. This strain, however, seemed to be the most vile that’d ever wracked Nevermore in her whole two years of being here. She thanks her Addams immunity to such belittling illnesses like the common rhinovirus and gastrointestinal disease for allowing her to walk through life so far without ever getting such a horribly pathetic sickness.
Luck for Wednesday, however, seems to have run dry. In her second class of the day, she notices a peculiar pressure circulating between her nasal bridge and tear ducts. Apart from the ache usually coupled with her migraines, this one seems to pulsate with each beat of her heart. Although relatively in the same spot as an oncoming vision or migraine, this headache bubbles and boils under the surface of her temples and sinuses. It’s annoying, at best, but only seems to get worse as the class wears on.
It’s when her carnivorous plants teacher becomes entirely drowned out by the sound of ringing in her ears does she start to wonder if the pressure signifies anything more worrisome. “Enid,” she whispers towards her blonde-haired girlfriend sitting next to her, “can you hear that?”
The Lycan lifts her eyes from the paper in front of her, pausing as if to lift an ear to try and hear what the Addams girl seems to be referencing. “Huh?”
A singular beat of panic passes through the seer’s stomach, and she jolts slightly at the sensation. “Nothing,” the raven quickly dismisses; the noise must only be audible to her. She makes note of the increasing pressure in her eyes, now expanding to her entire forehead. Worry settles softly in the pit of her abdomen at the thought of illness plaguing her insides. If this headache drops any lower on her face, there’s no way it’s a migraine. For now, she’ll sit and wait and study every change in how the ache pulses and swims across her upper face. Addams's don’t get sick.
Unfortunately, by lunch, Wednesday has developed four new, non-migraine symptoms. Her throat seems to burn in one isolated location, very obviously connected to the newly developing red vein that runs down her sore pharyngeal wall. She’s also noticed a large amount of post-nasal drip streaming down her esophagus, down her nose, and clogging her lungs. Weakness and fatigue plague her arms, and a stomach pain so vile it makes her head spin all contribute to the hell the raven currently feels stabbing all over her body.
She’s never felt this type of pain in her lower stomach before, and briefly wonders if this is how Enid felt last week when she described her period pain as if someone was ‘ripping and tearing into the flesh with fire for hands’. Unfortunately, Wednesday’s own period isn’t due to start for two more weeks, and even an early period was ruled out of the guessing game as soon as she felt the post-nasal drip come on.
Enid takes a seat next to the seer at their table in the quad, very successfully drawing her mind from her panicked thoughts as her calming scent of laundry soap and oak fill her nostrils. Yoko and Divina follow after Enid, sitting opposite her and Wednesday. They’re the only two in Enid’s large friend group who haven’t been bulldozed down by the illness going around, and they seem to be taking every precaution necessary.
“Wearing that mask to protect us from your blood breath, Tanaka?”
“Bags under your eyes from an unnaturally playful evening with your roomie? Or just a new makeup trend, Addams?” Yoko’s eyes sneer a hole into Wednesday’s, her words causing just a bit more headache today than normal.
Enid quickly takes over the conversation, a small blush crawling up her neck at the vampire’s insinuation. “Did anyone notice Mr. Fitts was looking horrible today? I wonder if classes will be canceled soon with everyone getting so sick.” Her hand finds Wednesday’s back and fixates on a singular piece of thread coming undone on her checkered black vest. “It’s honestly such a shock I haven’t gotten sick yet. I normally get the flu like, every time it goes around!”
Yoko snorts under her bright red facemask, “Probably ‘cause of your gothic guard dog over there,” she vaguely gestures to Wednesday sitting beside Enid, eyes closed with fingers pressed into her temples. “Even the flu is scared of her.”
Enid’s hand slips under the hem of Wednesday’s vest then, warmth spreading to the raven’s overly cold and clammy skin. It takes everything in the raven not to succumb to Enid’s touch, especially when her girlfriend’s hands seem to bring relief to the new pain now emanating in her lower back. The blonde’s fingertips trace small circles at the base of Wednesday’s waistline as she mindlessly chatters away with Yoko and Divina. It’s in moments like these that Wednesday is especially happy her girlfriend’s main love language is physical touch.
The seer’s thoughts are soon interrupted when Enid presses her palm a little higher up her back and stops. The Lycan leans in to whisper against raven-black hair. “You feel pretty clammy, baby. Are you feeling okay?”
It only takes a second for the panic to fully set in. Wednesday’s lunch suddenly becomes uninteresting, the worry and turmoil from earlier settling deep within her already upset stomach. The thought of getting sick, by all and any means, shouldn’t bother her this much. But it does, and she simply cannot be here in this moment to process it publicly. She needs to hide, needs to be alone where ever-curious eyes aren’t staring into her red and painful ones.
The raven-haired girl quickly stands up, her tray of untouched food shoved to the middle of the table upon her sudden upheaval. A wave of dizziness unexpectedly plagues her weakening body, leaving her to sway with the wind. Enid’s arm reaches out to steady her, two ocean-blue eyes staring at her in worry. If Wednesday can just figure out the exact cause of her symptoms she seems to be facing, maybe she’ll be able to breathe again, she thinks. The worry might even leave her stomach, like little worms climbing up and through and out her sore intestinal tract. Through the midst of her reeling thoughts, Enid blinks at her, the grip on her waist tightening as the raven sways gently with every inhale.
Wednesday pulls out of her girlfriend’s warm grasp, and starts off to her dorm. The look of concern plastered onto Enid’s face eats at her as she speed walks towards Ophelia Hall. Once she arrives at the giant door, she’s hit with a second wave of dizziness accompanied by a bout of nausea. If she can just get to her bed, she’ll be fine. Perhaps she has this all wrong, and she doesn’t have the flu. Maybe this is just a lack of proper nutrients, or dehydration. She didn’t eat breakfast this morning, and lunch wasn’t successful either. She’s certain that if she can just sit down and collect her thoughts, this will most certainly pass.
Except, she doesn’t make it to her bed. The raven collapses against the doorframe- the once faint and pulsating headache now turned into something truly horrendous. With each beat of her anxious heart, her forehead, nasal bridge, and eye sockets seem to violently pound. A sharp pain, almost like that of an oncoming vision, attacks her over and over, isolating in one spot behind her left eye.
The seer slumps to the floor, hands grasping and pulling at the ends of her braided hair in a feeble attempt to send different stimulation signals to her brain- a trick Enid had taught her months ago. It works for a second, just long enough for her to stand up and open the door to her room. She makes a beeline for her bed, unbuttoning the top of her dress shirt as she briskly walks. She needs to breathe, and she can’t. She can’t think, she can’t see, she can’t be here in these tight clothes.
It’s suddenly all too much, and Wednesday finds herself frantically ripping at her uniform- peeling it off piece by piece. In her uncoordinated and jerky movements to yank the all-black blazer, vest, and dress shirt from her body, her headache comes back with such a tenacious ferocity that it rocks her to her knees. With her clothes half-off, the seer grips at her ears and head, squeezing and praying to something, anything, that it’ll stop. In lieu of the sudden movement, her body decides to throw one more loop in the miserable and sickly ring, and her stomach lurches.
Bile quickly climbs up her esophagus, and the race to take her remaining clothes off can’t be completed fast enough. She’s sweating and hot and so violently sick with anxiety, that if this goes on any longer, she feels like her body might implode all over this room. Stumbling to her feet, Wednesday bolts for the bathroom. All remnants of clothing once covering her body long since forgotten. She miraculously makes it to the dimly-lit room, and slams and locks the door in one fluid movement. She nearly flings herself in front of the toilet, and her pale hands sticky with sweat reach out to grip the lid in front of her.
In one foul retch, all contents of her stomach expulse into the toilet, spattering the sides of the tank. Silent tears from the raging heat burning her throat seep from the corners of her eyes as she gags three more times into the porcelain bowl. Her body trembles and shakes with every joint, muscle, and bone screaming in pain. Wednesday grips the lid even harder with each heave of her stomach. With every upheaval of bile, she can feel her body wither away on the freezing bathroom floor. Weakness plagues her sickly and feverish flesh, and she yearns for the pain clenching at her stomach to go away.
After expelling what the raven considers to be the last morsel of her stomach, and upon heaving several more times with no results, she figures her gastrointestinal system is finally done throwing a fit. Her body violently quakes with the lack of energy, and it’s all she can do to stop her head from falling off the side of the toilet seat. The temperature of the bathroom seems far too cold for her liking, even though just moments ago, she seemed to be boiling alive from the inside out. She sits with her head buried in the toilet bowl and ponders how she’ll ever make it back to her bed without Enid noticing she was ever sick in the first place. The only thing that could possibly make this situation worse is if anyone, especially Enid, knew about it.
Wednesday always liked to deal with things alone. That’s how she dealt with everything growing up. Ever since she met Enid, and especially after they started dating no more than nine months ago, however, the seer realized that some things didn’t have to be dealt with in solitude. Sometimes, as Enid would say, things often become easier to handle when you ‘put them into the universe’.
Some things though, according to Wednesday, should never be talked about. Like the flu. Thankfully, Enid wasn’t set to come home until much later this evening. Within her myriad of social duties, Thursday nights were always scheduled out for student council meetings and dance practice. For once, even long before they started dating, Wednesday thinks it’s a wonderful thing that Enid will be gone for so long.
Head lopped to the side and flush to the seat of the ice-cold rim of the toilet, Wednesday’s headache seems to dissipate. For the brief moments in which she feels relief, her body sinks further to the floor. Perhaps if she can scoot back without upsetting her head or stomach, she’ll be able to rest against the wall until she gathers enough strength to stand.
As she slides back into the dingy wallpaper, her mind drifts to Enid. To her girlfriend’s hand resting on her back whilst in the quad, and how warm it felt. How she desperately wishes she was here now, touching her skin with those warm and calloused hands. She wishes Enid would just know what was wrong with her. Maybe she would, the raven thinks. Maybe she would take one look at her and Wednesday wouldn’t even have to speak her symptoms into existence. If she was really lucky, maybe Enid would even help her feel better.
What a pitiful wish.
She’s always been like this, the raven ponders silently. Ever since she was a child, she couldn’t ever tell someone what she was feeling. It seemed so silly in hindsight: to speak and breathe such inviolable facts based in science and medicine, but to be so afraid of merely muttering her symptoms into existence. If she told someone she felt ill, it made it real. It made the sickness come to life- natural consequences and unwanted emotions be damned. Wednesday Addams wasn’t one to make light of superstition, but this particular issue had always felt like so much more than taboo.
Some had called it anxiety, others had called it obsession. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, only that she’d been this way since she was a small child. If she could handle her symptoms alone, isolated in utter silence, she’d usually be able to fight off whatever seemed to plague her. She’d really ever only truly been sick once in her seventeen years of life, and that was when Pugsley handed her two, mistakenly swapped vials of cyanide and a picky strain of streptococcus from the 1930’s. She doesn’t blame her brother for what she considers to be one of the worst experiences of her life, though. Had she not digested the strain all those years ago, her immunity to the disease now would be entirely nonexistent.
The raven’s family had grown accustomed to leaving her alone when she started feeling any bouts of illness. She never had to worry about masking symptoms or retreating to her room suspiciously when she lived at home. Living at Nevermore, however, had proven to be a different story. When she and Enid had been quite brutally hurt after the events of Crackstone last year, she recalls that she’d actually been out cold for most of the experience. Enid had taken her to what remained of the medical staff, and the three days of healing post arriving in the medical wing had been a fuzzy blur. According to Enid, Wednesday had been in and out of consciousness for the majority of the time she’d spent there. She hadn’t even been awake enough to feel- and consequently worry about- the sick feeling she knew plagued her body while there.
Now, stuck in this abhorrently vile situation, and with vomit coating the lining of her throat, Wednesday’s stomach aches with more than just a gastrointestinal upset. This time, there are no external wounds that can aid her in unconsciousness like she so wishes she was. There is no stab wound to the stomach, no arrow hole to the shoulder. Anxiety swirls and crashes into the sides of her stomach lining at the mere thought of Enid coming home to witness the mess she’s made of herself. The raven figures if she can merely make it to her bed without throwing up again or passing out, she should be in the clear. If she’s sound asleep by the time Enid gets home, she shouldn’t suspect a thing.
Wednesday closes her eyes and braces to stand after thoroughly ruminating through possibilities that lie before her. Her hands and legs shake with the combined lack of energy and severe panic ruminating within her. With her last remaining ounce of strength, she pushes herself into a proper sitting position, and tucks her knees underneath herself. It’s but sheer seconds before she gives herself the final push to stand that she hears the door to the bedroom creak open.
She can hear Enid throw her bags on the floor, and prays to God she doesn’t notice the strewn clothes leading to the bathroom. Just as Wednesday heads the door click shut, she’s hit with another wave of nausea. She swallows down whatever threatens to come up, over and over again, until she can’t taste the bile or feel the heat of acid stick to her esophagus. Her mouth starts to water profusely, and at the same time she quietly clasps her hands over her mouth to hold back the vomit, she hears her very desperately worried girlfriend call out for her behind the bathroom door.
Fuck.
“Wednesday?” Enid rapidly knocks on the solid oak door and wiggles the knob. “Wednesday, I know you’re in there.”
The seer can’t speak. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. The increasing pressure climbing into her throat and pooling under her tongue threatens to give her away, but she will not be dragging Enid into this. The blonde-haired girl knocks faster as Wednesday pushes her hands harder into her mouth. Silent tears seep slowly down her face at the combination of pain, anxiety, and dread that swim between her ears. She’s been stabbed, consumed multiple vials of poison, and even amputated her own finger and sewed it back on, all while remarkably ill with streptococcus. Certainly she can handle holding back the watery and acidic bile threatening to fly out of her mouth.
Alas, as if Joseph Crackstone himself rose from the dead and decided today was the day to rightfully fuck with Wednesday Addams yet again, the smell of the toilet bowl wafts under and into her nose. It’s the final push her body so desperately craves in successfully forcing every morsel of acid up and out of her throat. Vomit spills out of her mouth and onto her bare lap as she lurches for the toilet. She doesn’t make it entirely- white-yellow liquid pooling at the base of the porcelain throne- and the sound that emanates from her as she hurls most definitely lets Enid know she is in here. And she is sick.
The cotton candy-haired girl busts through the door then, successfully breaking the barrier into bits at Wednesday’s first audible sign of distress. She immediately drops to the floor, lifting the seer’s hair up and out of her face. Gentle hands rub the back of her girlfriend’s bare neck and shoulders as the girl trembles and shivers with each retch. Enid knew as soon as she felt Wednesday’s skin back in the quad that something was off. Sure, her girlfriend was always on the colder side. But she felt, and still feels, freezing to the touch. It’s all the Lycan can do to rub Wednesday’s back softly and attempt to warm her up in any way she can.
In the midst of multiple heaving sessions, the quiet tip-tap of familiar fingertips rings through the sound of Wednesday repeatedly vomiting into the toilet, and Thing makes his way up Enid’s shoulder. Enid’s eyes remain fixed on a half-naked and bile-covered Wednesday in front of her. “Thing, go to the medical wing and grab two Gatorades, crackers, and a bottle of Advil.” Wednesday lurches again into the bowl. Enid’s face scrunches up in mirrored agony, her girlfriend writhing in agony beneath her hands. “Better grab a bottle of Pepto, too, while you’re down there.”
The severed and stitched appendage makes his way down Enid’s arm, stopping at raven-colored hair. He gently pats the clammy and sweating skin, and scampers down and out of the bathroom. Enid has had the stomach flu enough times in her life to know Pepto won’t do much, but she thinks her girlfriend will appreciate the option.
It’s when Wednesday lets out a lengthy and gritty groan does Enid really realize how dire the situation is. The seer had surely been through worse hardships, but Enid wonders if this is the first time her girlfriend has ever thrown up this many times in a row. An uncharacteristically loud groan like that, coupled with the immense trembling of her pale and frigid body would certainly suggest so. If she had to assume anything, she’d guess that Wednesday has most definitely caught the flu going around. Enid’s eyes pucker with the threat of tears as she empathetically hurts for her girlfriend beneath her hands. Wednesday doesn’t seem too far behind her.
When the vomiting finally stops, Wednesday shakes softly and breathes heavily into the toilet bowl her head is currently sunk into. Her girlfriend continues to rub her back gently, and it isn’t long before the tell-tale signs of choked and very unwanted cries take over her pale and freezing body. At the first sign of distress, Enid presses her forehead into the raven’s shoulder and kisses the soft and lightly freckled flesh.
“Shh, it’s okay, Wednesday,” she coos into the raven’s shoulder. “I’m here, the worst of it is over.”
Silent sobs wrack Wednesday’s body as her chest heaves and pulls with every shaky breath. Enid’s calming words sadly do little to comfort her, as her own ears ring and pulsate with the now-returned headache. She feels immaculately horrible and it’s no help that Enid is here now, witnessing the pitiful display before her. The raven can’t even lift up her head more than a few centimeters, but she knows by the sticky feeling coating her thighs that her lap is covered in bile. How could she let this happen? How did she ever become so pitiful to submit her girlfriend to watch such an unequivocally vile display of weakness against her will?
Despite the horrors that plague her mind, Enid doesn’t stop rubbing her back. Even through the blonde’s own tears, she persists until the seer calms down enough to stop shaking. Enid’s long rainbow nails gently graze between Wednesday’s shoulder blades, and when the raven-haired girl beneath her lets out a small shiver, she knows the gesture has been taken pleasantly. She places her other hand on Wednesday’s knee, and attempts to help her up and out of the toilet bowl.
Ever the isolationist, and feeling far worse than she did before she threw up, Wednesday doesn’t move when her girlfriend tries to lift her out. She cannot, after all that has transpired within the last half hour, subject her to any more. She’s perfectly capable of fending for herself, especially if Enid was right, and the worst really is over. The raven wouldn’t know, unfortunately, but she trusts the blonde enough to believe her on this. Wednesday attempts to speak to let Enid know she can leave, that she doesn’t require any more help, but the words do not come. They get clogged in her throat and scrape against the palette of the roof of her mouth. Her throat seems to be bone dry, and hot with the thick coating of bile she assumes is still there. The raven instead shakes her head, valiantly hoping Enid will get the message.
Luckily, Enid understands enough of the avoidant cue to realize Wednesday isn’t going to budge from her spot. It’s very much to be expected at this point. In preparation for this exact moment, the blonde made sure to cancel all her plans as soon as she felt her girlfriend’s clammy skin at lunch. She has absolutely nowhere to be besides here, and even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. The raven takes any and all precedence- she always has.
A full-body quake from beneath her hands lets Enid know her girlfriend must feel absolutely horrible right about now. She knows Wednesday isn’t one to show signs of weakness, especially ones she can usually control. The fact that her body seems to tremble uncontrollably proves that this goes beyond what Enid assumed it to be. She flattens her palms and rubs calming circles into the seer’s bare skin, paying extra mind to the spots covered in goosebumps. She glides her hand over the soft flesh adorned with light freckles, pausing only to judge Wednesday’s reaction to the movements. If not for the circumstances, Enid could stay here and do this forever.
Wednesday, however, cannot stand to be in this position any longer. Her arched back aches with the pressure of remaining in this hunched position too long, and her stomach continues to gargle despite the fact that it currently contains absolutely nothing. Enid’s warmth permeates through to her bare bones, and it takes everything in her not to beg her girlfriend to stay. Perhaps if she wills herself to fall asleep, the pain will go away and Enid will leave. Maybe then will she finally be able to deal with this alone, like how it should’ve been dealt with since the beginning.
Upon closing her eyes and taking deep, almost calming breaths, Wednesday unfortunately realizes that this plan won’t work either. She needs to get out of this position, needs to rid Enid of the scene before her, and most certainly needs to clean up the disgusting mess she’s made of herself. She sighs heavily into the toilet, and lifts her head out with an agonizing slowness. The raven refuses to look the Lycan in the eyes, knowing damn well if she does, tears will quickly follow. She’s never felt like more of an emotional fool.
As Wednesday presses herself into the floor, Enid sorrowfully takes in the sight of her very pale, barely-clothed girlfriend shaking and shriveling up in front of her. The raven’s arms tuck into her sides, and her head lies gently on their terry-cloth bath rug with her eyes clenched shut. A thick layer of sweat coats the Latina's forehead in a shiny glow. Wednesday’s hands clench tightly, trembling with each clatter of her teeth. She needs to get warm, and Enid knows she can kill two birds with one stone if she can just convince Wednesday to let her assist in getting her into the shower.
Enid’s hand lightly grazes Wednesday’s clammy forehead then, the other coming up to rest on her bare waist. “Wednesday, baby, let’s get you into the shower. You’ll feel so much better if you warm up and get clean.” The seer’s eyes remain shut. “I know you don’t want my help, but please let me, Wednesday. I know you’re scared, I know you don’t feel good.” Enid gently rubs small circles into her girlfriend’s stomach- a trick she had learned from her father at a young age. A singular tear slips from the corner of the raven’s shut eye, and her freezing and trembling hand opens slightly to reach for Enid.
The Lycan gently takes her girlfriend’s hand into her own. She clearly assumes Wednesday feels like absolute shit, but she’ll never push her to take an action she doesn’t want. So she patiently waits and rubs her thumb back and forth against Wednesday’s cold knuckles, praying she’ll finally cave and ask for help. “I’m right here, Wednesday,” Enid starts, her soothing tone spreading a blanket of security over the raven beneath her hands, “I’m not leaving, I’m staying right here.”
Wednesday takes a deep breath- her awfully traitorous, tear-filled eyes cracking open ever so slightly at Enid’s calm words. She knows Enid won’t leave, and that’s the problem. Enid is too damn loyal and stubborn to ever leave her like this. She’s far too nice. Too loving. Yet, despite the burning desire to rid her girlfriend of the burden of watching over her, the desire to feel anything but this seems to be winning out in this scenario. That, and the unsettlingly lugubrious look in Enid’s puppy-dog eyes seems to convince her just enough to let Enid at least help her into the shower.
A quick squeeze of Enid’s warm fingertips and a subtle nod of her head is all she can muster up the strength to do to let Enid know she’s ready to be assisted. Thankfully, no more than mere seconds pass before Enid springs into action and sits up from her mirrored position on the rug. She helps the raven up gently and rests her against the tub’s edge, committing every change of Wednesday’s body language to memory.
Once the Lycan successfully settles Wednesday against the tub, she sits cross-legged in front of her, hands twiddling in her lap. “Um,” she nearly whispers, “do you…y’know, want-” a small blush blooms beneath the collar of her white t-shirt as she clears her throat. “Do you want me to help you out of your bra…and stuff?”
If Wednesday was capable of doing anything more than keeping herself upright, she would scoff. How she so blatantly adores the girl sitting in front of her, pink-faced and nervously asking for consent in a time like this. Her girlfriend’s ever-so-thoughtful question is enough to make the corners of her mouth raise microscopically into no more than a faint whisper of a smile; she closes her eyes and weakly nods. To anyone else, they’d assume she hadn’t made any facial expression. To Enid, however, the ghost of a smile in a time like this is enough to make her feel a little more at ease about moving forward.
Enid moves into the tub, bending down to position herself directly behind Wednesday, who sits on the opposing side of the porcelain edge. Her hands deftly unclasp the black strap in front of her- warm fingers brushing up against Wednesday’s cold and shivering back as she slides the straps off her shoulders. She’s removed this particular article of clothing many times now for her girlfriend (not that she’d ever brag about that in a time like this), and is grateful to have the skillset to remove it quickly and efficiently in this moment. Once the black undergarment falls to Wednesday’s lap, Enid moves to rest her forehead against her girlfriend’s back. She places a singular kiss to the base of her hairline, and hopes it provides enough comfort and warmth to keep her girlfriend upright.
“Are you ready to get in?” Enid begins, already lifting herself up and out of the bathtub. “I can get a towel for you to sit on if you’d like. I know you don’t like the texture of the floor in there,” she says, gesturing to the white tub. Wednesday’s blank eyes seem to speak for her, and Enid can tell from the drooping look on her face that she’s too weak to get in herself, or to even complain about the ‘abhorrent base-texture of most all bathtubs in America’- something she always brought up in their bathroom specifically. Enid moves to grab a large black towel from the cabinet, and gently lays it vertically folded into the tub, hoping it will at least provide some comfort to her still-quivering girlfriend.
The raven’s dark brown orbs gently move under thick, flitting eyelashes as they watch Enid glide effortlessly from task to task in the bathroom. As the cold air permeates through to the seer’s bones, and now organs, it seems, the warmth radiating off the literal personification of sunshine before her is enough to let her mind drift just a little. With every moment that goes by, she can feel her body shut down and beg for rest. She hasn’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours at this point, and she’s sure she’s entirely and utterly dehydrated to boot. On top of that, it doesn’t help that she can’t stop shaking. Her brain feels like mush with all the clattering and clambering her jaw’s been doing since she first knelt down in this godforsaken bathroom. Combined with the massive headache she feels rocketing from one side of her face to another, she takes special note to graciously thank her migraine the next time one comes around. Anything is better than this.
If she’s being honest with herself, Wednesday quite literally feels like death is upon her, which is outrageously asinine, she thinks. Death had quite literally been upon her more in the last two years than it’d ever been, yet in this moment, she truly feels like she could be taken to hell at the very drop of a hat. She’s certain that if she looked up and fully opened her eyes, she’d find the Grim Reaper in all his glory, standing at attention with a polished scythe, ready to behead her. Maybe that would be a better fate than to suffer through whatever was twisting and carving its way through her stomach. Despite throwing up more in the last hour than she’s ever thrown up in her life, she still feels like there’s still something in her gastrointestinal system- massive and thrashing and expanding with every tiny inhale of her fluid-filled lungs.
Two blue eyes pull the raven from her delusional thoughts, and Enid’s warmth seems to pulsate onto Wednesday’s face. Her girlfriend mutters something she can’t fully comprehend- her words muffled by the again-present ringing in her ears- but judging by the warmth she now feels permeating through to her bare hips, she assumes Enid is about to lift her up. She arcs her head up to look at her cotton candy-haired partner towering above her; all she can focus on in this moment is the presence of warm, rainbow-clad fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of her sides. Maybe Enid will hold her like this forever. Maybe if she’s lucky, Enid will let her fall asleep right here on her chest, her warm hands never leaving her sides. Maybe, despite everything she’s been telling herself for the past two hours, Enid stepping in to help might just prove to be exactly what she needs…not that she’d ever remotely admit to that.
Today isn’t going the way Wednesday wants it to, however, and the warmth from Enid’s fingertips is suddenly replaced by the soft and very not warm texture of a towel. “Let me get these off and then we can get you in,” she vaguely hears Enid mumble. The seer nods her head, albeit slightly confused at what needs to come off. In a swift pull, she can feel her underpants fall to her ankles, and silently thanks Enid for protecting her privacy enough to wrap her in a towel first. Soon after she kicks the black garment off her feet, she looks up at Enid’s tearful eyes looking down at her. There’s a slight, somber smile on her face, and her cheeks are a dusty pink. The horrible light from the bathroom vanity shines behind her head, creating a halo effect around her. She looks angelic, standing there with her hair a mess, her makeup smudged from crying in empathy.
Enid’s hands hold onto Wednesday’s, a whisper of peace seemingly present in the air, in this moment they’ve created just now. Despite everything she’s seen, everything she’s witnessed so far at Wednesday’s side- she’s here. She hasn’t left. And suddenly, everything Wednesday’s ever wanted seems to be here, right here, in this bathroom. It hits her all at once that she should’ve just let Enid help in the first place instead of acting like a child, pushing her away.
Almost as if on cue, Enid’s hands reach up to her neck and pull her close, holding her tightly against her as she shakes in place. She kisses the soft hair atop Wednesday’s head, and leaves her mouth pressed there as she holds her girlfriend steady in her arms. It’s all she can do to hold her tightly in this moment- wordlessly pouring every ounce of love she has for the raven-haired girl into her before she subjects her to what she’s sure will be an unpleasant experience.
Enid’s soft and sturdy hands rub at the middle of Wednesday’s back. Her towel slips a little, but she doesn’t seem to mind. If it falls off entirely, it just means more of her will be touching Enid. Warm and soft and gentle Enid. It’s more than she could ever ask for, and all at once, she realizes just how lucky she is. She nuzzles deeply into her girlfriend’s neck, her cold nose finding sweet refuge in the warm pocket of woodsy-scented skin. It’s when she attempts to move her hands to grapple around Enid’s waist does she realize just how cold she is. If Enid would just get closer to her, or maybe, if she could just burrow fully into Enid, the cold ravaging her bare skin wouldn’t be a problem.
An airy chuckle ruminates from within Enid’s jaw, and Wednesday revels in the feeling of the vibrations coming down and onto her cheek. The sick girl wriggles beneath the blonde, clearly attempting to get closer to her in any way she can, however unsuccessfully. “Let’s get you warm and clean, baby,” Enid mutters into her girlfriend’s hair. “It’ll take five minutes, tops.”
It’s Enid who pulls Wednesday out of their embrace first, and almost as soon as she does, a shiver runs through the smaller girl’s frame. Steady hands guide Wednesday to sit down in their shared bathtub. Enid wraps her arms around the raven’s quivering shoulders and bare, trembling waist as she sits her upright. Once her body makes contact with the plush black towel lining the floor of the tub, Wednesday’s hand grabs Enid’s. Fingers quickly intertwine, a silent plea for relief. Enid’s eyes automatically gravitate towards Wednesday’s- something they’ve seemed to do since the moment they met each other.
“I can leave, if you would prefer privacy,” Enid mutters, caution laced within every unspoken word. She knows at this point that Wednesday doesn’t want her to leave, but she feels like she needs to put it out there- that if Wednesday even feels an ounce of discomfort, she can be on her way. The blonde’s eyes are blown open, dilated and gaping at the sight before her. She takes in every detail of this moment. The way Wednesday shakes softly, the way her pale skin seems to become pink wherever her own hand touches it, her breaths coming out uneven and shakily.
Wednesday’s hand squeezes Enid’s, drawing from the warmth of her touch. Enid’s gentle fingers swipe back and forth on her knuckles, pausing in between each divot. “Enid,” she mutters, almost unintelligibly through the thick heat she feels coating her throat. She wants to tell her to stay, to take her warm hands and press them to her stomach, to do simply anything to take the pain away, but she doesn’t. Her stomach talks for her, and with it comes another round of bile, straight into her lap and hair.
Enid is quick to react, taking her hand out of Wednesday’s in favor of rubbing her back as she empties what little contents she has left in her pale and throbbing stomach. “Shit,” she breathes out, “Wednesday, it’s okay,” she nearly whines, face plastered in unadulterated agony, mirroring her partner beneath her hands. “I’m here, it’s okay.”
Enid’s shampoo bottle trembles on the shelf as Wednesday violently shivers and clammers her teeth together. Once the bile has passed, she leans back, exhausted from the trial of simply existing in this moment, and pauses. One strand of navy-black hair grazes her face, wet and soaking from the previously internal contents of her stomach. Her eyes clammer shut and a sharp inhale reverberates through her weak body.
Enid watches the scene unfold before her: the oncoming of what’s surely to become a meltdown. She leaps forward, hands deftly plucking the soggy piece of hair off of her girlfriend’s ghostly-pale face and holding it out of the way. “Wednesday,” the blonde-haired girl says, her once soft tone replaced with fervor, “just keep your eyes closed, let me turn on the water.”
Wednesday’s frantic eyes squeeze shut. Against her will, her eyes quickly begin to water yet again, silently pleading for this moment to end, for her body to release the panic coursing through her clenched jaw. Everything hurts, everything is too cold, too wet. The spot where her hair briefly touched her face is stinging so much that she thinks she might scream. She can’t, though. She never can when she’s like this, no matter how much air she tries to force through her lips. Much like sleep paralysis, the demons she faces in this moment are invisible, crushing her windpipe and vocal chords in one gargantuan handful.
Warm hands quickly still her thoughts, if even for a passing moment. “Hey,” Enid reaches out for the raven’s clenched fist. Delicate, yet calloused fingers close over the shaking appendage. “I’m going to turn the water on now, okay?” A sliver of a nod is all Enid needs to confirm Wednesday is ready for the shower to roar to life in the small space they both now occupy. The spray hits Enid’s back first, who now stands in the shower, stripped down to her white sports bra and underwear. She moves to sit in front of Wednesday, pulling the shower curtain with her.
Wednesday’s eyes snap open then, a weary glance passed back and forth. Her tear-filled eyes glisten as Enid so courageously sits in front of her, not minding the small puddle of vomit she sits on. Two pale hands adorned with chipped, rainbow nail polish rise to gather a soap bar and shampoo from the shelf. The raven watches her girlfriend quickly gather a washcloth and sit down in one foul swoop- water splashing slightly at the impact.
Finally, Wednesday registers the refreshing water hitting her face. The stinging sensation raking over her body is replaced with that of a pleasant heat, the water temperature seemingly perfect to her already sensitive skin. She keeps her eyes shut as the water pours down her face and allows herself several moments to take deep, calming breaths. Luckily, the abhorrent sensation was replaced quickly enough that she can feel herself calm down with each inhale. She knows her lap must be disgusting, and takes mental note to clean that first. When she eventually opens her eyes, they land square on Enid sitting in front of her, cross-legged and shirtless.
Dark brown eyes scan the scene in front of her. Three jagged scars trace over Enid’s abdomen, dipping down below the waistline of her underwear, and small, light-brown freckles adorn her muscular upper arms in patterns Wednesday herself has traced herself on a few occasions. These marks on Enid ground Wednesday in her resolve. They prove to be unchanging, constantly and consistently providing her with a sense of calmness she didn’t think was possible.
“I did not think I’d see the day where you wear something so plain,” she creaks out, voice bare and thin with the exhaustion of bile rising and expelling so quickly just moments before. A light quirk to her lips gives her away, “I expected that to be bright pink,” she whispers.
A delicate and dusty, pink flush adorns Enid’s cheeks and neck, rapidly spreading to her collarbone and sternum. “I-” her expression shifts to something softer, less worried. Her eyebrows level off and her shoulders deflate with an exhale of breath she seemed to be holding up until now. “Wednesday I’m not going to wear a hot pink bra with a white shirt. That’s totally like, a fashion sin.” Her eyes are full of fondness, Wednesday notices. There is no anger or annoyance in Enid’s words. There hardly ever is.
“Plus, that’s absolutely none of your concern, baby,” she smirks. The blonde folds her arms triumphantly, and shoots a flirtatious wink towards her girlfriend. Wednesday knows this is sarcasm; Enid has shown her her bra multiple times before. She supposes this is an attempt at flirting, to which she regretfully cannot bring herself to dish back in her current state, no matter how much she wants to see Enid’s blush travel lower.
A swift change of topic is all Wednesday can do to avoid going down the rabbit hole that is her endless attraction to Enid Sinclair, despite the vomit escapade they’ve both just witnessed for the past half hour. “Enid, I think you might be unfortunately sitting on my emesis,” she whispers, slowly blinking. It’s the best she can do for now.
“Your eme-what?”
“My vomit, Enid.”
“Ohh- no, I know,” she casually waves her hand through the air, the tight worry for the sickly girl in front of her dissipating to tolerable levels, “I’m totes not grossed out by vomit, actually. One of my brothers used to get sick all the time growing up, so I’m used to it. Plus, we’re in the shower. It’s really no biggie.” She lets out another breath she seemed to be holding in, and her eyes remain focused on Wednesday in front of her.
A comfortable silence falls over the girls on the shower floor. The stream of water continues to spray over both girls, and the pitter patter of droplets falling off the edge of the shower shelf comforts Wednesday. Enid looks ethereal, sitting there with the water running down her face and chest, eyes calmly gazing upon her with her light pink lips upturned in a soft smile. Still, despite the calmness and slight relief she feels in her stomach, Wednesday tenses, somewhat fearing the conversation she knows she needs to have.
“Enid,” she starts, eyes cast downwards to her hands in her lap, the beginnings of shame starting to creep in, “I fear that-” she briefly pauses, “that I may need some…assistance-” Her hands start to lightly tremble, and as soon as they do, they are covered by Enid’s. It urges her to push forward. “I am, perhaps unfortunately to the both of us, exceedingly immobile after this afternoon’s upheaval,” she swallows roughly at the last word, bile threatening to creep back up into her esophagus.
She looks up at Enid for a brief moment, attempting to judge how her girlfriend will take such rancid news. It must be a horrible inconvenience, she figures, to take care of someone this pitiful and sick. Someone so feeble and gray, so useless and heavy against warm, supporting arms. Remarkably, she only feels herself slip into self-hatred for just a moment before she feels Enid’s calloused hands entrap hers with interlocking digits.
“Wednesday, I would love nothing more than to help you shower.” Enid’s eyes are the ones full of tears now, moved by such heartachingly open communication with the girl sitting so small in front of her. How she wishes to let her rest forever, to let her lay her weak and sweating forehead upon her own beating heart, letting her know she’s here. That she wants so desperately to tend to her every aching feeling.
A scentless soap bar is passed between the two girls after Wednesday’s confession, and Enid quickly gets to work. Deft hands move tenderly and quickly over the raven’s bare skin as Enid cleans her legs and lap first, scrubbing away any phantom sensations of vomit that Wednesday might still be feeling. She gets those sometimes when certain things touch her, she sort of shuts down. Enid is used to it at this point, and knows more or less when a meltdown is about to happen. She’s been in her girlfriend’s presence more than enough times to know the feeling of stinging or pain can last even after the catalyst has been removed. Scrubbing hard with her nails is the least she can do to help.
Wednesday’s eyes have all but rolled into her head at the culmination of Enid’s touch and care. She allows herself to lay completely back against the tub’s edge, arms unceremoniously limp to her sides, lifeless and lined with light scratch marks. She wonders for a moment how Enid even knows how to take such good care of someone, let alone her. She isn’t blind when it comes to her specificities and routines- she knows it’s a lot. Enid does it perfectly anyway, though. She always does.
“Baby,” Enid nearly whispers to a half-asleep Wednesday, “I’m going to wash your hair now, alright?” The seer barely moves her head, a subtle version of a nod, Enid thinks, in approval of her declaration.
The Lycan scoots closer on her knees, nearly touching Wednesday’s legs as she tries to figure out the best way to do this. She figures Wednesday is already half asleep, and it’s not like she hasn’t been pressed against her like this in the past. So she allows herself to slide completely forward, her knees brushing over Wednesday’s thighs to properly sit in front of, or more accurately, on top of her.
Her bare tummy presses against Wednesday’s- warm meeting ice cold. Once she’s satisfied with her now-balanced position on top of her girlfriend, she starts massaging at the raven’s scalp. Her long fingernails rub in the mildly-scented shampoo, lightly digging into the flesh atop her head. She makes sure to take the soiled bits of hair and give them a bit more love than the rest, taking each piece and combing through them until they shine.
Wednesday’s eyes faintly open then, a tiny smirk threatening to take at the corners of her lips. “Enid Sinclair,” she half-breathes, eyelids fluttering with residual sleep, “are you trying to seduce me?” The blonde’s cheeks light up again, but this time, the corners of her eyes crinkle with mischief, and her smile spreads widely. Two hands lightly press on Wednesday’s bare chest as Enid leans in closer.
“And?” she whispers, “what if I am?” Wednesday lets out a featherlight scoff, and barely moves her forehead towards Enid, waiting for the inevitable. The blonde kisses the tender flesh there, sweating and clammy from the fever Wednesday seems to be pushing through.
“We really need to get you some Advil, baby,” her hands take residence on the raven’s jaw, eyes peering into the Addams’ deep brown orbs. The hot water enshrouds them both in steam, and Enid knows Wednesday must feel ample amounts of relief as she breathes in the warm air.
“Addamses do not take Advil,” she seethes out the last word, “I will not be starting now, Enid. No matter the circumstances I may be in.”
“Wednesday, you have a fever,” Enid’s hands rub the soft spot under her girlfriend’s ears, scratching lightly at her hairline, “I’m getting you Advil.”
“I will sever your limbs off, Sinclair,” the raven-haired girl mumbles, her typical biting tone replaced with a feeble airiness.
Enid’s eyes roll to the side. “Mhm, just like how you’ll cut me up into pieces, freeze and thaw my brains out, and- what was the one you said last week?” Enid’s finger grazes her chin, “Oh, right, that you’d harpoon my literal asscheeks off, cheek by cheek, and feed them to your pet spider.”
Wednesday squints at her, shoulders tensing and a deep frown beginning to form. “I don’t-”
“I know about Tiberius, Wednesday. Thing showed me.”
Enid leans forward then, nose brushing against Wednesday’s. The bantery tone replaced with longing. “Please let me help you, baby. I know you don’t feel good, you’re still shaking.”
Enid is right, Wednesday acknowledges. She does feel horrible, and just a few moments ago, she wanted nothing more than for her girlfriend to hold her in her strong arms. Now, fully cleaned and sitting against the back of the tub, she wonders if telling Enid that she still wants that- to be nurtured back to health with warm hands pressed against her head and stomach- will be more troublesome than anything. She’s never been one to ask for help, and certainly not the type to take some kidney-killing, over-the-counter drug, even if she does wonder what it might be like to go by kidney failure.
“I suppose we should get out of the tub, then” Wednesday’s eyes close again, gathering her strength for what she’s sure to be one hell of an ordeal. Although the heat of the shower has allowed her stomach to feel a slight relief, she can still barely sit up straight, and has no idea how she’ll muster the strength to stand. Luckily for her, Enid catches on to the unspoken thoughts swimming around like piranhas in the raven’s head.
The sound of the shower curtain thrown to the side is the first thing Wednesday registers as her eyes remain shut. Enid is standing up again, the warmth from her bare abdomen and thighs pressing against her own now gone, and immediately missed. The lycan works like clockwork, rinsing off her backside, shutting the water off promptly, and exiting the shower all in one foul swoop, it seems. How Wednesday got this lucky is a surprise to her daily.
Before she can register what Enid plans on doing next, she’s kneeling by the tub with a giant black towel draped over her arms.
“Ready to get out, sickie?”
“Never call me that again,” Wednesday feigns, the wavering breathiness to her words clearly noticeable now. She remains flat against the back of the tub, eyes squinted shut and arms lifeless beside her.
Wordlessly, Enid reaches around Wednesday’s shoulders with the towel and pries her from the tub’s end. A feather-light kiss is placed to the seer’s now-clean hair, and strong arms wrap around her body. “I’ve got you, baby,” Enid mutters, mouth still pressed atop her girlfriend's head.
A ghost of grunt escapes Wednesday’s lips when Enid finally lifts her out of the tub, so effortlessly hoisting her aching and feverish body. She hesitates to give into temptation- to press her cold bones into Enid’s bare, warm skin- but doesn’t make it long before her head rolls into her girlfriend’s neck against her will. Emesis-induced lack of strength be damned.
Enid’s arms wrap around Wednesday’s knees and back, not an ounce of struggle to be seen on the blonde’s face. Wednesday remains pressed against Enid’s body, head so carefully tucked into the blonde’s neck that she can feel the strong pulse thump against her nose. “You can deposit me on my bed,” Wednesday mutters into the lycan’s neck. The seer’s hands loosely grasp at the black towel now wrapped around her. How she longs to simply feel warmth again, not that she’d ever tell Enid that.
Once they make it to the raven’s bed, Enid gently sits her girlfriend up against her headboard, making sure the towel that’s wrapped around her stays tightly wound. “Let me go get you some pajamas, and then I’ll be right back, okay?” She presses a kiss to Wednesday’s forehead as she gets up to grab the clothes, and is quickly stopped by a feeble hand grasping at her wrist.
“Please get something warm,” the seer mumbles. She doesn’t dare look Enid in the eye, embarrassment surrounding her admission sinking in. Enid all but crumbles then and there, deciding that tonight, Wednesday will be the warmest she’s ever been in her life. She kisses the pale hand held in her own, and heads off to her own dresser. She sorts through her warmest selection of sweatpants and sweaters, and plucks out something dark in color. She also makes sure to grab a pajama set for herself, noting her sopping wet undergarments still clinging to her body.
Warm clothes in hand, Enid makes her way back to Wednesday, who seems to be shivering even harder after getting out of the shower. The lycan gently swipes her hand across her girlfriend’s forehead and cheeks and sighs solemnly. Wednesday’s eyes are screwed shut again and her lips press together so tightly that Enid thinks they might turn stark white. With a gentle set of movements, Enid hoists herself onto the twin bed adorned in black, checkered blankets. She presses a featherlight kiss to Wednesday’s nose, and leans her forehead against the raven’s.
“Let me help you get dry and dressed,” Enid starts, “I promise I’ll be fast.”
A nod is all she gets from the seer across from her, and Enid once again leaps into action. She manages to dry off Wednesday’s hair the best she can before she unravels her girlfriend from the towel entirely and slides the thick black hoodie onto her freezing and naked torso. Her underwear and sweatpants come quickly after, and it’s only a few moments later that Wednesday sits in front of her, fully clothed and dry. Once she knows her girlfriend is taken care of, and while her eyes are still clenched tightly shut, she quickly rips off her own undergarments and replaces them with a fresh set of pajamas.
Enid quickly clambers under the covers and all but drags Wednesday with her. Now settled, Enid allows herself to breathe in deeply, the hardest part of this now complete. She hates seeing Wednesday in pain, and it seems like her girlfriend only gets worse by the minute. Her insistent shivering reverberates the bedframe- and a now-phlegmy set of breaths come from the raven-haired girl beside her. A cold hand finds her own underneath the covers, Wednesday’s eyes opening only for a brief moment.
“I don’t want to get you sick,” the raven mumbles, almost frantically.
A relaxed sigh leaves Enid’s lips, “Baby, I just sat in your vomit. If I’m getting sick, I’m getting sick.” She squeezes Wednesday’s hand. “Plus, I don’t mind,” she moves closer to her girlfriend underneath the sheets, their sides now touching. “And, that’s not something you need to worry about. We need to get you feeling better, and that’s the only thing that matters right now.”
Wednesday’s eyes close again, her mouth pried shut once more. Enid doesn’t seem to understand what she’s trying to say. It’s on the tip of her tongue, what she so desperately wants to tell her girlfriend. What she’s wanted to tell her since she started to feel sick this morning. What she feels like she absolutely needs to say, lest she succumb to this vile and abhorrent illness.
She grips her girlfriend’s hand harder, “Enid,” she whispers softly, her thumb pressing against her girlfriend’s palm.
The blonde-haired girl turns towards her then, her face mere inches from Wednesday’s. Her eyes drop to the set of lips in front of her. “Yes, Wednesday?”
The seer briefly opens her eyes, her gaze fixed upon her girlfriend’s collar. “Could you please-” she takes a deep breath, a small shiver jostling the bed slightly. “Hold onto me?” she all but whispers in Enid’s direction, not daring to look into her baby blue eyes.
It takes only milliseconds for the question to register within the blonde’s mind laying next to her. A dip in the bed is all she can feel, her eyes clenched shut from the mortifying ordeal of being vulnerable.
What happens next is something Wednesday didn’t think was possible. If by some miracle, the feeling she’s craved all day is finally upon her. All at once, Enid’s warmth and skin and scent and body is all encompassing. The lycan takes hold of her in her strong arms and tucks her so tightly into her chest that Wednesday can feel her heartbeat pound against her cheek. Enid’s arm snakes up and into the back of her black hoodie, her palm and fingertips so expertly soothing the prickling goosebumps adorning her freckled skin. Her other hand comes to rest under the front of her, warmth radiating from her wide palm and immediately numbing the pain, even if slightly so.
The hand that rests just above her bellybutton traces and rubs small circles into her skin there. The gnawing and swimming feeling in Wednesday’s stomach fades with every round of Enid’s hands that pass over the sore area. Her girlfriend’s fingertips graze just beneath the base of her breast, warmth permeating through to her core. The hand on her back seems to dip and move with every breath she takes, and winds up dipping just below the waistband of her sweatpants- very successfully warming up her back and providing pleasant jolts down to the base of her tailbone. The heat, pressure, and the girl squeezing her delightfully fill her senses.
The seer gradually lets her body dip into the tall girl holding her. Her own hands rake up underneath the front of Enid’s pajama shirt, and find refuge at the base of her warm tummy. Wednesday’s freezing fingertips dig into Enid’s hot skin beneath her shirt, and she successfully winds an arm around to the bare back of her girlfriend, allowing herself to fully indulge in the heat radiating from Enid. No more than a few moments pass before Enid shifts into her even further, her legs coming up to intertwine with the raven’s.
Enid’s knees slot right in between Wednesday’s small inner thighs, and grip the sick girl tightly. The seer had always been a fan of pressure when held, and the lycan knows that in moments of emotional turmoil, Wednesday liked to be held very securely. Never once had Enid heard Wednesday actually ask to be held, though. In their entire relationship, Enid had always been the one to either initiate, or assume Wednesday wanted to be held. It didn’t bug her, per se; she knew the Addams girl was always appreciative of and receptive to her touch.
Enid’s lips come to rest upon Wednesday’s clean and lightly damp hair, “If I’d known you wanted to be held, I would have done it hours ago.”
The raven rolls her pointer finger up and down her girlfriend’s naked sternum under her shirt, drawing in a warm breath, “I didn’t know how to ask.” She spreads her fingers out, branching out into the blonde’s collarbone and upper breast tissue.
Wednesday feels the grip on her back and front tighten with the repositioning of her hand now resting close to the thick pulsepoint of her girlfriend’s inner neck. Enid leaves her lips pressed atop her head and takes in a shuddering breath. “Baby, you can always ask for my help. That’s what girlfriends are here for, remember? That’s what I’m here for.”
The seer doesn’t respond, instead opting to drag her other hand currently digging into Enid’s soft stomach up to her hips. Her fingers near her neck drag down and splay out over the beating flesh directly above her girlfriend’s heart. Wednesday’s pointer finger lightly taps to the rhythm of the beating muscle, and her eyes close gently as she tucks herself impossibly closer into the blonde-haired girl.
“Thank you, Enid,” the raven speaks softly into the crook of Enid’s neck, “I do not know what I would have done without you.”
Enid squeezes her girlfriend tightly at her breathless admission, “And I’d do it over again a million times, always for you.”
Surrounded in the warmth of Enid’s sweatshirt whilst tucked deeply into her girlfriend’s neck, the seer deeply breathes into the bare and heated flesh of the skin she lays on. “Enid,” she asks slowly, “do you think- is it possible that I have contracted the flu?” Her fingers close tightly around her girlfriend’s hips, a subtle fear climbing into her stomach.
“I think it’s most likely what’s got you so sick,” Enid replies, her arms responding to Wednesday’s feeble grasp of her bare skin and hugging her tighter. “But luckily, it goes away fast with the right stuff.” She feels her girlfriend grimace against her neck. “I sent Thing down to the medical wing to grab you some things, he should be back with the Gatorade and crackers soon. And the Advil, which you will be taking.”
The raven lightly scoffs, “I do not see how the American Alligator will help the aches I feel, Enid.”
“Wednesday,” Enid laughs softly, “there are no alligators. Gatorade is a drink.” She kisses the top of the rain-scented hair beneath her, and draws her fingertips up and down the back of her girlfriend. “It’s got electrolytes in it. It’ll help you get re-hydrated.”
The Addams girl tucks in closer, “I’ve never had the flu,” she whispers softly, a genuine and subtle turmoil apparent in her voice.
“Then let me take care of you,” Enid breathes into her girlfriend’s hair. “Let me help you get better.”
A shuddering breath rattles the smaller girl held in the lycan’s arms. Soft eyelashes flutter against the skin of Enid’s neck where Wednesday’s eyes blink slowly in response to her girlfriend’s plea. The rise and fall of Wednesday’s chest apply pressure to Enid’s stomach where their bodies press so tightly together, a silent peace falling over both girls.
Time pauses as the raven–haired girl stirs against warm skin. The hands that held Enid’s hips draw up to her abdomen and lightly rest upon the three scars that line the tender flesh. Wednesday pulls her head out from the pocket of warmth she’s created in the crook of her girlfriend’s neck, and pulls back a few inches. Her brown eyes drift all over Enid’s face, pausing at her nasal bridge, eyebrows, and cheeks. They stop at the lycan’s full and wonderfully pink lips- slightly parted and a little chapped from the cold, winter air.
It’s Enid who breaks the silence, her voice coming out in a breathless whisper. “You better stop looking at me like that or-” She’s cut off by two ice-cold lips against hers. It sucks all the air from her lungs and takes all the words from her mouth in an instant. Her legs shift impossibly closer up into the girl between her, and her hands splay and squeeze at the tender flesh they rest upon. Enid shakily lets out the last desperate ounces of air she’s been holding and breathes out deeply through her nose. She can feel Wednesday’s lips part ever-so-slightly at the puff of air, and quickly takes the opportunity to kiss her again, more fully encompassing the now very much heated set of lips interlocked with her own. It’s Wednesday who pulls them apart with a shaking breath, their joining of lips coming apart with a soft pop.
Wednesday’s eyes gravitate to Enid’s bright blue ones, and stay there. Whatever shame she felt just moments prior are gently replaced with that of her girlfriend’s longing and warmth. She rests her forehead against Enid's, and takes in a deep breath. “I refuse to take any Advil,” she starts, hands drifting up underneath the lycan’s shirt to rest right beneath the sides of her chest, “but I will take the electrolyte beverage.”
Enid beams at her girlfriend’s words and buries her own head into the raven’s neck, “I promise you’ll feel better soon, baby.”
Wednesday falls into her girlfriend then, her full weight bearing down onto the softness of the sweater beneath her. “I love you, Enid.”
Pink lips smile wide into the pale girl’s neck, “I love you too, Wednesday.”