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It was true that Wednesday Addams resided in Room 3671— the third floor of Ophelia Hall. It was true that Wednesday Addams resided in that room; the iconic room with the cobweb-patterned mosaic window overlooking the school. It was true that Wednesday Addams resided in a shared room— an entirely obnoxious requirement of the school— with a lycan girl, Enid Sinclair.
Wednesday sat in her dormitory, at the antiquated, dark walnut desk and chair that was already in the room, covered in dust and cobwebs, when she had moved into the room on her first day of school. Her eyes traced the familiar scene that was her half of the room until she caught sight of the black duct tape that she had laid down in the center of the room the day she had arrived at Nevermore Academy, creating a visible dichotomy between her half of the room and Enid’s half. Enid’s half of the room. She felt the prickling of subtle nausea tickle her viscera just thinking about her roommate. How would she even begin to describe Enid Sinclair?
Enid Sinclair wouldn’t be caught dead without at least ten different accessories on at any time— endless hair clips, makeup, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, nail polish, and rings adorn each of her outfits. Enid Sinclair’s shoulder-length blonde hair is dyed with splotches of neon pinks, blues, and purples, ensuring that even on full moons— when she’s transformed into a werewolf— you can spot and recognize her from a mile away. Enid Sinclair runs the most popular gossip blog in the school; there are rumors she knows the dirt about you before you know it yourself. Enid Sinclair wouldn’t be caught dead by herself; at any given moment she’s spending time with someone— whether that be passing notes during class, talking with her friends in between class periods, or rampantly texting on her phone when she’s physically alone.
And it all makes Wednesday sick to her stomach.
Wednesday was certain Nevermore couldn’t have roomed her with a girl who was more of her complete and utter antithesis if they had tried. Where Enid resembled the sun— bright, exuberant, and outgoing— Wednesday resembled the moon— cold, solitary, and contemplative.
And so, if Wednesday was so entirely sure that she hated Sinclair with every fibre of her being (and she was!), how was it also true that Wednesday was so dead set on observing and understanding the enigma that was her roommate? How was it also true that Wednesday had learned her roommate’s day-to-day schedule and knew it by heart? How was it also true that she constantly found herself attending school events and activities by Enid’s side, simply for the purpose of observing how the lycan interacted with her peers?
The contradiction made Wednesday’s head spin, as if each new thought was chipping away at the image of herself she had so carefully constructed. What she once believed to be her true sense of self now felt like a brittle shell, cracking under her own self-interrogation. Beneath it, to her horror, a curious ache simmered, an inexplicable pull toward the warmth she so adamantly denied herself. And despite every better thought in her head telling her not to do so, some deeper part of herself had set her heart on confronting her roommate. She tried to tell herself it was just for research purposes. A simple conversation for the purposes of scientific observation, to further her understanding of a creature so unlike herself. But if she was honest with herself, her intentions were selfish. She aimed to understand herself better, to understand why she had seemingly developed masochistic tendencies— not being able to keep the loathsome thought of her roommate out of her head.
—
Wednesday took the opportunity to pounce on one of the, fairly rare, occasions Enid took to her bed for downtime. “Tell me, Sinclair,” Wednesday’s sudden inquiry startled Enid, making her jump. “I understand that the typical adolescent benefits from occasional interaction with their peers. But the extent of your sociability toes the line of making you an outlier. An amicable anomaly, if you will.”
Enid just blinked at the other girl, suddenly finding it particularly difficult to find the words to form a response. “What?” She managed to stutter out.
“Why do you invest so much energy into trivial social engagements? Certainly, such an inordinate amount of social interaction isn’t necessary to fulfill your emotional quotas?”
“My emotional quotas? Trivial social engagements? What are you trying to get at?” Enid felt a surge of irritation at the implications of Wednesday's questions. “Maybe, it’s because people like me. Do you want me to apologize for having friends? There’s no need to insult me.”
Wednesday didn’t respond, suddenly lost in introspection. She hadn’t meant to offend Enid. After all, a good researcher stays completely neutral in order to avoid skewing findings. Wednesday had once read a book on social interactions, hoping to supplement her own observations and further aid herself in any potentially important conversations with people outside of her own kin. She was foolish to forget to consider how the subject may react to unintended social cues. If her observations were to end here, there would be nothing to blame aside from her own social ineptitude. And worse, not only would her experiment be ruined, but the glimmer of vulnerability she had just begun to allow herself to feel would be crushed.
In response to Wednesday’s bout of silence and concentrated expression, Enid sighed before she continued speaking. She knew she tended to get defensive when people tried to question her or pick at her. Growing up as the black sheep in her pack of brothers, thick skin and a sharp mouth were necessities to survive her childhood home. But that wasn’t who she was anymore. She had made sure when she came to Nevermore that she had buried that part of herself. “Okay, sorry for snapping at you. I know you don’t have bad intentions,” Enid furrowed her eyebrows and paused for a moment, “...usually. Listen, let me flip the question on you: Why do you spend so much time alone?”
Wednesday’s thoughts, naturally, initially turned to the solitary nature of her kin, and thus, the way she was raised. She would have gone so far as to say that being alone is the optimal way to be— it was simply more efficient. But Wednesday reflected briefly on the nature of the conversation and decided to play along in hopes of getting answers out of Enid as well. “I prefer being alone. Spending time with others typically earns me little but frustration.” She paused briefly, considering how vulnerable she was willing to be with her roommate, before continuing again. “My family isn’t exactly the cordial type.”
Enid was surprised at Wednesday’s sudden, uncharacteristic openness. Though her words were still vague, it was the most she had shared about her past since the two had been roomed together. Her tone softened involuntarily as she chuckled lightly before responding. “Wow, that’s, like, the opposite of my family. I have five brothers in my pack. I never got any alone time so I just got used to it, I guess. I actually don’t think I know how to be alone anymore. I can’t stand having to listen to my own thoughts— it's exhausting.”
Mumbling to herself, Wednesday began analyzing her newfound data, “I see, so you're engaging in some form of escapism. Running away from your own thoughts and feelings and therefore, running away from yourself.”
In a burst of laughter, Enid hit the other girl playfully in the arm, “Don't tell me we’re having this heartfelt conversation just so you can psychoanalyze me! I thought we were really bonding for once!” She smiled and she settled back down, “But for real, I could totally say the same about you.” Wednesday looked up from where her gaze was settled on the cracks in the floorboards to study Enid’s face. “You said that you spend so much time alone because you get frustrated talking to other people, right? So you’re also running away from something— or engaging in escapism, as you would say,— but it’s just how you feel around other people instead of how you feel when you're alone.”
Despite Wednesday’s reflex to dismiss Enid’s observations, she took a moment to seriously contemplate what Enid had said. Perhaps her words had held more truth than Wednesday would like to admit. Her own inhibitions had been affecting her— affecting the very way she felt about her own longing to connect with her roommate. Was she engaging in her own form of escapism? “Incredible. How is it you’re so prolific in psychology? I’m assuming you haven’t done the same lengths of research I have.”
“I’ve watched some TikToks,” Enid responded with a toothy grin, awaiting the faux-indignant response she knew her statement would yield.
Wednesday watched the radiant smile that graced her roommate’s face and decided that she was satisfied with her findings. She wasn’t so different from Enid, despite what surface-level observations would make it seem. Two people can be different, maybe even opposites, and still be alike. Where Enid resembled the sun— bright, overly bright, but only to compensate for her own fear of what she would be in the dark— Wednesday resembled the moon— cold and dark, but only to repress who she might really be if she didn’t abide by the rules she set for herself.
If Enid were the sun, and she the moon, did they not still both rise in the east and set in the west? Perhaps to grow as a person all she really needed was to allow herself to be not just the dark side of the moon, but the near side as well.