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“You’re hurt,” Enid realizes, her eyes widening.
It isn’t out of surprise; it’s out of care. And Wednesday wishes her eyes were closed.
Here’s the scene; Wednesday Addams is collapsed on the floor next to her bed, barely conscious. And her roommate, Enid Sinclair, isn’t surprised.
Even through her hazy state, Wednesday can feel the gears turning in Enid’s head. She’s determined. She isn’t going to listen.
And, Enid doesn’t. Not a moment later is she bending down and placing her arms under Wednesday’s neck and knees, hefting her up as gently as she can.
“We’re going to the nurse. And you’re staying until you get better.”
Wednesday doesn’t bother complaining. Funnily, she’s pretty sure her grimaces of pain are audible. Her body automatically tucks in to the warmth of Enid’s. Her frame is shivering, pathetically enough. It’s as though her body has stopped listening to her, instead managing to operate on the barest of human instincts.
It’s only when Enid lowers her down that she realizes she’s been gripping onto Enid’s sleeve. It feels impossible to let go. Her eyes are half-closed, the words around her are muffled.
It’s a moment and an eternity later, that the world is gone.
There are no dreams. It’s all just black.
It’s all black, aside from the tinge of Enid’s familiar orange light in the back of her mind, watching.
When she comes to the first time, Enid is sleeping with her forehead against the bed, grasping onto her little finger.
Her first thought is how much bigger Enid’s hand is compared to hers.
[So, why doesn’t it make her feel smaller?]
She cannot place this feeling anywhere.
The second time she wakes up, Enid is talking on the phone. Her eyes flutter open stealthily. Her body urges her to move, to stretch, to do something. Instead, she just looks, unblinking, at Enid’s frame pacing across the room.
She waits for Enid to see her.
[Everything fades to black again the second their eyes meet. What timing.]
In that quick second, she can only remember Enid’s eyes, reminiscent to the morning sky as the sunlight danced across her irises.
The third time she wakes up, there’s a finality to it. Her eyes aren’t fighting her, they wish to stay open. Her moves her mouth, which feels stuffed with cotton and frozen stiff. She lifts her right palm up, stretching her fingers as if comprehending her mortality.
“Enid.”
Her voice is cracked and painfully weak. It’s not poised and ready.
The room is dark. It must be night time. Hospitals don’t switch off the lights. Where is she?
Someone holds their breath next to her.
“Wednesday?”
Enid’s voice is at sea, waves in her mind making it rock back and forth. But it’s real. It’s here. It’s clearer than Wednesday remembers.
Out of the blue, a head buries itself into the crook of her neck, as gentle as it could be. The movement makes her blink. Her neck is getting wet, and she realizes Enid is shaking.
It starts to come back to her. What happened.
She doesn’t have any words that can make this better. How long has it been? Couldn’t have been more than a week, realistically speaking.
[She failed. She failed. This is her fault.]
There’s a pang of hatred spreading through her. It was her own fault. Always is. Her hands seem to move on their own as she tries to push Enid away, trying to get up, to do something. Enid looks up, and Wednesday’s glad it’s dark enough to cloak the raw hurt that is definitely cementing in Enid’s eyes.
“Move.”
Wednesday says urgently, accusingly.
As if she could demand anything more of Enid.
She’s undeserving of this. She needs to get up and fix things.
“No.”
What?
Enid just refused to move. Why?
“Move, Enid. Get off.”
Wednesday tries to shrug her off, using what little strength she has to push against Enid’s shoulders. Enid doesn’t budge.
Damned werewolf.
“Damn it, Enid, get off!”
Wednesday doesn’t know why she’s yelling.
“Get off me!”
Wednesday lands a soft punch on her arm, trying to get the message across.
[She’d never hurt Enid.]
It was her fault, though. All of it. Her mother was right. Weems was right.
[Of course, Weems happens to be dead because of her too.]
How could she be so foolish?
“Get away.”
[She can’t feel the tears rolling down her face as she tries to push Enid away.]
“Do you not see? It was my fault! Enid, mine, and they did not deserve this! Weems didn’t. And she warned me-.”
Enid doesn’t move an inch, even as Wednesday starts shaking. “Don’t blame yourself. Don’t do that. Hey, Wens, look at me. None of it was your fault. Nothing was.”
It doesn’t help.
This time she shoves harder.
There’s a blinding pain spiking through her, and she falls back against the bed.
It’s her chest.
[Burns. Like she’s back there, being cut open.]
Enid is saying something, her mouth is moving, and it’s muffled again.
Her eyes fall close.
Enid isn’t there when she wakes back up. Her chest isn’t burning.
[A corner of her mind retorts back, because it should. It should hurt.]
Her hand reaches back to her head. Her braids are undone. A pang of annoyance from the parts of her still alive shoots up.
The other parts? They’re quiet. They’re like ghosts, mouthing words she can’t hear or make out.
She recalls the yelling. The crying. The hurt so evident on Enid’s face. And she feels pathetic. She needs to apologize. Enid doesn’t deserve hurt, especially after everything that’s happened.
The door creaks, and Wednesday looks to watch.
Curly black hair. Big black glasses.
Eugene.
He immediately lights up, walking towards her.
“Wednesday!”
Relief spreads through her. At least Eugene is okay.
“Eugene.”
Eugene puts his bag down against the bed, sitting down on the chair next to it. “It’s so good to see you.”
The corner of her mouth twitches up, almost indistinctively. “Likewise.”
She wants to ask where Enid is. There’s a pit growing inside her.
As if he’d heard her, Eugene says, “Enid went back to the dorms to clean up.”
Wednesday sits up a little better. “How long has it been?”
Eugene’s smile fades. “A little more than a week.”
As she’d figured. Blood loss. Internal bleeding.
Eugene looks like he wants to say something. Instead, he starts looking through his bag. Wednesday waits.
He pulls out a notebook.
They start talking about their next move, details the police investigated, discussing who was behind the attacks. And who wanted her dead.
Wednesday finds a little of herself comforted by the mystery, the fact that she can still solve this. The thrill of her actual work.
About a half hour later, Enid enters the room again. She stops at the door as they make eye contact, before quickly stepping inside. She doesn’t look angry. She looks like she’s on watch, waiting for something to happen. Eugene senses this tension, getting up and greeting Enid. Wednesday nods at him and he leaves.
Enid stands by the door, “Hey.”
“Enid,” Wednesday’s voice is softer.
She wants to say she’s sorry. The words are stuck in her throat, barbed and vulnerable.
Enid is worth it. Always.
Enid walks to her bedside, and Wednesday starts. “I’m s- “
Enid cuts her off, leaning against her tentatively in a small embrace and brushing her cheek.
This, she’ll remember no matter how many lives go by, how many eons pass.
Wednesday wraps her arms around Enid’s waist, loosely holding her. She knows her injuries can’t handle the weight. Enid is careful.
She tilts her head upward and brushes her lips against Enid’s. Her eyes are closed by the time she’s tracing Enid’s face with her fingers.
Enid pulls away, catching her breath, her hands still resting on Wednesday’s shoulders.
Wednesday finishes her words, knowing their importance, “I’m sorry.”
Enid pulls her back in, just as gently.