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The bass from the party’s speakers thrummed through the floor, a physical beat that vibrated up from the soles of Enid’s feet and into her bones. It was the kind of party that happened only on the first Friday of the semester, a chaotic explosion of new faces, cheap beer, and the desperate, hopeful energy of a thousand college students trying to find their place. For Enid Sinclair, finding her place had been surprisingly easy. Her vibrant, sunny personality was a beacon in any room, a splash of neon in a world of beige. She was currently leaning against a kitchen counter, nursing a red plastic cup of something fruity and fizzy, surrounded by a small constellation of new friends.
“Seriously, Enid, you’re a lifesaver,” said a lanky guy named Chad, who was in her Intro to Sociology class. “I thought I was going to die of boredom before you showed up. You actually make Durkheim sound interesting.”
Enid beamed, her colorful hair catching the dim, multi-colored party lights. “It’s all about finding the drama in it, Chad! Social solidarity, collective effervescence, it’s basically just a really intense party, right?” She giggled, a bright, crystalline sound that cut through the din.
Another guy, a football player named Mark whose biceps were straining the sleeves of his polo shirt, sidled closer. “I don’t know about any of that sociology stuff, but I do know you’re the most interesting thing here. You busy tomorrow night? There’s a great sushi place just off campus.”
Enid’s smile didn’t falter, but it became a touch more practiced. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Mark, but I can’t.”
“Come on, just as friends,” he pressed, his confidence unwavering. “Let me buy you dinner.”
“I’m really flattered, but I’m taken,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.
Mark’s brow furrowed. “Taken? I haven’t seen you with anyone. You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” Enid laughed, trying to let him down easy. “She’s kinda my whole world.”
The word ‘she’ landed like a lead balloon in the small circle. Chad took a sudden, intense interest in his cup, while Mark’s easygoing charm evaporated into a look of mild confusion and disappointment. Before he could formulate a response, another presence glided into their orbit.
She was a girl Enid had seen in her Art History lecture, a quiet, striking beauty with dark, intelligent eyes and a cascade of black hair that fell like a silk curtain over one shoulder. She moved with a liquid grace that was at odds with the clumsy jostling of the party. She held a simple glass of water and had been watching Enid from across the room for most of the night.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the girl said, her voice a low, melodic hum. She ignored the guys completely, her gaze fixed on Enid. “I’m Yara. I just wanted to say… I’ve been drawn to you since the first day of class. Your energy is… incredible.”
Enid’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. “Oh! Thank you, Yara. That’s so nice to hear.” She felt a familiar pang of guilt, the one that always accompanied these kinds of interactions. She knew what it was like to feel a spark for someone, to hope.
Yara took a step closer, lowering her voice. “I was wondering if I could get your number. Maybe we could get coffee sometime.”
The guys had already begun to disperse, sensing a conversation they weren’t meant to be a part of. Enid let out a soft, resigned sigh. “Yara, I’m so, so sorry. I’m really flattered, truly. But I’m in a relationship. A very committed one.”
Yara’s expression didn’t crumble, but a flicker of disappointment crossed her features. “I figured it was a long shot. Is it serious?”
Enid’s face transformed, the polite, slightly apologetic mask melting away to be replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. “The most serious,” she said, her voice full of warmth. “She’s… intense. In the best way. Very protective. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Yara offered a small, understanding smile. “I get it. The intense, possessive type. Good for you. I hope she knows how lucky she is.”
“She does,” Enid said softly, just as her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. The screen lit up with a familiar, stark black-and-white photo of a skull. Her entire demeanor brightened instantly, her smile becoming radiant and genuine. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”
She turned away, pressing the phone to her ear with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. “Wends! Hi!”
The voice that came through the phone was flat, monotone, and utterly devoid of the cheerful energy Enid projected. “Enid.”
“Wednesday! I was just thinking about you! How’s your cryptology class? Are you deciphering any ancient, horrifying secrets?” Enid chirped, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“The curriculum is disappointingly modern. And your location is excessively loud. Where are you?” Wednesday’s voice was a blade, cutting through the party noise with chilling clarity.
“Oh, I’m at that party I told you about! The one in the North dorm common room. It’s actually pretty fun! A little loud, but—”
“Define ‘fun’,” Wednesday interrupted.
“You know, music, people… Chad from sociology is here, and this girl Yara just tried to ask me out, but I told her I was taken, obviously, because I am, so taken by you.”
“Stay where you are,” Wednesday commanded, and then the line went dead.
Enid pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the blank screen. A typical Wednesday conversation. Short, to the point, and utterly devoid of sentimentality. But for Enid, it was everything. She knew that underneath the terse words was a world of affection that Wednesday only showed in her own unique ways. The fact she was coming at all was a monumental declaration of love. Wednesday Addams loathed parties. She loathed loud noises. She loathed most people. And she especially loathed using a telephone. The fact that she had called, and was now coming, meant she had been thinking about Enid and felt a need to be near her.
Enid’s heart fluttered. She turned back to Yara, who was still standing there, looking intrigued. “That was her,” Enid said, her eyes shining. “She’s on her way.”
Yara raised an eyebrow. “She’s coming here? To… this?”
“Yep!”
Ten minutes later, the atmosphere in the common room shifted. It wasn’t a sudden change, but a slow, creeping wave of silence that rippled outwards from the main entrance. The thumping bass seemed to dull, the boisterous laughter died down to confused murmurs. People were turning, staring, their expressions a mixture of shock, confusion, and a primal sense of unease.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway light, was a figure that seemed to have stepped out of another dimension entirely. She was small in stature, but her presence was immense. She wore a long-sleeved black dress with a stark white collar, her dark pigtails were as straight and severe as razor blades, and her face was a pale, beautiful mask of utter indifference. Her eyes, dark and bottomless, scanned the room with the detached curiosity of an entomologist observing a new species of insect.
Wednesday Addams walked into the party not like she was joining it, but like she was conducting a field study in a foreign, and frankly, distasteful, land. The sea of students parted for her as if she were Moses. Guys in backwards caps and girls in crop tops stared, their mouths agape. This was the opposite of everything Enid was. This was a void where Enid was a supernova.
Enid spotted her and her face lit up with a joy so brilliant it was almost blinding. “Wednesday!” she squealed, abandoning her cup and darting through the stunned crowd.
She launched herself at the gothic girl, wrapping her arms around her neck in a fierce, exuberant hug. For a moment, Wednesday remained rigid, her arms at her sides, her expression unchanging. Then, almost imperceptibly, one of her pale hands came up to rest on the small of Enid’s back, a gesture of possession that was both subtle and absolute.
“Enid,” Wednesday stated, her voice carrying in the newly quiet room.
“I missed you!” Enid breathed, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You came!”
“You stated you were being propositioned. I came to assess the threat,” Wednesday said, her gaze flicking over to where Yara was standing, looking utterly gobsmacked. The girl who had been so confidently smooth moments ago now looked like she’d seen a ghost. A very fashionable, very intimidating ghost.
Wednesday’s eyes then landed on Mark, who was frozen mid-chip-dip, his eyes wide with dawning horror. He looked from the tiny, terrifying girl in black, back to the bubbly, colorful girl currently hugging her, and his brain seemed to short-circuit.
Enid just beamed. “Well, the threat has been neutralized. By me. But I’m so glad you’re here! Do you want a drink? There’s this amazing punch, it’s like… fruit explosion!”
Wednesday’s gaze drifted to the large, sticky-looking bowl of red liquid on the counter, from which a stray fly was desperately trying to escape. “I’d rather consume the bowl itself than its contents. The bacterial colony likely has more complex social structures than the imbibers.”
Enid just giggled, finding Wednesday’s morbid assessment utterly charming. “Okay, no punch for you. But you have to meet Yara! She’s the one who was asking me out. She’s really nice.” She grabbed Wednesday’s hand, her own warm and vibrant against Wednesday’s cool, pale skin, and started to pull her towards the corner where Yara was still standing, looking like a deer that had just wandered into a vampire’s den.
“Enid,” Wednesday’s voice was a low warning, but she allowed herself to be tugged along, her eyes scanning the room with the cold precision of a predator. She took in every staring face, every whispered conversation, every person who quickly looked away when her eyes met theirs. She was cataloging them, filing them away under ‘insipid,’ ‘pathetic,’ or ‘potential organ donor.’
“Yara!” Enid chirped, arriving at her side. “This is her! This is Wednesday my girlfriend!”
Yara, who had been composed and graceful all night, looked utterly flustered. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting from Enid’s beaming face to Wednesday’s unnervingly placid one. “Uh… hi. Wednesday. It’s… a pleasure.”
Wednesday tilted her head, a gesture so slight it was almost imperceptible. “The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. You were attempting to usurp my claim on Enid’s affection. A futile, if ambitious, endeavor.”
Yara’s eyes widened. “I... I didn’t know she was… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Disrespect is subjective,” Wednesday replied, her tone flat. “However, a repeat offense would result in a far more objective consequence.” She didn’t elaborate, but the unspoken threat hung in the air, colder than the draft from the open window.
“Wednesday, be nice!” Enid swatted her arm playfully, though she knew Wednesday’s idea of ‘nice’ was simply not actively maiming someone. “Yara was a perfect gentlewoman. She backed off the second I said I was taken.” She turned back to Yara, her expression apologetic but still glowing with pride. “She’s just really protective. It’s her love language.”
Yara managed a weak smile, her gaze flicking down to where Wednesday’s fingers were now interlaced with Enid’s, a stark black-and-white picture of ownership. “I… can see that. Well, I should… go. Find my… friends. It was nice meeting you both, Enid. Wednesday.” She gave a little nod and practically fled into the crowd, eager to put as much distance between herself and the couple as possible.
Mark and his friends were watching from a safe distance, their expressions a mixture of fear and morbid fascination. The football player, who had been picturing a date with a bubbly, fun-loving girl, now looked like he was trying to reconcile the existence of unicorns with the sudden appearance of a black hole. He couldn’t comprehend it. The two were polar opposites. Fire and ice. A rainbow and a solar eclipse. It defied all logic.
“Now that the pleasantries are concluded,” Wednesday said, turning her full attention back to Enid. The noise of the party was slowly returning, but it remained a muted, cautious hum around them. “This environment is aesthetically offensive. The lighting is an assault on the retina, the music is a cacophony of synthetic beats, and the collective IQ of the room is likely lower than that of a common garden slug.”
Enid laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Wednesday’s cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”
“I speak only the truth,” Wednesday stated. “Our dorm room is superior. It is quiet, dark, and contains your collection of brightly colored stuffed abominations.”
“Do you want to go back?” Enid asked, her eyes soft. She knew Wednesday well. This wasn’t a complaint; it was a proposal.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let me just say goodbye to Chad.”
Enid disentangled herself and bounced over to her sociology classmate, who looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “We’re heading out, Chad! It was fun!”
“Yeah… Enid,” he stammered, his eyes fixed on the small, ominous figure waiting patiently by the door. “Your… girlfriend… is… intense.”
“The intense-est!” Enid agreed, as if it were the highest compliment. “See you Monday!”
She rejoined Wednesday, who immediately took her hand again. As they walked towards the exit, the crowd didn’t just part; it recoiled. Students pressed themselves against the walls, creating a clear path for them. Whispers followed in their wake.
“Who is that?”
“That’s Enid Sinclair’s girlfriend.”
“No way. How? She looks like she’d bite your head off if you looked at her wrong.”
“Did you hear what she said to Yara? I think I’m going to have nightmares.”
Enid was deaf to it all. Her world had shrunk to the cool, steady hand holding hers and the familiar, comforting scent of nightshade and formaldehyde that clung to her girlfriend. Once they were outside in the cool night air, away from the thumping bass and staring eyes, Enid let out a happy sigh.
“I’m so happy you came,” she said, swinging their joined hands between them.
Wednesday stopped and turned to face her. The streetlamp cast her in stark relief, turning her into a beautiful, gothic statue. “I was… inconvenienced,” she said, her usual monotone softening almost imperceptibly. “The silence in my room was… excessive without your incessant chattering.”
Enid’s heart swelled. It was the closest Wednesday would ever come to saying ‘I missed you.’ She leaned in and kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of cherry lip gloss and everything Enid held dear.
When she pulled back, Wednesday’s dark eyes were fixed on hers. “You are mine, Enid Sinclair,” she stated. It wasn’t a question or a declaration of war; it was a simple statement of fact, as immutable as gravity.
“I know,” Enid whispered, her smile radiant. “Always.”
And as they walked away from the party, from the shocked stares and bewildered whispers, they were a perfect, impossible paradox. A supernova and its black hole, bound together by a force no one else could understand, but that was, to them, the only thing that made sense in the universe.
___
The walk back to the dorms was a silent, comfortable ritual. The campus, usually alive with the chatter of late-night students, felt subdued in their wake. It was as if their very presence had cast a temporary hush over the world. Enid, still buzzing from the party’s residual energy and the thrill of Wednesday’s arrival, swung their joined hands, her colorful cardigan a vibrant splash against the monochrome of the night. Wednesday moved with her usual silent, predatory grace, her focus entirely on the girl beside her, as if the rest of the world were a tedious and irrelevant backdrop.
Once inside the sterile, white-walled hallway of their dorm building, Enid fumbled for her key card, her fingers clumsy with excitement. “I can’t believe you came,” she whispered for the third time, as if the repetition would make the fact any more real.
“The alternative was to remain in a state of heightened alert, mentally cataloging all the ways your naivete could get you abducted, dismembered, or forced into a toxic social contract,” Wednesday replied, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet corridor.
Enid finally managed to swipe the lock, and the door swung open into their room. It was a perfect dichotomy. One side was an explosion of color and life: a rainbow of clothes strewn across a chair, fairy lights strung around a poster of a boy band, and a bed piled high with plush wolves in every conceivable color and pose. The other side was stark, orderly, and severe: a perfectly made black bedspread, a single shelf of leather-bound books on poisons and ancient torture methods, and a desk with a typewriter positioned with geometric precision.
Wednesday glided to her side of the room, her movements fluid and economical. She placed her messenger bag on the chair, not dropping it but setting it down as if it were a delicate specimen. Enid, in contrast, flopped onto her bed, landing with a soft thud among her fluffy wolves.
“See? Much better,” Enid said, propping herself up on her elbows. “No bad music, no guys named Chad trying to buy you sushi. Just us.”
“An improvement,” Wednesday conceded, turning to face her. Her dark eyes swept over Enid, taking in the flushed cheeks, the bright eyes, the slight sheen of sweat on her brow from dancing. “You appear to have survived the ordeal with minimal psychological scarring.”
“I had fun!” Enid insisted. “But it’s way more fun now.” She patted the empty space on her bed. “Come here.”
Wednesday hesitated for a fraction of a second, a silent calculation of the risk versus the reward of entering the chaotic, colorful vortex of Enid’s domain. Then, she crossed the small space and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her posture ramrod straight.
Enid immediately scooted closer, wrapping her arms around Wednesday’s waist from behind and resting her chin on her shoulder. “You know, everyone was so shocked when you showed up,” she murmured into her ear. “You should have seen their faces. Mark the football player looked like he was trying to solve a math problem with no numbers.”
“Their cognitive dissonance is not my concern,” Wednesday said, though she didn’t pull away from the embrace. In fact, she leaned back infinitesimally into the warmth.
“They just don’t get it,” Enid continued, her voice soft and intimate. “They see me and they think ‘bubblegum and rainbows.’ They see you and they think ‘gloom and doom.’ They can’t put the pieces together.”
“They lack imagination,” Wednesday stated. “And a basic understanding of symbiotic relationships.”
Enid giggled, pressing a kiss to the cool skin of Wednesday’s neck. “Is that what we are? Symbiotic?”
“It is a functional descriptor,” Wednesday replied. “You provide a necessary influx of chaotic energy and social interaction. I provide a grounding force and a deterrent against unwanted advances. It is a balanced ecosystem.”
“You’re my deterrent,” Enid repeated, a wide, happy grin spreading across her face. “I love that. You’re my scary, beautiful, perfect deterrent.” She tightened her hold. “Did you really drive all the way here just because I was at a party?”
“I was in the middle of translating a 15th-century manuscript on the art of impalement,” Wednesday said, her tone utterly deadpan. “It was a more productive use of my time. But the thought of you… smiling at that oaf with the biceps… was aesthetically displeasing. I decided a field excursion was required to restore visual harmony.”
Enid’s heart did a little flip. That was it. That was Wednesday’s version of a love poem. A complaint about visual harmony. “Well, consider it restored,” she whispered. She gently turned Wednesday’s face towards her with a hand on her cheek. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
Wednesday’s gaze was intense, her dark eyes searching Enid’s face as if memorizing every line and freckle. “I will always come for you, Enid,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, serious register that was far more chilling and far more romantic than any declaration of passion. “There is no place you could be that I would not find you.”
A shiver went down Enid’s spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold. It was a promise, a vow, delivered with the chilling certainty of a death knell. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a threat. To Enid, it was the ultimate security blanket.
She leaned in and closed the remaining distance between them, kissing her with a depth of feeling that needed no words. It was a kiss that tasted of cheap punch and expensive perfume, of bright, bubbly life and dark, solemn death. It was a kiss that was, in its own strange and beautiful way, a perfect, balanced ecosystem. And in the quiet of their room, with the world shut safely outside, it was the only thing that made sense.