Severe Enid Allergy

“Should we go meet your new roommate?”

As Larissa Weems, the towering, sardonic, and nauseatingly beige administrator of Nevermore Academy, pitched this question—though it was clear that no answer other than ‘yes’ would be tolerated—Wednesday was certain that she heard an ominous bell toll in the distance. The universe had a way of mocking the Addams, with storm clouds often following them upon first arriving in a new location, or their misfortunes forewarned with clichéd omens such as this. But Wednesday already knew that having to share a cell with another living, breathing person would be absolute torment, and didn’t need the universe piping up to tell her that.

After a long, winding staircase that left her father and brother puffing slightly, though her mother refused to show any such weaknesses as usual, and Principal Weems seemed used to the climb, Wednesday found herself before a solid wooden door. Curving to a point at the top as if in the style of an old church or abbey, though the only reason for an Addams to be found in such a place was if they were dragged there for exorcism. Perhaps that was exactly what Wednesday’s parents and new Principal hoped would result from this punishment. The shadows of Wednesday’s soul, too deep and dark even for her family to stomach, to be exorcised through enforced socialisation with her peers.

With no further opportunity to steel herself for what was to come, Principal Weems pushed open the heavy door without knocking. At least the occupant on the other side would be as much on the back foot, with the only warning of their arrival being the laboured breathing still coming up the final stairs behind the three women already at the door.

What met Wednesday on the other side nearly left her blinded in an instant. The room was a kaleidoscope, almost literally, with web-like patterns of brilliant light assaulting her eyes from what appeared to be a large, circular window on the opposite side from the door. Though, Wednesday would need welding goggles to inspect closely enough to determine its exact nature. Even without being physically in touch with the rainbow portal, or with the rest of the colourful accoutrement that was scattered throughout the room, she could feel her skin begin to itch in irritation. The several weeks between her expulsion from Nancy Reagan High School and enrolment at Nevermore Academy, spent in the monotone sanctuary of her family home, had clearly undone any limited tolerance that Wednesday had built to being around other, more saturated people’s lives.

Her eyes slightly adjusting to the onslaught, the next thing that caught Wednesday’s attention was the room’s occupant. Sitting primly at her desk, though clad in the typical dark purple of the Nevermore uniform, the girl who would apparently be Wednesday’s roommate exuded colour. Her hair and nails boasted many hues even where her uniform prevented other self-expression, and the blue of her eyes felt less like a neutral colour chosen by nature and more like an intentional invasion into Wednesday’s universe. And she was disturbingly… pretty, in a way that made Wednesday’s skin crawl and heart stutter, not unlike the sensation of the hives in which she was surely about to break out.

Her father’s response, though technically accurate, echoed the bare minimum of what Wednesday was currently experiencing. “It’s so… vivid.”

As if these words suddenly activated her, the girl leapt to her feet, a wide grin spilling across her artificially glossy lips. All teeth, straight like new gravestones and white like bleached bone. Then, reaching a point within only a few feet of Wednesday, the girl took in an eager breath. Wednesday had to hide her own intake at the blow that such a nauseating presence seemed to physically deal to her.

“Howdy, roomie!”

Principal Weems took over for formal introductions, the girl seemingly forgetting to mention her own name in her excitement, saying, “Wednesday, this is Enid Sinclair.”

(As if the entire visible range of the electromagnetic spectrum could be reduced to four syllables in the form of a name. Absurd.)

Getting a closer look now at Wednesday, Enid’s face blanched.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked. “You look a little… pale.”

“Wednesday always looks half dead,” Gomez replied from behind his daughter’s shoulder, sounding altogether too proud and sentimental for Wednesday’s liking.

“Oh,” said Enid. Then, resurrecting her smile after the brief falter, “Welcome to Ophelia Hall!”

It was at this very moment that Wednesday’s life was fundamentally altered. The girl stepped forward, opening her arms wide. There were many things that such a motion could portend, including an oncoming grapple in hand-to-hand combat, or a gesture to emphasise magnanimity to accompany a generous offer. But the context provided enough of a cue, and Wednesday found herself stepping back in terror at the knowledge that Enid Sinclair was intending to hug her.

And, ordinarily, that small step would’ve been enough of a signal. Whether the response was annoyance, or confusion, or casual acceptance, few people saw Wednesday’s characteristic flinch to physical proximity and didn’t back down in fear. But Enid already looked so ready to envelop her, to wrap her arms around and consume Wednesday entirely. Her eyes had drifted closed, her smile extending to crease the skin on either side of her face in what appeared to be genuine pleasure at being introduced to Wednesday. And so, despite everything, Enid continued to advance.

Wednesday should’ve retaliated. At the very least, knocked her to the ground for her insolence. If not ending her then and there with one of her many stashed knives. She certainly had the opportunity, and the advantage given that Enid wasn’t looking. Wednesday’s reflexes were fast enough. She held no qualms about committing acts of violence in front of anyone present. Her opponent possessed no protection at the neck, and there was likely no unseen armour beneath the uniform, allowing for a knife to slip between ribs or into the stomach. A kill had never been easier.

And yet… Wednesday stood frozen.

Enid took the final step. And Wednesday found herself wrapped in warm, strong arms, thrown with aggressive affection around her neck. She immediately felt like she was burning.

Nothing this warm, this soft, or this eager had come anywhere near Wednesday in years. It was foreign, alien, uncanny. And, beyond the physical sensation, there was the weight of the very notion—absurd as it was—of having a beautiful presumptuous girl like Enid daring to be in her space. Wanting to be in her space.

Wednesday almost lifted her arms, entirely against her conscious will, to return the embrace.

Only, Enid seemed then to register that Wednesday had remained stiff and unyielding. The other girl pulled back, fright and apology showing on her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Not a hugger. Got it.”

Not a hugger. The greatest understatement that had ever been uttered in any human language. Physical touch filled Wednesday with the rage of a titan. The sentimentality that it implied was antithetical to everything that defined Wednesday. And, even if she were to be vulnerable and introspective (which she definitely wasn’t), there was a secret part of Wednesday that feared such displays of affection.

And yet… Wednesday hadn’t hated it. The lingering echoes of Enid’s embrace threatened to continue to burn into her skin until she was nothing but a charred husk. But that wasn’t a reaction of disgust. If anything… oh how glorious it would be to burn.

Wednesday shut these thoughts down. That idea came from a place of emotion. Emotions were a gateway to caring, and Wednesday hadn’t cared about anyone in years. That was a weakness, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow herself to be weak in a new, hostile environment such as this. Let alone in front of a complete stranger.

In the absence of being capable of a response herself, Wednesday vaguely registered her mother speaking up. “Please excuse Wednesday. She’s allergic to colour.”

“Oh wow, what happens to you?” Enid asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Why did a stranger care for her wellbeing? What an inefficient and exposed way to live.

Even now, Wednesday could feel the phantom itch that had appeared when she had first entered the room settling into something more tangible and painful. Enough of her neck had been exposed that, as Enid’s purple-clad arms and the pink-and-blue tips of her hair had come into direct contact with Wednesday’s skin, a reaction was imminent. This wasn’t good.

Trying to maintain composure, and return to being present in the room, Wednesday answered, “I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones.”

Enid audibly swallowed. Her piercing blue eyes scanned across the exposed skin of Wednesday’s face and neck. “I, uh…”

“Luckily,” Principal Weems interrupted, clearly trying to reassert some degree of order into the interaction. “We’ve special ordered you a uniform, and will maintain a consistent supply of your allergy medication in the infirmary, should anything… untoward occur.”

The itching continued. Wednesday felt it not only right where Enid had touched, but spreading outward from the ambient irritation that the entire atmosphere of the room was causing. Further up the sides of her face. And creeping below the stiff collar of her dress to scratch at her shoulders and collarbones.

“You, um, you look a little—” Enid started, vaguely gesturing toward Wednesday.

“Oh my. Enid is right, my dear. I have some of your cream on hand, darling. You might want to…” said Morticia, stepping in.

Wednesday’s eyes darted toward a large mirror on Enid’s side of the room. It only took pivoting slightly to catch most of her reflection, with the visible skin of her neck having already turned an angry red. And little spots were forming, the aforementioned hives threatening to appear.

“Leave me,” said Wednesday, voice flat but leaving no room for argument. She snatched the small tub of medicinal cream from her mother’s outstretched hands, and then looked pointedly at the door. “I will address this matter myself. Mother, father, you have done enough. You may see yourselves off school property”—then, turning to her brother—“And, Pugsley? Your bullies are pathetic, but that only proves further the extent of your weakness. Next time, rise to the occasion and deal with them properly, or die trying. I shall only accept meeting you again as a victor or a corpse.”

Principal Weems laughed awkwardly, clearly trying to assure herself that this was just some kooky Addams-style humour. She turned to Enid, and asked, “Enid, once Wednesday is feeling… better, please take her to the registrar’s office to pick up her uniform, along with her schedule, and give her a tour along the way?”

At that, Wednesday all but pushed her family and the principal out of the door. Only one person resisted, and only briefly. Her mother.

Morticia looked past her daughter’s deadly scowl toward Enid, and said, “If it is not too much trouble, darling girl, it could do for you to collect some of Wednesday’s medication from the infirmary also, to have on hand in case of future incidents.”

The gall of that woman, to surrender Wednesday’s survival so casually into the hands of a stranger. It would be just like Morticia to be taken in by the illusion of beauty and friendliness that Enid so sickeningly exuded. Wednesday took another step, forcing her mother out of the room, and then slammed the door behind her with a definitive thud. She pressed a palm flat to the dark wood and leaned her weight into it for just a moment as she breathed through the growing pain of her allergic reaction, before flicking the lock into place to prevent any further invasion into her space. If this was to be her prison, then she would guard it viciously.

“Can I, um…” said Enid.

“Cease hovering. I can care for myself,” said Wednesday, not even bothering to look at the other girl.

Walking over toward the side of the room that now supposedly belonged to her, Wednesday sat on the edge of the plain, unmade bed. The light coming through the colourful window cut across her shoes even this far to the edge of the room, and despite her feet technically being covered, Wednesday pulled her heels in close to the bed to escape the violent beams of light.

“You know what? I’ll, um—you look after you, but this is going to be a problem, right?” Enid asked, gesturing toward the window. “Urgh, it took me hours to put up, but I’d rather deal with it now than end up with your corpse in my room. Eww.”

Wednesday didn’t bother responding. It would seem that Enid had a bad habit of prattling, whether or not it was warranted or wanted, and she didn’t intend to indulge it further. However, at least the girl seemed willing to be proactive. Grabbing a pair of scissors from her own side, she began picking at the coloured film on the glass. Thankfully, it wasn’t real stained glass, or Wednesday would’ve needed to resort to more drastic measures to ‘fix’ everything that was wrong with this room.

While Enid worked at removing the plastic from the window—just on one side, but Wednesday could find some gloves and deal with the other side later, if necessary—she really needed to get on top of this rash before her skin actually did start peeling off. Wednesday removed her coat and draped it over one of the bedposts, taking a generous dollop of the cream from her mother’s supply to lather into the burning skin of her neck.

“Ouch, that looks… yikes, I’m sorry,” said Enid, glancing over from her task.

Again, Wednesday stayed silent.

The dress that she was wearing was stiff and came up too high on her neck. She couldn’t reach everywhere that she needed to apply the cream. Wednesday reached around for the closure at the back of her neck. But apparently the reaction had already spread too far, and the pain in her shoulders had begun to lock the joints in place, and she couldn’t raise her arms high enough.

It looked like this was where Wednesday Addams died. The most pathetic end, really. Death by easily avoidable hug from a girl who thought that pastels were fashionable.

No, she couldn’t have that on her record.

“Enid,” Wednesday said, doing her best to keep her voice neutral. It was a challenge through the pain, and even more so through the humiliation.

“Hmm?” Enid responded by way of a question. She looked up from the window, only having made a little progress so far. Her tone suggested that she was desperate to be of help, as if that would atone for her past transgressions.

“May you… I—well, I cannot reach the clasp,” said Wednesday. A statement of fact was all that she managed, unable to conjure an actual request for help.

“Oh!” said Enid, pitch far too high. “Of course. Just, uh…”

The colourful girl moved to lean over Wednesday’s bed, now maintaining an awkward distance to avoid any of her bright uniform brushing against Wednesday again. Despite the protective layer of Wednesday’s own clothing. How pitiful, for Wednesday’s inherent and unavoidable weakness to already be on full display to her roommate, who was treating her as some fragile thing. She couldn’t stay here for long, or at least needed a more permanent solution to ensure Enid’s silence on the matter.

The brush of Enid’s fingertips on the nape of Wednesday’s neck sent a shiver of pain down her spine. Enid seemed hesitant to get too close to the damaged skin, but this only made her touch more tentative, more of a caress. Wednesday couldn’t help the shudder than ran through her. Apologising at least half a dozen times, Enid eventually managed to undo the closure and pull down the zip. Though Wednesday could breathe perfectly fine in the restricting garment under normal conditions, she felt herself involuntarily breathing in with relief at the loss of pressure across her chest.

Managing to pull the sleeves of the dress off her arms, and otherwise tug the top down far enough to reveal her shoulders and the straps of the thin, black tank top that she wore underneath, Wednesday tried again. But even without the sleeves, her movement remained restricted. Despite her well-developed tolerance for pain, Wednesday couldn’t help but hiss as she tried to push through her near-frozen musculature.

“Here, let me!” said Enid, still hovering and clearly noticing Wednesday’s struggle. (Wednesday could not leave her as a witness. If she could not source a memory draught quickly enough, she would have to resort to complete elimination.) Then, swiping the tin of ointment from Wednesday’s stiff fingers, Enid said, “I promise I’ll be gentle. But you really look like you weren’t managing on your own.”

Wednesday went to protest. But Enid was remarkably quick. Surely Wednesday’s mind hadn’t already slowed that much from the reaction—that usually didn’t come for several long minutes if left unchecked—meaning that the burst of speed must come from Enid’s outcast heritage. (Which would certainly make managing the damage that had already been done to her reputation more difficult.) A cool, calming sensation bloomed from the spot on her shoulder where Enid had already managed to spread a generous amount of the cream. And Wednesday’s resistance died on her lips.

Fine. If she wasn’t meant to die here, she would suffer through the indignity until she had control of her limbs back. Then, all of this could be corrected. Whether or not Enid had needed to help her to apply the ointment was irrelevant, as her corpse wouldn’t be able to spill this secret either way.

As she sat, Wednesday’s mind seemed to empty of all other thoughts. It was an experience that she’d almost never encountered before, except under the effect of the strongest poisons, or at particularly high voltages of electricity running through her body. But even those were a quiet as a result of another overwhelming sensation, crowding out her thoughts. However, despite the continued pain of the spreading hives, Wednesday barely registered anything other than the feel of Enid’s firm but careful touch. Graceful fingers pressing just a little into the soft surface of her neck and collar, ensuring that the cream was spread thoroughly across the angry colouration of her skin. Her hands were at once warm from some natural source of bodily heat that the Addams all lacked (Wednesday especially), and cool from the relief provided by the ointment. And she was cautious and gentle as she pulled aside the strap of Wednesday’s singlet and bra, to work the cream into every affected inch.

To top it all off, Enid was humming as she worked. Literally massaging Wednesday’s pain away, closer to Wednesday than any other human had been allowed in years, yet acting like this was a normal, casual thing that occurred between people.

Wednesday drifted, despite her best intentions. And, unconsciousness almost upon her, she didn’t notice when, finishing her ministrations, Enid leaned over to place a careful apology kiss against the back of Wednesday’s neck.

It wasn’t until Wednesday registered that the light in the room had significantly shifted, not just from the now half-colourless window but from the direction of the sun, that she realised that she had fallen asleep beneath Enid’s touch. Her dress was still bunched around her waist, but Enid had clearly found one of Wednesday’s black blankets and draped it over her shoulders, where Wednesday lay on the still unmade bed.

She sat up cautiously, wary that she had been left exposed for an indeterminate amount of time, and yet was seemingly unharmed. No irritation remained across her neck, collar, and shoulders either.

“Hey,” came a soft voice from across the room. “Feeling better?”

Wednesday honestly didn’t know how to respond. The pain was gone, and all that remained was a phantom of warm, gentle fingers caressing her skin. That, and a strange, not-unpleasant tingling at the base of her neck.

Not getting an immediate response, Enid continued, “I figured that the tour could happen later. But it is almost dinner. I can walk with you, and hold off anyone else dumb enough to try and hug you, if you like?”

(One year later)

“We need to set better traps out here.”

Wednesday cast her eyes across the vomit of letters and drawings and other sentimental paraphernalia that had been pinned to her dorm room door in her absence. Why any other students felt the need to spend any of their summer producing worthless trifles to express their misplaced gratitude and admiration, Wednesday couldn’t fathom. She wasn’t paying attention to any of the specific details of the many offending papers, but looking for a safe way to reach the doorhandle through the mess, without triggering her colour allergy.

The long summer had doubtlessly decreased her limited tolerance once again.

However, it was the sounds coming from inside the room that made her more nervous. They suggested that someone didn’t mind the newfound popularity nearly as much as Wednesday did.

Failing to locate the doorknob, Wednesday decided that a fraction of a second of contact was unavoidable, and swept away as much many of the pinned papers as she could in one go. Then, she pushed into the room.

The moment couldn’t have been more different to her first arrival the year before. The room was awash with invaders. Literally swinging from the rafters. A pair of werewolves were making out on her bed. Wednesday honestly took a long few seconds to process what she was seeing, and that this could even possibly be the same space that had become her sanctuary the year before.

Through the crowd, Enid bounced up to Wednesday, greeting her with their now-traditional, “Howdy, roomie!”

“Enid…” Wednesday began.

She didn’t even have to voice her full complaint, however, as Enid turned back to the assembled mass of lupine bodies, and called out, “Alright, everyone out! Thanks for the help!”

As usual, her roommate was polite and friendly. But the tone—or, at least, the response to it—carried a new authority over the other werewolves that Enid had never possessed before. That, at least, would hopefully be useful in future. If Wednesday could convince Enid to use it on her behalf, and send the other werewolves away rather than gather them closer, that is.

“Come on,” yelled one of the crowd of indistinguishable, rowdy teenagers. While another, in response to something that Wednesday hadn’t caught, added, “Told ya!”

Almost all of the other bodies flooded back out into the hall. However, seeming to not take the hint that Wednesday’s glare delivered to the retreating werewolves, one of the pack lingered for a moment longer, knocking on the surface of a newly installed dresser.

“Don’t put too much pressure on it,” he said, his voice dripping with something greasy and entitled, as if the act of assembling furniture earned him the recognition of the radiant girl at Wednesday’s side.

“No pressure, right, got it,” Enid shot back quickly.

“Catch up with you later at the lupin cages?” he asked, walking across to Enid and continuing to prolong his unwarranted and undeserved presence in their sacred space. “With the others?”

Ever the polite and friendly one, Enid gave him a genuine response where Wednesday would’ve remained aggressively mute (or have drawn a silver knife). But Enid said, “Absolutely, Bruno. Can’t wait!”

Nevertheless, once he was through the archway, Enid pushed the door shut directly behind this ‘Bruno,’ almost catching him in the rear as she did so. Then, leaning back against the door, Enid smile shifted from her bright, performative grin into something softer. She sighed, clearly relieved to be free of the crowd in her room, despite likely having been the one to invite them in the first place.

“How was your vacay?” Enid asked, skipping forward toward Wednesday.

Wednesday remained silent, standing still in the middle of their room as the other girl approached. But Enid stopped a good arm’s length from Wednesday, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Enid,” Wednesday said, looking at her meaningfully.

“Look, I’m sorry! But they wanted to help me unpack, and it’s nice, you know, to be part of the pack now?”

“I don’t care about the pack, Enid,” said Wednesday. Clearly needing to give more of a hint, Wednesday took a half step forward, and looked up into Enid’s eyes.

A flicker of recognition passed through the girl’s gaze. But Enid didn’t advance further, only asking, “Have you taken your umbra pills today?”

“Yes…” Wednesday began. But she sighed, turning away from her roommate to rifle in one of her trunks. “But, I likely need to return to doubling my dosage again, if I am to survive being in your presence.”

Enid watched impatiently, but amused, as Wednesday swallowed another pill. Though she did wince slightly at Wednesday taking it without so much as a sip of water.

Returning to her spot in the middle of the room, Wednesday said, “Now, as I was—”

But Enid didn’t let her finish. The vibrant, brilliant girl surged into Wednesday’s space, throwing her arms around Wednesday’s neck. Fortunately, the allergy medication was incredibly fast acting, and she already had the one in her system from that morning. The faint tingle that spread from Wednesday’s neck across her shoulders was just as likely to be her own nerves and excitement at finally seeing Enid after the long summer, as it was a real reaction to the proximity of Enid’s colours.

And then Enid’s soft lips were pressing into Wednesday’s own. Rediscovering her, and staking their claim once more. Enid’s hands held tight on Wednesday’s shoulders, but Wednesday didn’t pull back, instead pressing herself further into Enid to reciprocate the affection.

“Sorry, Wends,” said Enid, when they eventually pulled back for air. “Just didn’t want your first day back to be hives and a stress nap all over again.”

“I would exist in a perpetual state of discomfort if that is what it required to be in your presence, cara mia,” Wednesday replied.

Enid merely swatted playfully at Wednesday. “You say that, but you’re an idiot. Why go through all of that if you don’t have to?”

“I can think of one good reason,” said Wednesday, raising her own arms to knead lightly—and suggestively—at Enid’s shoulders.

“You can just ask, Wends,” chuckled Enid. “You don’t have to be coy about your soft spot for neck massages.”

“Be that as it may, your fingers feel all the more wonderful in contrast to the pain that they soothe away.”

“God, you’re weird,” said Enid. But there was no judgement in her voice, just affection, as she too began to work small circles into the muscles at the base of Wednesday’s neck.

“My blackened heart has become so devoted to you, that I believe I am now more allergic to your absence than I am to your colourful presence,” said Wednesday.

Speaking right into Wednesday’s mouth as she kissed her again, Enid murmured, “I love you too.”