Chapter Text
Wednesday didn’t do emotions. Emotions led to feelings, and feelings led to tears. Let them boil over and she’d be worse off than the wounded fawn. Pain is measurable; emotions are not.
Since Wednesday was a girl, she took comfort in the macabre. She has fond memories of dismembering her dolls—of slathering their limbs in pig’s blood. She remembers taking the doll heads into the garden after removing the glass eyes, burying them six feet under thorns and ivy. Her jar of glass eyes sits by her typewriter, but it’s been an hour and she still hasn’t typed a word. Wednesday flattens her palms on her desk. Her polish is chipped and she’s pridefully pale from dehydration. She wonders what Enid would say, thinks about smiling, shudders, and forces herself to focus on the page. She knows her writing time is up but refuses to move from her spot.
Wednesday cracks her knuckles and marvels at the negative pressure between her joints. She types Enid’s name, turns the roller, and crumples the paper between her palms. Thing mocks her with a weak gesture that shouldn’t get to her, but it does.
“Don’t make me stab you.” Wednesday pauses. “Again.”
“Stab me? Are you going soft on me, Wednesday?”
She nearly falls out of her chair at the sound of Enid’s voice. Thing’s insipid tapping does nothing to calm her nerves.
“I was talking to Thing,” she informs with her arms crossed.
She’s fully aware that she looks like she’s pouting, but if she turns around, she’ll have to make eye contact.
“Okay,” Enid replies uncertainly. “How goes the novel?”
Wednesday snaps, “Since when do you ask about such things?”
“Since now, I guess.”
“For your information, this is a new project.”
“Ooh! Can I see?”
She hears Enid’s footsteps approaching and shouts, “Don’t step over the line!”
“Okay, okay.”
Wednesday imagines her placing her hands out in mock surrender.
Enid annoyingly brings up, “But we got rid of the line, remember?”
“I know, but—” Wednesday bangs her fist on her desk. She can’t believe she let herself get this worked up. “Forget it.”
“Wednesday, what’s wrong?” Enid asks, suddenly at her side.
“I thought I told you to stay on your side.”
Her eyes still haven’t detached from the wall. She wishes she were a spider spinning its web, preparing to capture the crickets of Nevermore. At least then there would be silence; she’d be alone with her thoughts. But then she grunts because her thoughts can’t be trusted.
“I’m not leaving till you answer me.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to live with disappointment,” Wednesday says, rising abruptly so she can escape to the balcony.
She leans over the railing, unsurprised that Enid’s followed her.
“What’s—” Enid starts again.
“I just can’t write,” she surprises herself by answering.
“Oh, I’m sure the ideas will come, Wednesday. It’s okay to take a day off.”
“It’s not!” Wednesday exclaims incredulously.
She stands on her toes and contemplates throwing herself over the railing. Enid seems to notice and steadies her.
“You need to calm down,” Enid softly says the same time Wednesday yells, “Don’t touch me!”
“I’m sorry.” Enid pauses. “I’ll leave you alone.”
It’s then that Wednesday turns to face Enid but is instead greeted with a dejected slump as she slips back inside.
Wednesday sighs into the cold. Normally, she’d be comforted by the foggy stream that resembled cigarette smoke, but she can’t bring herself to appreciate the world’s terminal lung cancer patients. Their raspy coughs wouldn’t fill the hole that burrowed into her stomach. She felt guilty for rejecting Enid. It had been four days since she defeated Crackstone, four days since their tender embrace, and four days of her denying how much it affected her. Everyone would be leaving Nevermore in three days, but no matter how close the final day approaches, Wednesday continues to sabotage herself.
Once her skin is ice-raked with goosebumps, she shuffles back into the dorm. Enid’s on her bed, propped up by her elbows.
“You’re not wearing shoes. Aren’t you freezing?” Enid asks.
“Frostbite’s good for the soul,” Wednesday sarcastically remarks to mask the fact that they’re locking eyes.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“I wanted to be alone.”
Enid sighs and buries her face into her comforter. Minutes later, she’s snoring. Wednesday knows it’s unfair to be bitter, so she tiptoes back to her side of the room, mindful of the creaks her bed makes when she finally lies down in it.
“You’re a hypocrite,” she mutters to herself.
Wednesday wakes to an empty room. Enid’s plushies are more scattered than usual, but she was probably packing. Thing has also made himself scarce.
Wednesday dresses quickly and laces up her boots. She can’t skip another meal, so she walks glaringly to the quad. Bianca waves her over, but she ignores her in favor of a steaming cup of coffee. She recognizes Enid’s laugh in the background, no doubt drooling over her boyfriend, Ajax. With a bagel in hand, Wednesday turns to see Yoko tapping Enid on the shoulder.
“Wednesday!” Enid exclaims, all the tension from last night seemingly forgotten.
The quad silences as all eyes fall on her. Despite Wednesday’s determination to crack the Hyde case, she doesn’t want gratitude for saving the school from imminent doom. She craves peace and quiet. She steps toward Enid’s table but stops short when Ajax kisses her on the cheek.
“I’m sitting with Xavier,” she announces, but lingers.
Thankfully, Xavier is there to save her from herself. He guides her to a corner table while quad conversation resumes.
“I see you’re still guided by latent chivalry” she observes when they’re sat across from each other.
“For you? Always,” he muses.
Wednesday sees Ajax wrapping his arm around Enid’s slumped posture and this time she thinks, good.