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Perhaps the first time Wednesday feels something for real is right after she feels nothing at all.
She’s just done the absolute impossible, and it’s all a dizzying blur. She has defied all odds and survived being stabbed, with the aid of her ancestor Goody. She has evaded certain death for a second time, with the help of Enid in her wolf form defending her from the Hyde. And she has sent Crackstone back to the depths of hell, exactly where he belongs, by driving a shard of shattered sword through his ugly heart.
It has been satisfying, making those accountable pay for what they’ve done.
Had been.
Wednesday is numb to it all, now. She is numb to all that has happened, and all that has led up to it.
She has seen those who were supposed to be on her side reveal their true selves and turn against everyone who had trusted them, and stood alongside those who she has grown to accept as friends as they fought for their lives. She has witnessed a town divided over the very existence of people who have done absolutely nothing wrong, the death of those who are innocent, and now, a school in disarray over a vile need to crush everything not easily understood.
Wednesday may walk steadily on her own two feet as she rounds the bend to where she knows that the rest of her classmates are waiting, but it’s as if her shoes aren’t even making contact with the ground beneath her. She feels nothing.
The events of the evening just keep replaying in her mind, like she is watching them through someone else’s eyes. She is a stranger looking in on her own world…
Until a flash of pink appears, running directly towards her, and she is all that Wednesday can see.
Enid.
Enid.
Enid.
The loop of repeating thoughts in Wednesday’s head jolts to a halt when her roommate comes diving in without a second thought. Arms are around Wednesday like she is the only anchor in a wild sea—and haven’t they all just been cast away into a place so chaotic?
Tossing and spinning and crashing with each unexpected wave, ready to capsize under the pressure. To crack.
That’s what Wednesday feels when Enid throws her arms around her. She feels, in a way she has never felt before. It is a revelation like no other that flashes through her mind this time, so jarring that maybe her reaction of pushing Enid away in that very moment is less so because it is her natural instinct, and more so because she needs time to process this.
To process her.
Enid, and everything she means.
There is a wall that is indeed cracking inside of Wednesday, that’s letting emotions that she has kept bottled up now tumble out with the force of not just a wave, but a tsunami. They barrel towards the surface and hit her full force, as she stares into Enid’s blue eyes, which are a sea all their own, but so much gentler than the frenzied one around them.
Wednesday sees all that has been building up throughout semester. Feelings that she’s subconsciously stashed in the far recesses of her mind, under lock and key, are rising from the depths. She is no stranger to putting on a mask to hide her emotions from those around her, and so hiding them from herself had initially been no different.
She would find reasons to snap at Enid instead of holding an actual conversation, lest she slip up. She would put Thing in the middle when it came to any serious discussion. She would fight the urge to laugh—actually laugh—at something amusing Enid would say.
And she would, most certainly and with incredible force, squelch the feeling that would come over her when Enid would smile. Under no circumstances could she have allowed that little bubble of fondness to grow. It was nothing other than a mere anomaly that required splitting before it split her.
Because she is Wednesday Addams.
She can’t fall for anyone, and especially not for her roommate. For her friend.
For Enid Sinclair.
She is the literal embodiment of everything that is bright and right and brilliant. How can she be the one who Wednesday is so drawn to, in her own somber and desolate world? It is a burning question that Wednesday has no answer for, and yet at the same time, Enid herself is the very answer that Wednesday seeks. She is the one who makes even the most minuscule sliver of sense to Wednesday in the wake of all of this mess and destruction, left in the aftermath of this gruesome battle.
Seeing the gashes on Enid’s face that she had gotten while defending Wednesday stir up an incredible amount of guilt, along with the shock of the recognition that Wednesday could have lost her tonight. She could have lost Enid for good, and this thought then leads to the inevitable second revelation Wednesday has, which is that she is absolutely and utterly relieved that Enid is okay. She just hasn’t been prepared for how forcefully it would hit her.
But Enid is here, now. She’s safe. She’s standing right in front of Wednesday.
And she’s waiting.
Enid is always waiting for Wednesday to make the next move. Stepping cautiously around the idea of pushing anything further is a skill that Enid has perfected. Wednesday knows this all too well. And it’s because Enid doesn’t want to accidentally make Wednesday uncomfortable. It’s a delicate balancing act, with the weight of living between half-truths causing the rope to sway. When they never say how they really feel, how will they ever know when it is too much? What will tip this too far, to a point of no return?
Enid treads lightly because the ice is thin sometimes, for which Wednesday knows that she herself is at fault. Enid doesn’t want it to crack if she missteps, misspeaks, or does something wrong. She doesn’t want to rock the boat, even though Wednesday can see right now in her eyes that there is so much that Enid is also holding back.
That is what spurs Wednesday forward, quite possibly more than anything else, as she decides right then and there that she will surrender to these feelings, if only for this one moment. Just this once, she will let Enid in. A sea of emotion is not so different from a sea of chaos, after all.
She will let this boat turn under the pressure of the waves. In the midst of everything, Enid can be her anchor, too.
Wednesday pulls her back in, wrapping her arms around her like they’re meant to be there. Everything just fits, as she starts to chisel away at the wall that has kept her from doing exactly this multiple times throughout the semester. Wednesday has never been the kind of person to need someone else, but she’s learning something new every day. She doesn’t even care that everyone is watching.
Does this make her a hugger now?
Being in entirely rare form at the moment, Wednesday could almost laugh at the thought. The only reason she doesn’t is because she is still too relieved to have Enid here in her arms. She breathes—truly breathes—for the first time in hours. She holds onto Enid like she is the one thing keeping her upright. And she lets her eyes close.
It’s a good thing that Enid is also holding onto her so tightly, though, because it’s in that moment that something starts to change. Wednesday is hit with the most powerful wave of all. An exhaustion like no other charges through her, all of the limbs in her body feel heavy, and then Enid really is keeping her upright.
She can’t exactly hear, but she thinks Enid is saying her name.
Over and over and over again.
There’s a brief moment where Wednesday doesn’t know if she isn’t seeing anything because her eyes are still closed, or because she has tried to open them and everything around her is spinning into absolute darkness. But in a matter of seconds, it is simply that, and nothing more.
A deep, blinding black.
“Wednesday?”
It feels like the hundredth time she has heard her name, but also the first.
Where she last recalls it being almost shouted, in a series of syllables raised an octave each time, the way they are resonating now makes her think of how a piece of music sounds right before a crescendo. Daring to hope a little, but timid until it’s certain, and Wednesday remembers not being certain of anything except Enid.
Had that been seconds ago? Minutes ago? Hours ago?
Everything is fuzzy and she isn’t really thinking straight yet, although there is one fact she does know. It is still the same voice that she has heard, and she can identify it before she even opens her eyes. Wednesday would recognize it anywhere.
Enid is still here. An anchor amid everything else uncertain.
An anchor.
The word sticks with her, and it prompts the return of some previously obscured memories. She had hugged Enid, hadn’t she?
Slowly, as Wednesday tries to get her bearings among her own thoughts, she opens her eyes to assess what is around her. Initially, she finds it to be quite difficult as she squints against the sharp glare, so before she has time to fully adjust, she replies carefully to the statement of her name.
“Yes?”
The word feels strange as it leaves her mouth. It doesn’t sound like her, and when she finally has adjusted a bit to see where she is, there is a lot to take in. The fluorescent lights are a stark contrast to her prior darkness, and the walls are bathed in an awful, washed-out white.
“Wednesday!”
There’s her name again, spoken much differently than the first time. It is indeed Enid, and she is considerably brighter than absolutely everything else that Wednesday sees. The pink outfit, the colorfully dyed hair, two wide blue eyes, and the relief-tinged excitement in her voice are vibrant enough to drown out everything else. Not even the faintly beeping monitors in the background or the IV in her arm are enough to pull Wednesday’s attention away from the fact that every color of the rainbow is currently hurling itself in her direction.
Enid stops abruptly when she is at Wednesday’s side. She looks like she’s debating sitting, and then decides against it before she exclaims, “Holy shit, Wednesday, you scared the hell out of all of us!”
Wednesday blinks once, still taking it all in. It’s obvious now that she’s in the hospital, and she has a suspicion that there’s something in her IV that’s tilting the world just a little off kilter. Typically she prefers the pain to anything that might suppress it, but she thinks it’s reasonable to assume that she was definitely not alert enough to refuse medication. It doesn’t appear to be too strong, but there’s just enough that her thoughts seem a bit slower in the present moment.
“If anyone else saw me here like this, they’re dead,” Wednesday replies, continuing to test out her voice. It hurts a bit to talk, and while her words are supposed to sound more threatening, they come out scratchy and weak.
How long has she been out for?
“Don’t worry,” Enid says. “Everyone was super worried about you. And they still are, but I told them you’d want your privacy. Your parents and brother came in of course, but they’re your family. They went to eat about a half hour ago, and Thing is with them. But otherwise…I’ve stayed since you were admitted, and I’ve been in here since they moved you to this room. Except for the one time they kicked me out to run a test. But I couldn’t just leave you here all alone. What kind of roommate would I be if I let that happen?”
Enid, being Enid, is trying to lighten the mood. It’s so sweet that it should make Wednesday sick.
But it doesn’t.
“So,” Enid says, tone still as bright as ever, “I decided that the color scheme in here sucked, and I asked Yoko and Divina to pick up some black balloons. Thing wanted to re-decorate the walls, but I told him we’d probably get kicked out for good if he did. Eugene brought honey from the bees. He says it’s for good luck, or something like that. I put the jar on the windowsill…”
Wednesday turns to look around the room, now that she is feeling a bit more awake—or, at least, as awake as she can be with whatever’s still circulating through her bloodstream. She now sees the balloons in the corner, and the silhouette of a gold-filled jar against the panes of a small window.
“Oh!” Enid says suddenly, drawing Wednesday’s attention away from the room’s newest adornments. “And Bianca told me not to forget, under any circumstances, to tell you that you’re not allowed to die before she beats you in your next fencing match. So…do with that what you will.”
Enid ends her sentence with a small laugh, and then there’s that bubble again. Even in this state of exhaustion, Wednesday can feel it.
It’s the dreaded fondness. An affection that takes hold of her and refuses to let go.
Why does Enid have to be so damn, infuriatingly lovable? Going out of her way to make sure the room is as up to Wednesday’s standards as possible, and knowing her well enough to understand that even though Wednesday does tolerate having their friends around in most cases, that she wouldn’t want them all in the room with her not being aware of it. Although it is almost, dare she admit it, touching that they have done these little things for her.
But the most incredible of them all is Enid.
Enid, who has always stuck up for her. Enid, who has always been by her side, coming back even when Wednesday had pushed her away. Enid, who has been here with her for…
Wait.
That is an excellent question, and one Wednesday never did ask when it had first dawned on her. How long has she really been here?
She had forgotten to bring it up, thanks to whatever concoction the hospital has her on. It seems to be dulling her reflexes and blurring the little details. She is gradually starting to remember larger events and pieces of what has happened in the past, but it’s slowing down her ability to recall smaller fragments of information from the present moment.
“How much time has passed since I have been here?” Wednesday asks, finding it easier to talk the more she uses her voice. “And more importantly, how long has this infernal IV been in my arm? I do not appreciate having to live in a medically-regulated haze.”
“I see it hasn’t changed your personality, at least,” Enid laughs again, although it’s much gentler this time. There’s something in her eyes that Wednesday can’t place, but unfortunately, she doesn’t have the time to fixate on it.
“Enid,” Wednesday says. If she doesn’t get the answer now, she worries she might forget that she’s even asked the question, like she had forgotten it had been on her mind the first time. “How long?”
“Um,” Enid’s smile fades into a small twist of a frown. It’s the first time her upbeat demeanor falters, and it’s almost as if she doesn’t want to talk about it. But she does it anyway.
“Well first of all, you haven’t been entirely out of it. You were awake here and there, but not super alert,” Enid begins. “By the time you were stable enough for them to move you to this room, it was morning. They said you needed time to rest, and they almost wouldn’t let me in because you likely wouldn’t be up and talking for a bit. They said it was because of what had happened physically, and also because of all the trauma you went through. Plus the exhaustion. That it was your body’s way of coping, to shut everything out until you were ready. So you probably don’t remember most of what went on here, but that was for the whole night, and into the next day—which is today.”
That long?
Wednesday doesn’t remember any of that time in between, and the lapse in her memory comes as a bit of a shock. In the long run it doesn’t sound like a long time, but to Wednesday it feels like an eternity.
“It’s…seventeen hours, if you’re looking for something more specific,” Enid clarifies, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Something tugs at Wednesday, then. Something new. It’s different than the little bubble, and different than anything else she’s ever felt before.
Enid has been here all that time, waiting for her? Counting the hours?
“Oh,” Wednesday says, not really sure what else to add—which isn’t like her. She always knows what to say, so she chooses to blame the IV for this one.
“Can I sit?” Enid asks.
Wednesday nods.
Enid does just that, and the bed shifts a bit, dipping down to the one side. Enid doesn’t look at Wednesday when she starts talking again.
“So the minute it felt like you were going to fall, I knew something wasn’t right. You were holding on really tight and then you just…weren’t,” Enid says. And Wednesday knows she’s talking about the woods. Their hug. She’s about to fill her in on everything that has happened to lead to this point, and why she’s in the hospital, and Wednesday is realizing in hindsight that those may have been better first questions to ask.
It’s a bit unnerving, truthfully, to realize that she is even here in the first place. She has spent so many years putting up this front that she’s tougher than nails, and she had let herself believe that she was invincible. Except that in reality, she’s not, and unlike the werewolf sitting beside her, Wednesday is human. She is limited by her body’s ability to heal, as frustrating as that may be.
“That was when you passed out,” Enid continues. “Which was when we realized that the wound on your shoulder was deeper than I guess even you had thought. You had lost a lot of blood. Like, a lot.”
Instinctively, Wednesday reaches out and touches her left shoulder, everything coming back to her now. She’s wearing a hospital gown—it’s hideously patterned. And purple. The last time Wednesday had worn purple, it was because Pugsley had managed to trick her, and he’d very narrowly avoided turning purple to match. But the material is so thin that she can definitely feel the spot at the front of her shoulder. The pain is lessened, of course, due to her current state, but she’s sure she could feel it even if she were wearing many layers.
“That stupid arrow you took for Xavier really did a lot of damage,” Enid says it almost bitterly. “He said you stepped in front of it even though it was meant for him.”
Wednesday draws in a breath. She remembers that. She had taken that arrow for him. Goody had only been able to heal her once, leaving Wednesday on her own after.
“Why’d you do it?” Enid turns, then, and her eyes are steely. They’re not the soft blue Wednesday recalls from before she had hugged her, and there’s an almost angered tone in her voice. “Why the hell would you put yourself in any more danger than you were already in? You could have died!”
It’s accusatory and harsh. There are only a handful of times that Wednesday has seen Enid truly upset, and she doesn’t like it.
“I was simply repaying a debt,” Wednesday says, and she hopes her explanation is good enough, because that was all it had been. “An Addams never leaves a debt unpaid. He stepped in trying to help, and although it was a sorely unnecessary assistance, I was only returning a favor.”
“That’s all it was?” Enid’s expression changes again as she replies. She’s less rigid as her shoulders soften, but she’s being incredibly persistent about getting this answer confirmed twice.
“That’s all it was,” Wednesday repeats.
“Oh, good,” Enid says, as the anger seems to completely dissolve. There’s a short moment where she’s quiet, and then, as if hearing her own words all over again, she scrambles to explain. “I mean, not good, good. Like, you getting hurt is not good, obviously. I just thought…”
She trails off and doesn’t finish her sentence. Which isn’t going to work if Wednesday might forget what they’re talking about. She feels like she has a good grasp on the important points. Anything of major prominence will stick with her, like the newly acquired information of how she got here, and that Enid has stayed with her the entire time, and how Enid has been…making her feel. That all still seems real, and certain.
But the small details? They’re lost in the rest of everything that’s swimming in her mind.
“You thought?” Wednesday prompts.
“I thought you did it because you liked him, okay?” Enid nearly shouts, exasperated, like the answer is being pulled out of her unwillingly rather than her giving up the information on her own terms.
She isn’t right, though. Not in the slightest. That statement could not be further from the truth.
“He is far too persistent when his advances are unwarranted, cannot stop drawing me, and was foolish enough to think that I could not hold my own without some grand, chivalrous act that almost got him killed,” Wednesday says flatly.
And that’s apparently an acceptable enough answer for Enid. She almost audibly breathes a sigh of relief, and her words take Wednesday off guard. Again.
“I’ve never been happier to be wrong about anything in my life.”
Why?
Enid is staring at her again with that look. The one that makes the bubble return, and this time, Wednesday doesn’t know if she can squish it, try as she might. She wants to pierce it with a needle; slice through it with a knife.
But it grows. And grows.
“I’m going to break up with Ajax,” Enid blurts out. And then all of her sentences run together in a rushed and rambling explanation. “Even though I don’t think one kiss can even accurately label us as being together, really. I just think it’s the right thing to do. I know that I don’t like him, like in that way. He’s a good guy, and I think we can be friends. I just don’t think we’re the right fit as a couple. I don’t think we ever were, and I don’t want to lead him on.”
Enid really is full of surprises today.
Wednesday might even be feeling her own spark of relief at what she hears, which does nothing to help the fact that she is so desperately trying to keep it all inside.
“And I know I totally shouldn’t be throwing all of this at you right now. I’m sorry. You need time to adjust, and there are so many more important things to talk about,” Enid’s words are as frantic as her hands as she speaks. She uses them to punctuate each sentence as if she’s further articulating her statements.
She is always so animated and energetic. So absolutely incredible. And she is now profusely apologizing for something she most certainly does not need to be apologizing for.
What could be more important than what Enid has to say? Or more important than what is in between those words?
The half-truths.
Enid hasn’t mentioned Wednesday once when speaking about Ajax, but she can’t shake the feeling that she has something to do with everything that Enid has told her. Not because Wednesday is conceited, but because she feels as though Enid wouldn’t be bringing it up if it weren’t important to the both of them.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, Enid. There is nothing to apologize for,” Wednesday tries to offer her some reassurance. It’s not her strong suit, but for Enid, she will try. She doesn’t want her to worry.
“Well…okay,” the concerned look on Enid’s face subsides. She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, and then she reaches out. She reaches out and puts her hand on Wednesday’s. “It’s just that I really care about you, Wednesday, and-”
And that’s when it happens.
That bubble bursts. Permanently. It is entirely out of Wednesday’s control, and everything she feels for Enid comes fully to the surface once again, completely and decidedly unhindered.
She is falling for her roommate. She is falling for her friend.
She is falling for Enid Sinclair, and she knows this much is true. Her mind isn’t playing tricks on her with the pain medication. As much as she will complain about it, it currently seems mild enough that it isn’t inhibiting important cognitive function. It’s just making small things a bit foggy.
But this isn’t small. Far from it.
Her feelings for Enid? They’re immense in a way that is almost overwhelming. Everything else pales in comparison, which is how she is certain that it is Enid. That it has always been Enid.
Even looking back to the twisted mess with Tyler, where she had been manipulated since day one, she can now tell the difference entirely. She should have gone with her gut before believing anything he had said, but she hadn’t. She feels nothing for him—felt nothing for him. It had all been a screwed up mind game, preying on her inability to recognize true emotions in herself and in others. But she sees them now.
She sees them for what they are, and what they always have been.
Enid.
Her hand that lightly rests atop Wednesday’s ignites a series of emotions that are distinctly undeniable. She takes in the vivid contrast between Enid’s rainbow-painted nails and her own, very chipped black ones. They are drastic opposites. Night and day. They shouldn’t work, but they do, and maybe it really would just be so much simpler if they gave into everything they aren’t saying.
When she can finally pull her attention away from the fact that their hands are touching, Wednesday notices vibrant blue eyes staring back at her. She knows it will take some practice to improve her ability to read people on the spot, but is that…amusement Wednesday sees in them?
What she also sees when her gaze moves lower is a small smile that dances across Enid’s lips, and it is only then that she realizes that Enid has never finished her sentence. It’s either a new habit, as this is not the first time it has happened, or it has been intentional.
One way or another, she is going to find out.
“What?” Wednesday asks.
All Enid can do is laugh, which only makes everything that much worse for Wednesday. A blade, an arrow, and enough trauma to knock her out may not have killed her. But this inescapable gravitational pull she feels towards Enid Sinclair?
That might.
“What about this do you find humorous?” Wednesday persists in her interrogation, although it’s hard to keep her voice level for a multitude of reasons.
Enid simply points to one of the machines on Wednesday’s right. She turns, albeit with a small complaint from her opposite shoulder, and that’s when she notices what she couldn’t hear while she had been so lost in thought. She focuses on the irregularity in the up and down spikes on the monitor, and how, when she feels Enid lace their fingers together, those very same spikes positively skyrocket.
It’s Wednesday’s heart rate, translated onto a screen and simplified down into a thin, animated line. As if it has the audacity to mock the complexity of her emotions like this. She never has liked technology.
It’s like a built in truth detector.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me, Wednesday?” Enid asks, her tone slightly teasing, which draws Wednesday’s attention back easily.
She isn’t embarrassed. That’s not the term she would use right now. She just feels a bit undermined. But she’ll throw Enid’s words back at her all the same, since it looks like they’re testing the waters.
“That would depend,” Wednesday replies, her words calculated, “on if there is something you aren’t telling me.”
Their eyes lock, and everything lies in between. Everything.
From what has remained unspoken between them since the beginning of Wednesday’s time at Nevermore, to the gray area of the half-truths they’ve been living in. From the sea of emotions that Wednesday knows that she will once again allow herself to embrace, to anchors, and boats, and the turbulent waves that will capsize them with the perfect amount of force.
It is just like their hug.
Tilting to the point of overturning doesn’t feel like drowning when the other side is Enid Sinclair.
It is captivating, and altogether enthralling, and when Wednesday wonders why she hasn’t fully given into it all before, she understands that there is absolutely no return from this. There is no going back.
Enid knows it, too. Wednesday can tell by the change in her expression. Enid softens, and her words are quiet. “Does this answer your question?”
It becomes incredibly clear that Enid isn’t treading lightly anymore. The traitorous monitor giving away Wednesday’s secrets seems to have given her more than enough courage. She shifts her hand around, taking Wednesday’s own in a way that makes it easier to lift.
And she places the gentlest kiss, feather light, on Wednesday’s fingers.
The monitor alerts them before Wednesday can even speak, that yes, it most definitely answers her question, and there is so much happening in that very moment that it makes the timeline hard to decipher. She knows that two nurses eventually come into the room, and while she actually marvels at the fact that they hadn’t arrived sooner, Wednesday supposes she’ll take what she can get. Enid keeps holding her hand until it’s time for more tests, and that all seems to happen over the course of the rest of the afternoon.
Then she’s allowed to eat, but the food is less than palatable—subpar at best, and she isn’t really hungry. She also finds herself wishing they’d let Enid back in already, but first, her family comes to see her. They don’t make a big deal about it because they recognize that she wouldn’t want them to, although Pugsley does insist on hugging her before they leave. She tolerates it because he’s Pugsley, and she would expect nothing less.
But honestly?
Wednesday is kind of glad to find out that her family has decided to stay in Jericho until she’s released, and that Thing is going to stay here while she recovers. She just finds it preposterously ironic how she’s spent her whole life living, breathing, and writing about horror, only to allow something as ludicrous as a life-threatening event to push her to come to terms with nearly every feeling she used to deny she had.
It’s early in the evening when Enid is finally allowed back in. Somewhere along the line, Wednesday is informed that she has, in fact, not been on the type of pain reliever that would interfere with her thoughts due to her previous fluctuation between being in and out of true consciousness. Everything that she had considered to be out of place earlier had simply been her body trying to adjust to being fully awake once more.
Enid laughs hysterically when she hears this.
Except, now that the doctor has run all of the necessary tests, she decides to switch Wednesday to a stronger medication for the night, and of course, Wednesday protests at first. She’s not a very good patient, even if she has managed to endure the monotonous testing. It takes some reassurance from Enid, and both the doctor and a nurse promising her no less than five times that it won’t affect her long term memory, for Wednesday to finally concede.
She’s going to hold them to it, though.
“I’ll be right here, okay?” Enid says. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll be right here in the morning.”
Wednesday nods.
There is no pressure to talk about anything further. No rush to put a label on their feelings. All she knows in this moment is that she feels safe with Enid. She always has. And right now, that’s all that matters.
Wednesday doesn’t even try to fight the exhaustion as she lets her eyes close. Her mind is just as tired as her body, and she needs some actual, intended rest. She doesn’t think she’s imagining it when Enid places another soft kiss on her forehead, but…
She can just about guarantee that all hell will break loose if she forgets that any of this happened in the morning.