Chapter Text
Enid was taking up a concerning amount of space in Wednesday’s head. Wednesday told herself it would pass by the time summer break concluded, but that hope turned out only half-true; the Kansas City Scalper did pleasantly distract her, however briefly, yet she still ended the vacation revolved around Enid.
"This one." Wednesday plucked one of the dolls off the shelf. It was a dainty thing, with silky black hair and beady gray eyes. Its pallor was especially ghostly, to the point she had to suspend her reality of things to believe it was supposed to represent a real victim. Her heart warmed at the thought.
Thing deliberated the doll, drumming his fingers against the table. He came to a rather disappointing conclusion: that the doll was hideous, and Wednesday egotistical.
"My ego is perfectly reasonable." She told him matter-of-factly, "It's only a fortunate coincidence she somewhat resembles me."
Thing didn't seem to agree. And so Wednesday spent an additional hour in the killer's basement, scouring dolls of a suitable gift-caliber.
Nothing could ever be that simple.
These feelings continued to haunt her when she returned to Nevermore for her second year. If nothing else, they’ve only grown stronger, now that they’re together in person again. Reunited.
“You know, I almost have to respect it.” Her tone was raw and snappy in that way that always preceded a spat.
Enid's upset with her. This happened to be a common occurrence, so Wednesday didn't see why she should care more than all the other instances where she’s been unhappy. Her justification for meltdowns tended to range from petulant to melodramatic. Wednesday had more important things to spend her energy on. Like her novel.
She could hear Enid's frantic footsteps behind her, (murmuring under her breath "Ugh, this migraine is killing me, it has to be all those lectures from her.") presumably pacing around her side of the dorm, an eyesore of clashing pastels.
Wednesday's back was turned to her, as she stared at her latest manuscript. Rejected, again. It didn't surprise her in all honesty, but the disappointment still stung. The publisher had been old and critical, Wednesday disliked him enough that his face had been wiped clean from her mind. She couldn't even recall his voice, and he had droned on and on, almost impressively so.
“Respect what?” Wednesday replied, tone carefully neutral.
“The guts to be such an asshole. Not everyone can manage it at your level.”
Wednesday turned around at that. “My guts are gangrene and filled with charcoal. It’s only inevitable that I'm the outlier.”
To her credit, Enid didn’t grimace, like she used to at every jarring remark. “I know you think you can win any argument with edgy one-liners, but I’m serious about this. Are you even listening?” When was she not.
She was glaring at her with such annoyance that leaving in righteous silence, as Wednesday was planning to, didn't feel fitting.
Wednesday opened her mouth, then closed it. This should've been where she won the silly quarrel and moved on with her day, but nothing came out. It was only then Wednesday realized she couldn't remember why Enid was upset; not in the moment, nor the context behind this entire conversation. Or even the interactions that should have preceded this spontaneous spat by mere minutes.
Wednesday worked her jaw, but she couldn't think of anything to say, white lies or improvisation or not.
Enid was staring at her expectantly, breathing heavily from working herself up. Exceedingly emotional, as usual. Her panting was bothering; Irritating. But Wednesday didn't feel irritated. What she did feel was hot, with a definite lack of anger. That was alarming in itself; she had always ran cold, like a corpse.
Enid had grown taller over the summer. She wasn't wearing shoes (she never did in their dorm, save for her poorly DIY-ed slippers that left plastic rhinestones on the floor), but she easily had four inches on her, maybe more. Wednesday wasn't sure when she started noticing these sorts of things. It could be that she was just a naturally observant person.
Her hair was different too. Less wavy than last year, cut short into a neat swoop. The colors had multiplied somehow, streaks of blue and pink brightening the ends, and her side part now fell forward into soft bangs. It suited her, and the realization was unsettling. Even her cherry chapstick seemed upgraded, glittering enough to catch the chandelier’s light.
Now she was the one staring.
Before the silence could drag on indefinitely (come to think of it, she used to thrive in both intense verbal spars and uncomfortable silences), Wednesday mustered a reply. “That’s a first for you, then.” She turned to Thing, who was hiding behind her desk lamp. “Let’s go, Thing.” He shuffled his fingers in response.
“Where are you going?” Enid demanded. She made a stilted, aborted movement as if contemplating marching after her. “You can’t end interactions like this whenever you want. I know you don't have a phone, but this is basically the same as leaving me on read.”
Wednesday slung her backpack over her shoulders, despite it being empty. She needed some space to digest her realizations and regulate her body temperature, both of which proved to be impossible around Enid. “If I stopped to explain, I’d be here all day.” She paused. “And yes, I can.”
She walked out the door, Thing trailing behind her. Enid said something as the door shut behind her, but she didn't catch it.
Nevermore Academy was a unreliable place when it came to peace and quiet. There were always students congregating in every possible nook. Even seemingly empty spots weren't safe; chances were, vanishers were occupying them. Like Agnes. Oh, she did not have the capacity to worry about that girl too.
Thankfully, a sliver of solitude existed during the witching hours, where almost everyone would be cooped up in their dorms, save for the very few available night classes. It was the same hours she would normally practice the cello on the dorm balcony in. Wednesday counted herself lucky it happened to be late.
“Lapses in my memory.” She said, knowing Thing was listening. Since leaving her dorm, he'd transitioned from walking behind her to perching on top of her backpack. She walked down the halls at a meandering pace, with no clear destination in mind. A walk to clear her mind, and to let the cool draft lower her flush back to her usual frigidity. “Goody never mentioned this. Or my mother.”
Thing tapped her backpack thoughtfully. Stress?
"My equilibrium is in mint condition. As it's always been; that can't be it."
Ask Mort-icia?
"You know that won't solve anything."
Do I know? Stubborn.
"You're infuriatingly mouthy for an appendage lacking one." Wednesday said, somewhat unkindly.
She tried to retrace her steps. Yesterday morning, she arrived at Nevermore with Pugsley and Thing. She unpacked her luggage in her dorm after dealing with the clown-car that was the students congregated inside her room. She gifted Enid a blonde doll she had taken from the Kansas Scalper's basement. And after that...
After that...
Could it be related to the visions?
"My psychic ability?" Wednesday paused. "I'd have to ask Grandmama."
She'd always had near photographic memory, so no doubt this was tied to something supernatural. Everything she used to instinctively rely on failing her grated on her nerves.
"Or, you could always inquire elsewhere."
Wednesday turned at the voice, velvety and feminine. Principal Weems stared back at her, lips curled into a self-assured simper.
"You're not the type to give away information plainly." Wednesday said. "I'd have better chances without you."
"Don't put me in a box so swiftly now." She said pleasantly. "I can help you. Consider me... in a charitable mood." Her tone dropped to a conspirator's whisper. "Or a hopeless romantic. Either way, I have answers."
"What does romance have to do with this?"
Weems' smile didn't wane. "Well?"
Wednesday resisted the urge to walk away. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she did need answers. "What's causing my memory loss, then?"
"It is... similar to your psychic ability," Weems explained, clasping her hands together. "I've mentioned that your ability is intrinsically tied to your familial bonds. Likewise, your ability additionally relies on your emotional clarity- without it, your mind won't be able to hold your memories together. Your ability is innate, and so this applies even when you're not actively using it. You need to reconcile with whatever it is you're feeling, Miss Addams. Perhaps with a... certain someone?"
Wednesday furrowed her brows at that. "The only thing I'm feeling is irritation."
"Then I'm afraid there's nothing more I can say." Her voice was laced with pity. It made Wednesday's eye twitch.
With a brief flicker of light, Wednesday -and Thing, were the only ones in the hallway. Weems liked to appear and disappear whenever it fancied her. Or inconvenienced Wednesday, she was sure of it.
Her feelings. It was almost ironic how her ability had to be tied down by intangible concepts so far removed from Wednesday's priorities. She liked to consider herself a polymath, yet this task seemed infinitely beyond her. Regardless—she's gotten over hurdles before, and this was no different.
For the first, and last time in her life, Wednesday wished she paid more attention to Dr. Kinbott.
By the time Wednesday returned to Ophelia Hall, the noise level had gone from minimal (hushed murmurs, the white noise of late-night studying) to nonexistent. Everyone by now had fallen asleep. Or died.
Wednesday opened the door to her dorm carefully. Thankfully, it wasn't particularly squeaky. Thing hopped off her backpack gracefully and scuttled to his corner.
The dorm was pitch-black, save for the illumination of moonlight streaming in from the window. Enid used to confess she wished there were curtains, that the giant window seemed to expose all their business. Wednesday was inclined to agree.
Wednesday quietly set aside her backpack, hanging it on the back of her chair, before changing into nightclothing. Normally, she would change in the connected restroom, but Enid was sound asleep, snoring and curled facing the wall. Combined with the overwhelming urge to sleep like the dead for the next fourteen hours, she just wanted to get it done. The soft sound of rustling fabric filled the room as she slipped into her nightgown.
The day felt long and wearisome, despite not being able to remember the majority of it (or the week, really), and a certain weight settled on her shoulders. The pressure of everything she's learned in the last twenty minutes, perhaps.
"You're finally back." Wednesday froze.
A pair of arms suddenly encircled her middle, and Wednesday drew in a sharp breath as she was pulled back against a warm body. Her skin prickled with alarm, the scent of strawberry shampoo washing over her.
"I was trying to wait for you, but I fell asleep. Did you have fun brooding?" Enid murmured, sleep-addled voice muffled into Wednesday's hair. Her arms tightened around her waist, shifting to get comfortable. Her claws were out, unsheathed but nonmalicious, resting casually against Wednesday's sides. Wednesday felt as though a deep enough inhale would be enough for her claws to prick her. She could feel Enid's body heat through the thin fabric of her gown.
"Enid, what are you doing?" Wednesday asked stiffly, not moving her head, or any part of her body, for that matter. Had Enid always been so stealthy?
"Nothing." Enid hummed. "You know, going to sleep late isn't good for you. You already have some pretty serious dark circles." As if to emphasize her point, her hand raised to cup Wednesday's face, smoothing over heated skin. Her claws were painted, of course they were. It only made things worse. Her pulse hammered wildly, to the point she wondered if Enid could hear it.
The tip of her claw nearly grazed her eye, and Wednesday held her breath, willing herself not to blink. She may have had no trouble remaining unblinking on a regular day, but the prospect seemed much more challenging with a razor-sharp point mere centimeters from her cornea. She inched her face back as much as she could, but there wasn't much leeway with Enid cuddling up to her so snugly.
She could feel Enid's front against her back, the fuzzy pajamas she always insisted on wearing tickling her nape, could feel her warm breath against her skin, no doubt strawberry-esque too from her toothpaste. Her eyes darted towards Thing, only to find him asleep, curled into a loose fist. Utterly useless.
"Enid—" Wednesday eased to the side experimentally, trying to slip out of Enid's arm, but that only made her grip tighten, claws unintentionally digging into her waist, puncturing small holes in her gown in the process. She stifled any pained noise that threatened to escape and stilled again; clearly a dead end.
It was hard to ignore the arm still trapping her in place, and with every breath she took she could feel the warm pressure against her stomach. She tried to control her breathing, to no avail. Is this how Enid felt whenever she got worked up?
"Also," Enid continued, "I didn't know you had a mole on your hip. For some reason, I thought you didn't have any. It's cute." But Wednesday was certain Enid was snoring and completely down under when she was changing. Her face burned.
At the same time, Enid's hand lifted off Wednesday's face—she exhaled shakily, blinking rapidly—and lowered, holding her right hip. Enid was right; Wednesday did have a mole on her hip, but she got the wrong one. It was a relief Enid's observational skills didn't suddenly skyrocket along with her newfound boldness.
Conversation abruptly ended, Enid began to sway lightly from side to side, humming a pop tune under her breath. Wednesday finally snapped out of her mortified trance.
"That's enough!" She jerked indignantly and pushed Enid off of her, whirling around. The hasty movement made Enid's claws catch on the delicate cotton of the nightgown, and a loud tear filled the air as Wednesday shoved her.
Enid stumbled back a pace, but she didn't seem particularly bothered. It was impossible to make out her expression in the dark, the moonlight from the window casting her front in shadow.
"I guess so." Enid conceded, still with that same eerie calm. "I'm gonna get back to bed, then. Good night."
With that, she turned around and walked back to her side of the dorm, tucking herself in as if nothing had happened.
Shaken, Wednesday watched her sleep for a moment before walking over to her mirror. As suspected, Enid had torn a giant rip in her nightgown, a jagged diagonal path from the middle of the blouse to the right, a shock of bare skin under the black fabric. Her cheeks were flushed as if ailed with some terrible inflammatory infection, her braids a frazzled mess for her standards.
Her bewildered expression staring back at her in the dim lighting.
Wednesday heard the tell-tale shuffling of fingers and quickly bunched up the affected part of the gown in her fist, hiding the tear. The commotion must have startled Thing awake, because he had drowsily made his way over to her desk. He sluggishly tapped the wood.
What happened?
"Nothing happened." Wednesday said firmly, cursing herself the moment the words left her mouth. Her tone was wavering too hard to be convincing. But this wasn't the first time she'd made Thing drop things he clearly didn't buy. Like the black tears following her premonitions.
Are you sure? I heard something.
"I'm chagrined to know your hearing is still functional. Now go back to sleep."
With a hesitant pause, Thing turned and shuffled back to his makeshift bed. Wednesday watched him go, jaw clenched. She turned back to the mirror, weary, and froze when she noticed. Her right hip did have a mole on it, like Enid had said. She swore it was always her left, and she knew this because she barely had any moles at all. When had she forgotten that too?
Sufficiently brooding, Wednesday trudged to her own bed and laid down on her back, tugging the covers up to her shoulders. She didn't bother changing into a new gown.
Enid and Thing have already fallen peacefully back asleep, but Wednesday didn't share their ease. She remained awake for half the night, staring at the ceiling, until sleep claimed her.
The day had worn her down remarkably well.