Chapter Text
Looming: that was the word for it. As Lurch drove the hearse up the long and windy driveway—spectral sludges skittering about the sun-dappled forest floor—while her girlfriend took her final free breaths and gravel crackled under the tires of the death-mobile, the manor loomed.
Stark and ominous and dark, The Addams Family Manor screamed terror.
Dark paint clung to turrets, windows of antique glass stared out into the grounds. Strange hedge mazes and ponds guarded the estate. Statues that Enid would not have been shocked to learn were once living, breathing backpackers stumbled across the garden—each bearing a grimace more terrific than the last.
Perhaps accepting her girlfriend’s invitation for the winter holidays was a mistake. Enid Sinclair felt her stomach tighten, because, of course, the morose and dreary scenery ought to cause concern, but waiting just under the overhang of the front door was a horror even more concerning and unknown.
Just as lurch pulled to a stop, red velvety carpet welcoming the girls to the home like a tongue, the beast of the hour lunged—
Morticia left Gomez’ embrace as soon as the hearse stopped, shooing away Lurch to open the back door. Before Enid could react, warm hands were pulling her into a hug.
A smoky scent enveloped her, notes of bergamot, arsenic, and tobacco pressed into her as the soft fabric of Morticia’s dress held her with such familial certainty, Enid’s heart, breath, and mind all seemed to halt in utter awe.
When it was over, Morticia held Enid at arms’ length.
“Ma belle, we are so pleased you have decided to accept our invitation. How was your flight? Wednesday refused to let us come to Boston to collect you, something about us three being an embarrassment and threat to national security.” Morticia’s smile was wide and true, Enid found her own face contorting in a similar display of joy and relief.
“Father, I have been absent from your clutches for little more than four hours, you do not need to hug me as though I have survived the labor’s of Heracles and Uncle Fester’s lasagne combined—“ Wednesday interrupted the reunion, as she held Gomez at arms length. The man only laughed and turned to Enid.
“Ah, well, well, then I will simply greet our guest, Ms. Sinclair! You look gorgeous as always, so healthy and vibrant. Thank you for coming all the way here on such short notice. When our little Viper told us,” he paused and glanced at his wife, she smiled reassuringly, “when Wednesday told us about your family’s plans, well, we knew we might have to steal you away.”
He then hugged her as well, a fact of which Enid could not have been more grateful. The soft wool of his charcoal suit gave her a place to hide her pin prick tears. Family plans. Ha!
Wednesday had offered the Addams’ Family hospitality not so much after plans, but actions.
After the events at Nevermore, after Enid’s face had become slashed, and she had wolfed out. After Goody, and Wednesday’s defeat of Crackstone, everyone had been sent home.
Enid had heard from a gossip informant that Xavier planned to win Wednesday’s favor with a gift, something Enid was increasingly certain would fail. So certain, she had bribed Xavier with paint supplies and promised intelligence regarding an upcoming arts showcase to let her customise Wednesday’s phone.
She had spent three hours downloading social media applications, creating accounts—all set to private, with two-factor authentication—Enid could want to introduce Wednesday to the Wild West of TikTok edits, but in no world would she sacrifice Wednesday’s clear boundaries regarding privacy. She entered their friends' mobile numbers, input emails, and birthdates, added contact photos. She made sure Flight of the Bumble Bee by Rimsky-Korsakov would play if Eugene called. Her proudest achievement was a Linked-In profile bearing Wednesday’s name, and, through some very cleaver pulling of strings she gained from her blog: a connection to Stephen King. A Spotify account held downloads of Wednesday’s favourite chamber music arrangements, and finally a small shortcut with a photo of Enid and the words “Roomie Hotline,” proudly sat on the main home screen.
When Wednesday had found Enid—a last action before departing from the school, she had asked her for help with turning on the phone. Enid was nervous, it’s one thing to do something so…forward? If such gestures will be received when one is miles away, it is quite another thing to press a power button and watch as your roommate/crush looks at the screen, and then at you:
“Enid, why does this phone already seem to understand me, I know cellular devices are meant to learn the patterns of their users, but this seems to go beyond current states of inform—“
“Me, it was, I am the, the problem, hi, it’s me, I am so so sorry, Weds. I can—“ Enid’s said in a rush of panic and regret. Of course, Wednesday hated it.
“Oh, well, then I suppose it is fine. Why is this application about corporate greed telling me I am connected to Stephen King? Wait—“ Enid held her breath as the ravennette went through every app and photo. When Wednesday looked up, she look at Enid for a moment, the corner’s of her mouth tensing in what was likely the Wednesday Addams’ version of a small smile, “how long did you have to wrestle with post-modern channels of communication?”
“Um, not, not long, an hour or two, it wasn’t, it’s nothing, just gals being…uh, roomies. I’m just your roomie.”
Wednesday nodded.
“If I press this?” she pressed the button and Enid’s phone lit up with a photo of the two girls after the Poe cup, dressed as cats holding the trophy, Wednesday not-smiling at the camera—Enid was maybe smiling at Wednesday, but they had just won and, it was just so good—
Enid shook her head and answered the call.
She felt her jaw drop as Wednesday raised her phone to her cheek and spoke a single word:
“Howdy.”
Enid closed her mouth, phone still at her side, as she blinked. Wednesday smiled, small but real.
“Thank you, Enid. I appreciated Xavier’s gesture, but, well as always, you stand out from our cohort as truly kind and exceptionally brilliant.”
“Well, you should meet yourself.”
“If your mother, if she does anything you cannot stand while we are separated, I trust you will notify me, if fate needs expedition, I am happy to torment your mother on my own.”
Enid, looked down. It was not going to be a fun couple of months. Having already spoken to her mother, she was well aware of what to expect upping her return to San Francisco.
“I saw the photos of those nasty gashes, really, Enid? You need to be more careful, you wolf out, finally worthy of a mate one day, and just rip yourself out of the dating pool. What nice man would want to date a thing with that face?”
Enid couldn’t help when tears began to fall from her eyes.
“I, uh, I will, thanks.” She tried to wipe her tears, but was stopped by Wednesday’s firm hand.
“It hurts me, you know? To see you, so unaware of the wonders you hold.” Wednesday gently cradled Enid’s face, a thumb, rough with the remnants of battle, but soft and steady in its efforts, pressed against Enid’s cheek, gently lifting the tears from her cheek.
“Everyone in this school, and it was you who saved me. I may be strong-headed and brave, but Enid, you are all that and more.”
“Wednesday, stop saying things you don’t mean.”
Wednesday nodded. There was a beat, pure silence as all the parents, teachers, students, and atoms in Nevermore Academy seemed to still at once. Wednesday seemed to decide something. Her eyes illuminated briefly with trepidation and certainty.
And then nothing.
And then everything.
Enid was aware of nothing but Wednesday Addams, her sure lips pressing into her own. The light and dust moats of the hallway they were tucked into seemed to surge, Enid closed her eyes and breathed in Wednesday’s scent: soft, woody, and tangy, like citrus—bright and acerbic.
The hand on her cheek tensed as Enid began to kiss her roommate back. Enid was certain she was falling from a great height. More certain that Wednesday would catch her.
Slowly, Wednesday ended the kiss. And suddenly, Enid didn’t know if she was going to hit the ground.
“Good, well, that, was—I’m sorry Enid, I should have asked.”
“Please don’t mean that.”
Wednesday, she smiled. Looked at the taller girl, her blonde hair slightly mussed, she could only assume from her own hands, the work of showing the werewolf just how incredible she was. Enid’s lips were puffy, and she looked lovesick, Wednesday hoped it was terminal. She bore no doubt her own affliction would last till her final breath.
“I do mean I should have asked, Sinclair, but I in no way meant to state a regret, I take it you, enjoyed my tactic of rhetoric.”
“Wednesday, you dork—“ Enid giggled, pulling the goth girl into a second, then third kiss.
They stumbled into the wall, the firm brick holding them, as they shared a gorgeous exhale: they were alive, they had survived, only thanks to the other, but that only made what they had now more. Finally, Enid pulled back and tilted her head back until it hit the rough stone.
“I don’t want to go home, Weds.”
“Don’t.” Enid looked at Wednesday, her roommate? Girlfriend? Wednesday continued: “Do not go home, well do not go to your home, come to mine for the duration of our extended break, you will be a wonderful distraction for my parents’ doting, and come Christmas, Uncle Fester will love to have someone competent in the art of karaoke to battle against.”
'Besides, in light of the pending climate catastrophe we won’t waste jet fuel with a needless trip to California for me to illuminate, for your mother, regarding certain tenets of human decency. Of course, I will fully respect any decision you make.”
“I’m sorry, Wednesday, I really, I want to go with you. But, they are my family, they have expectations—I can’t just.”
“You are so horribly kind to people who don’t deserve it, and while I respect masochistic tendencies, I hope one day we can find a better outlet for these specific ones.”
Enid’s face flooded with crimson hues as uninvited images of ropes and floggers and other paraphernalia of…that sort flooded her mind. She began to stammer, but couldn’t make the thick muscle of her tongue do anything but convulse in embarrassed stammering.
Wednesday cocked her head, her eyebrows knitted in sudden concern, before understanding dawned on her.
“Oh, Enid, I did not mean to imply, I apologise I was not attempting, to—I did not mean to render a sexual advance, I simply thought we could rather engage in rigorous exercise or—I’ve just made it worse, haven’t I?”
Enid smiled at her best friend, her girlfriend, before laughing full and heavy volleys of mirth. She nodded as tears began to fill her eyes.
“Mi Alma, I only meant—stop laughing, it is not funny, I have just violated—“
“Wednesday, it’s hilarious, it’s...you just offered to what? Spank my mommy issue away? Only you didn’t mean to? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but—“
“I suppose miscommunication and sexual innuendo comprise much of the body of contemporary comedy.” Enid laughed harder.
“Body? Really, Baby? Gosh,” Enid was laughing, and Wednesday was happy.
“Enid, now you are simply grasping at straws, perhaps I will need to punish this behaviour, I am sure I could think of some scintillating activities to demonstrate—“ Enid watched her, as she tried to formulate a convincing attempt at dirty talk.
Finally Enid decided to end the other girl’s suffering. She could tell by the increasing pink tinge to Wednesday’s pale cheeks, she was slightly embarrassed, which wouldn’t do, no, not at all.
“I think, we have time, for uh, that. Later, much later. Like in a year minimum." She smiled. "What did you call me?”
“Mi Alma?”
“Mhmm”
“It means my soul, it’s a Spanish term of endearment. I think it's fitting, while I do like you and your flesh—you are so beautiful, Enid, I cannot fathom why a sunset bothers to adorn itself in pink and purple hues when all it does is lose to your face and its beauty—that said, I find your determination, compassion, and inability to relinquish hope to be most worthy of my romantic admiration—they are the core of you, the very essence of your heart. No mark on your face will ever dampen these things. They are your soul, and I wish to protect them, and you, as though they are no separate from my own, Mi Alma.”
“Wednesday, warn a girl.” Enid laid her head on Wednesday’s shoulder. “You should go to your parents.”
“Do we not need to discuss these revelations more?”
“Call me when you get home? I think, I think I’ll be in the air? Maybe, I can text when I land?”
“Please. Your mother is so wrong, about everything,” Wednesday spoke as she tucked a strand of blue tipped bangs behind Enid’s ear. Softly tracing her scars, then cheek bones, and finally lips.
“I think I’m starting to know that,” Enid whispered against Wednesday’s thumb, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of the digit, “I’m gonna miss you.”
“Enid, I don’t really care about turtles. Or whatever corporate, greenwashed semiotic phrase I am meant to say. If you need me, I’ll be on the next flight out. I mean that.”
“I know. You need to leave, I won’t be able to walk away.”
Wednesday nodded. Holding Enid in a final hug, tight, trying to memorise everything about her smell. Soft aromatics of lavender, grapefruit, and something evergreen and ineffable.
“Thank you, Enid.”
With that, Wednesday left, half of her heart sinking to the floor of the hallway.
Blonde and trembling, because how can things be so good, and so bad at once?
Enid sobbed, silent and practiced, a skill she learned in her family home. Perfected like any weapon held often.
Her hand found her scars, scars Wednesday called beautiful. She sat there in the morning sun, cold and harsh, until finally, she stopped. She set her face to bold indifference and began to leave Nevermore.
As she boarded her flight, Vermont fading to a green sea, she readied herself for what would be an interminable two months. Somewhere in Business class, she could hear her brothers bicker about a snuck aboard whiskey shot.
She inhaled deeply, and imagined a future, where Wednesday came home, in from a rainstorm, enthused by the weather, clutching some horrifically pink rosé, so so happy to see her: warm, by the fire, waiting.