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Her lips would not stop moving.
Pink and glossy with a touch of some kind of glittery substance that sparkled in waves as they caught the light at different angles around their curves; Enid Sinclair’s lips were a never-ending cycle of movement as she explained the school and students, and the little bits and bobs of random information sprinkled in between. For some reason, Wednesday was fascinated by them, watching them twist and rise and drop and disappear before plumply popping back out. It turned her stomach, that something so mundane could keep her focus so easily – so viciously.
She tore her eyes away in disgust, scanning the faces of the other students, trying to convince herself that there had merely been something about seeing and interacting with an Outcast outside of her family this long that had intrigued her. Wednesday looked over the unsettling eyes of the sirens and the occasionally writhing beanies of the gorgons and the unkempt locks of the werewolves; she examined the smoothed skin of the faceless and the curious way the hands of DaVinci’s worked to manipulate objects mid-air. She trained her vision on the scratching of pencil against paper and the way that drawing came alive, hoping that the focus of eyes of someone with psychic powers like her would prove her point. None held a candle…
“And outside the grounds, we have the graveyard, oh, and the Rotwood cottage, though I imagine you’re not particularly fond of things rotting and…” Enid continued.
Turning her eyes sharply back, focused on the way those lips parted, Wednesday stated bluntly, “Yes, take me there.”
Words faltering, Wednesday watched as those lips stuttered and then slowly came to a standstill and she found herself longing to see them spring to life as Enid absorbed Wednesday’s request with the smallest nod of her head before turning on her heel to begin walking towards a gate at the edge of the courtyard. They moved through it and Wednesday let herself gaze, seeing the nervous way Enid picked at the cuffs of her uniform and pinched her lips together in an anxious smile aimed at those they passed, all giving Wednesday curious looks she ignored.
“Are the bodies of dead students buried here?” Wednesday questioned.
Enid’s laugh was quick, a dart of her eyes in her direction before she shrugged, then nodded. “There’s actually a pretty cool story about this boy who died in an explosion in one of the towers – they say his body is buried under the Skull tree, but that’s not really in the graveyard.” Enid gestured at the tombs they were approaching. “I think it’s just old alumni? Dying as a student is generally frowned upon.”
It was a joke, but Wednesday simply watched her smile fade as she waited for a chuckle from Wednesday that would never come. “Dying as a student would be embarrassing,” Wednesday told her dryly, walking beyond her towards the first tombstones to begin reading names and dates, fingertips ghosting over the moldy surfaces before she turned to look at Enid. “How would you prefer to die?”
Lips curving into a wide smile, a genuine one that found amusement in Wednesday’s words, Enid nodded slowly, telling her, “Ok, I’ll play along, but you’ll probably think it’s boring because it’s not being mauled to death or dismembered, but just growing old? Maybe passing in my sleep after a good life?”
“You’re right,” Wednesday retorted, “It is boring.”
Enid stepped towards her, hands clasping behind her back as Wednesday’s eyes followed the motions, following anything that didn’t drift her eyes back up to the lips that now smirked deviously at her. “How would you prefer to die?” Enid’s eyes narrowed as she came around the headstone Wednesday remained behind, standing at her full height over Wednesday as she offered, “Let me guess – some sort of gruesome battle to the death with a lifelong foe.”
“Are you volunteering?” Wednesday stated, realizing immediately how her tone had emerged not as threatening or dangerous, but as slightly… somewhat… teasing.
Head tilting, Enid sighed, “Fine, lifelong foe it is, Wednesday Addams.” Then she leaned forward, telling her on a whisper, “But first, I can show you the commissary where they serve…”
Wednesday’s finger was up against Enid’s lips before she could finish thinking about how they would feel to touch and she found the warmth against her skin unpleasant in a way that prickled her skin with gooseflesh. But they remained, frozen in place among the graves, Wednesday’s forefinger pressed into Enid’s lips for far too long until Enid backed away and Wednesday turned away with a grunt, wiping away the lip gloss against her dress before glaring up at her.
“Lifelong it is,” she huffed. “Where is the commissary?”
…
Her legs seemed to bounce, even when she was entirely still.
Wednesday had grown used to hearing the gentle taps of her sneakers over the floorboards in their room as Enid danced as silently as she could behind her back, headphones snapped over her ears, lips whispering lyrics because after multiple fights over the topic, allowances had to be made. Her typing could drown it all out, Wednesday knew, but sometimes her typing stopped and her ears detected the gentle shifts of clothe against clothe and the small escape of air in syllables she couldn’t always make out. Turning ever so slowly, Wednesday looked to see her there at the edge of her bed, body swaying side to side, plucking up outfits to mix and match, trying to decide what to wear to a casual Saturday trip into Jericho.
Twisting back with a small grunt, Wednesday avoided being caught as Enid hopped in a spin, feet slamming into the floor as she half-sang, “No one’s touched me there in a damn hot minute,” before her voice faded again and she made her way towards the bathroom, door closing behind her.
Touching a set of fingers to her chest, Wednesday frowned as she felt the double thump of her heart and she shook her head slightly considering the paradoxical fear. Why should she care if Enid found her turned in her chair, watching her dance? Wednesday could easily deflect her curiosity as frustration at the constant movements and how they interrupted her thoughts as she worked to establish the core of her story in much the same way Viper had recently chewed out Evelyn for her boisterous antics during their investigation.
“Wednesday,” Enid called through the door, continuing without an answer, “Do you want to come with me? I thought we could get a coffee and then maybe go to that little bookstore they have? I scoped it out – totally books, nothing kitsch or cliché that would drive you bonkers; the color palette is even pretty bland.”
Shifting back around, Wednesday stared through the floor, brow coming together slightly as she considered it before asking, “You want to look at books?”
The door opened and Enid emerged, pink jeans and her white sneakers, a brown sweater with pink rings around the edges hanging to mid-thigh flowing with her steps as she came to the center of the room, doing a circle there as Wednesday nodded in mild approval. She smiled softly, head shifting from side to side in the opposite direction as her hips did, and Enid admitted shyly, voice rising as she spoke, “I don’t, but I thought that would entice you to spend some quality time with your roommate?”
“We spend time together every day, Enid,” Wednesday pointed out, seeing the way her left leg swung slightly before it came to a stop, setting off the right. A constant sway of motion she fixated on as she waited for Enid’s fingers to twist together in front of her.
Shrugging, Enid allowed, “We do school stuff together, but we don’t, like, hang out together.”
“Quality time,” Wednesday repeated Enid’s earlier words as the girl nodded, feet shifting against the floor nervously. Wednesday’s eyes slowly drifted up over her until she met the large eyes staring down at her, one drop of hope in those pools of apprehension that immediately spread as Wednesday stood with a quick nod. “Coffee and books, I could think of worse ways to spend a Saturday.”
The book shop was, as Enid promised, not entirely terrible and Wednesday moved through shelves listening to Enid reading book titles as they went, each with a coffee cup from the Weathervane in their right hands. Stopping, Wednesday skimmed titles and then plucked a book out, opening the book to glance through the contents page as Enid sipped her coffee and shifted back and forth. Wednesday glanced over the edge of the pages to watch the way her muscles expanded and contracted on each movement – the benefits of being a dancer, she knew, and she cleared her throat before turning away awkwardly at the thought of the tautness of that flesh underneath her fingers. Not skin and bones like her own, but strong and powerful and…
“Taxidermy? Really?”
Wednesday shook her thoughts free from her mind and raised her eyes to Enid’s as they read the book she held with a grimace as Wednesday began with a stutter, “I’m fascinated by bodily structures.”
“And how to deconstruct them utilizing a variety of weapons and strategies, right?” Enid teased, elbow nudging her shoulder playfully.
Nodding, Wednesday shelved the book and continued on, glancing up when Enid shifted into another aisle to peruse romance novels Wednesday wrinkled her nose at. She moved through the books and removed a tome and then searched out her companion, finding her seated at a small table, book opened carefully as she read the first page. Wednesday came to stand beside her, hand coming out to twist the book to see the cover – Woo’d by A Werewolf by Barbara Jean Day – and she scoffed, sitting in the seat beside Enid to slam her own book down, opening it to the drawing of werewolf anatomy to show Enid as she grimaced.
“You’d have more luck perusing this,” Wednesday told her flatly.
“Thanks,” Enid began lightly, “But no thanks, I’ll stick with my romance.”
Her right leg began to bounce lightly underneath the table and Wednesday glanced down, and then shifted her eyes to the book in front of her, tracing the muscles of the thigh and where they connected to the hip and groin in werewolf form. She flipped the page as Enid’s knee began to lightly tap against hers and Wednesday looked to the comparison between werewolf and human. Glancing sideways, she could see Enid’s eyes drifting across the page in front of her quickly and she watched the way she bit her lip as she read. Her athletic prowess would make her an excellent specimen for study, if she ever wolfed out, she could possibly compare the anatomic structures, but she imagined the thin muscular leg underneath her palm, wondered just how strong Enid truly was.
Wednesday’s left hand settled atop the thigh at her side and she felt the way the jumping stopped and the rectus femoris and vastus lateralis tightened underneath her grip before slowly loosening, something she imagined would feel awkward, but it merely served to send a shiver up her left arm involuntarily as she met Enid’s stare. Wednesday’s eyes drifted quickly to her lips and then lifted away, seeing Enid had done the same, and she slowly slipped her hand away, fingernails lingering a moment longer than they should have before they rose and landed heavily against the book.
Scooting her chair away, Wednesday uttered quietly, “Apologies.”
“No,” Enid whispered. “I’ll try to keep still. I know it… bothers you.”
Nodding slowly, Wednesday dropped her attention to the book, her eyes slowly traversing the body of the werewolf drawn in front of her, avoiding the way Enid was still glancing up at her curiously.
…
Her hands fluttered about when she spoke.
It had driven Wednesday mad at the start, how Enid could be so spectacularly enthusiastic, but it had slowly served as its own language. She knew when Enid was enraged, or when she was excited, or when she was upset, by the mere intensity of her hand gestures and how far up they involved her arms and even her torso. Like the strokes of a maestro conducting the orchestra of her body. And without Wednesday noticing it had happened, she’d begun to read those notes and she’d learned how to respond; Wednesday’s harmony to Enid’s rhythm to create the melody of their relationship.
The thought sickened her in a way she couldn’t comprehend. How had this person so intrinsically intertwined themselves into her inner workings to the point of altering them in a mutually beneficial way? Was that what friendship was, Wednesday wondered, listening absently to Enid rambling on and on as they walked through the halls of Nevermore together. Her responses were easy, her sarcasm met with knowing smiles, her cynicism countered with unbothered wit, her sighs matched in their amused annoyance. But Wednesday watched as her hands swung about, connected with one another, slipped apart, and then rounded the air – the words fluttering around in her mind without meaning for a moment.
“Are you listening to me?” Enid asked.
Wednesday caught her hands absently, held them, stared into them, felt their smoothness against her own hands, their heat. She turned them as Enid stood silently, allowing the examination. Students passed them by, ignoring them as they often did – their antics having become unnaturally natural – and Wednesday merely held Enid’s hands against her own, studying the colors of her nails and the wrinkles of her knuckles and the pale skin that almost glowed against the pallor of her own.
“Wednesday?” Enid whispered. “You’re starting to freak me out a little, and you know me saying that about you says a lot.”
She stared into the black nail polish of her ring fingers, touched at them with her thumbs as Enid inhaled, and then she let Enid’s right hand fall away, focusing solely on her left, fingers brushing over the skin of the back of her hand before turning it to run her fingers over the lines of her palm. “You have a long lifeline,” Wednesday told her quietly.
“You…” Enid began softly. “Want to read my palm?”
It was an out, Wednesday knew. An excuse to make this connection easily explained away for the both of them because Wednesday knew Enid could pull her hand away at any moment, but she chose not to. Her curiosity let it settle calmly within Wednesday’s hands as her fingers continued to trace those lines lightly, hesitantly wondering how their palms might fit together if she chose to hold her hand in the way the pounding in her chest was screaming at her to. Her mind forced her to release her, letting her hand fall away as Wednesday straightened to look up into the concerned eyes watching her.
“I’ll have to consult with grandmama – my father’s mother – she’s the expert in things like this,” Wednesday spoke calmly through the fear of the feeling tinting her cheeks pink and choking her throat. “She’s away in Guadalajara right now,” Wednesday added with a short nod of her head, turning and walking away, her palms still tingling where the colors of her nail polish had sat against her for too long.
…
Enid fascinated her.
There was no other way to put it and she’d run out of excuses. Wednesday looked when Enid’s eyes were turned away, taking in the way she shrugged her shoulders when she spoke and wasn’t entirely sure about what she was saying; she saw the way she gripped her palms into half-fists when she was nervous about something and hiding it; she noticed how she slouched slightly sometimes when they spoke – not from bad posture, but to be closer to her. At least she’d convinced herself it was that. Wednesday found that she liked to imagine that was the truth and she leaned into the balcony behind her, listening as Enid slowly recounted the day, bent forward against the cement just at her side, elbows pressed into it. Slouched.
Her hair, which had been half-clipped up through the day, now hung loose, shifting ever so slightly in the night breeze. Her sweater hung off her right shoulder and Wednesday focused her attention on the way the moonlight made her shine and she found herself raising her hand to it, brushing her hair away to gently trail her knuckles over her skin as Enid’s words came to a direct stop. The fastest way to get Enid Sinclair to stop speaking, she’d learned through the failure of her own restraint, was to touch her.
Perhaps, Wednesday considered, she was as touch starved as she was. Or perhaps she was as fascinated with Wednesday as Wednesday had been with her. Lips lifting, Wednesday told her quietly, “You’re cold.”
For a moment, she merely stared, swallowing as Wednesday’s hand shifted away. Turning to look at Enid fully, no longer embarrassed about being caught, Wednesday waited as her eyes dropped to look at the space in front of her, her breaths quickening and then calming. “I’m fine,” Enid responded. “Werewolves run hot, remember?”
Nodding, Wednesday tilted her head to look her over and then she moved forward, “Do you know the most interesting lesson I’ve learned at Nevermore?”
Straightening, Enid turned, nodding once before asking, “What’s that?”
“You’re quiet when you’re really nervous.”
Huffing a laugh, Enid managed to avoid her eyes, looking to the gargoyles, the roof tiles, the window at Wednesday’s left. She waited for Enid to speak again, but was met with silence, so she took another small step towards her, seeing the way her eyes flew sharply to her feet, to measure that small distance between them and see the way her own legs shifted awkwardly beneath her.
“Have you ever had an intrusive thought?” Wednesday questioned.
Smiling shyly, Enid stated, “Of course, Wednesday, we all do.”
“Mine are not,” she began, falling silent before explaining, “Jumping off a cliff, or driving into oncoming traffic, or imagining stabbing someone – the things that are taboo or even embarrassing for me might even be considered natural for anyone else.”
Enid’s fingers intertwined in front of her as she nodded, something like concern overtaking the initial fear as Wednesday looked into her eyes. “What sorts of thoughts are you having, Wednesday?”
Hesitating, Wednesday licked at her lips, bridging the gap between them to stand mere inches from her face – close enough now to feel that heat coming off her body – as she looked into her eyes to search for that fear again in them. Instead she found understanding, and she watched Enid’s almost imperceptible nod before she settled her lips against Enid’s. The memory of them sat in her skin, soft and gentle and still, but this time they opened to her, letting her taste delicately, each new sensation sending a wave of adrenaline through Wednesday.
She allowed herself to indulge in those thoughts – to reach for the hands between them that awkwardly considered a thousand movements but made none; to settle her feet at either side of Enid’s to still her legs from their shifts and taps; to explore the lips that spoke now without speaking, conveying a simple requited longing Wednesday absorbed readily. They kissed through the awkward howls of young wolves locked away in cages, Enid lifting Wednesday’s hands to her shoulders so she could push her fingers through the soft waves of her hair and pull her even closer as Enid’s dropped to her waist to hold her as she turned, pressing Wednesday into the balcony before she shifted away suddenly and took a long breath, head tilting back.
“I don’t want to wolf out right now,” Enid told her roughly, voice harsh.
“I want to see it,” Wednesday admitted, allowing the words to pass her lips, craving the thought of Enid’s flesh cracking and shifting into the beast Wednesday longed to examine.
With a laugh, Enid asked, “Is this another one of your intrusive thoughts?”
“Yes,” she breathed. She locked her eyes into Enid’s and nodded, watching her consider her for a moment before offering her a small nod in response. Wednesday stepped back as Enid stripped herself of the jacket she wore – one of her favorites – before examining her outfit and sighing, letting herself transform there on the balcony to let out a long solid howl at the moon that shook Wednesday entirely before the chorus of wolves around campus responded to the Alpha’s call.
The wolf shook its mane and then stood, moving towards Wednesday to rub its forehead into hers and Wednesday slid her fingers through the long hair and allowed herself to explore Enid freely just as Enid turned a slow circle around her to sniff at her body, scenting her entirely along the way. Both losing themselves to the curious thoughts that they’d been barely restraining for three long years until Wednesday pulled her long black jacket off and nodded to Enid, watching as she slowly returned to her human form, unashamed to be standing naked on that balcony before her. Wednesday held the jacket out and Enid stepped into it, left arm in before turning to slip her right through, aware of Wednesday’s eyes on her as the other young woman tugged the edges closed to zip it up from her thighs to her collar, gaze travelling up as she went.
“You never had to hide them away, you know,” Enid told her softly. “Your intrusive thoughts.”
Rising up on tip toe to kiss Enid lightly, Wednesday nodded, whispering, “And I never will again.”