Chapter Text
When Enid first met her roommate, she thought she was a serial killer.
“Howdy, roomie!”
She’d gone in for a welcoming hug, and the tiny girl who showed a startling resemblance to a Victorian child in a black-and-white photograph glaring at the camera like it would take her soul if she smiled took a stiff step back.
Not a hugger, Enid concluded as she let her arms drop. Got it.
She’d swapped her welcoming hug for a welcoming smile, but the goth version of the Wendy’s logo seemed to have no inclination to return it. Then a man that looked more like a sentient stack of pale bricks than an actual human being started bringing the girl’s things into the dorm room, which consisted of exactly one black suitcase and a cello.
The suitcase made the most sense, and honestly so did the cello until Enid asked, “Are you a music major?” and monochrome-Anne-of-Green-Gables said “no” as her abnormally large bell boy laid the instrument gently in the corner of their small room and left again for what Enid assumed to be another armful of colorless things. But he only came back with one.
And it was a typewriter.
So Enid concluded that this girl was either a miniature serial killer or a time traveler whose list of priorities included cello-playing and platform boots. Considering she looked as though her body had consumed the soul of a murdered gothic era teenager, the time traveler theory was a logical choice.
On the other hand, she’d brought nothing to decorate her side of the room, all of her clothes were in exciting shades of black, white, and gray, she brought special black hangers to hang her black shirts in order of what Enid could only determine to be most to least black. And she brought a fucking typewriter.
So… serial killer. For sure.
(On the other other hand, even though Enid was almost surely the next victim of Beetlejuice’s super pretty cousin, she had to admire anyone who went to such lengths to achieve their desired aesthetic. Seriously, was the girl allergic to color or something?)
Eventually, after Enid could no longer stand the silence of the room that was only interrupted by the occasional clink of hangers and rustling of dark clothing, she introduced herself.
“I’m Enid.”
Because on the off chance she wasn’t a serial killer—and especially if she was—Enid wanted to get on her roommate's good side. They’d be living in very close proximity for nearly six months and interactions consisting only of glares and foreboding silence simply would not do. Also, Enid didn’t do silence.
The girl, who had been in the middle of re-folding a pair of black jeans, laid the pants on her bed and turned around. All of her movements were unnervingly smooth and deliberate. Almost mechanical.
“My name is Wednesday Addams.”
“Like the day of the week?”
“Yes.”
“Let me guess, your middle name is Thursday?”
Wednesday didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink, and now that Enid thought about it, had Wednesday blinked since entering the room?
“It’s Friday, actually.”
Enid snorted. Wednesday still didn’t blink.
Okay, Enid thought as her roommate went back to unpacking her suitcase. Wednesday Friday Addams.
Between sorting out the rest of her own belongings, Enid searched Wednesday’s name on Facebook and got no results. She then tried instagram, and still got nothing. She tried again and again, the social media platforms getting more and more obscure as she went on, but Wednesday apparently didn’t exist anywhere else in the world except for the left side of their dorm room.
Later she asked Wednesday if she’d like to go to the dining hall for supper, then went by herself when all she got was a flat “no” in response. She didn’t know what Wednesday ate that night, or if Wednesday somehow survived on nothing but the fear of her enemies, but it was late when she got back and Wednesday was already in bed, and Enid discovered she slept with her arms crossed over her chest like the dead and decided to gloss over that little fact for her own sanity.
When she returned from the bathroom, Wednesday’s eyes were wide open and glued to the ceiling. Enid wouldn’t be surprised if Wednesday just slept like that, so she turned off the light and pulled up the covers. She laid in silence for a bit until she glanced over and still saw the whites of her eyes. And Enid decided to speak anyway.
“I think your name is cool, you know.”
And there was something fitting about Wednesday’s voice appearing unexpectedly from the dark. “Why?”
“It’s… unique.”
“Are you implying something must be rare to be considered interesting?”
“No, but I am saying things you haven’t seen before are usually pretty cool. ”
There was a long silence in which Wednesday was likely plotting Enid’s gruesome disembowelment, and Enid thought, that’s enough of that, and turned on her side to go to sleep (if she could even get to sleep with Miss embalmed-corpse-in-a-coffin laying four feet to her left). For a while there was only the soft inhale and exhale of their breaths in the inky black of the room.
Then Wednesday said, “I’ve never met anyone else named Enid.”
And Enid slept okay, all things considered.
. . .
Over the next couple of months, Enid made a few discoveries about her roommate.
The first was that Wednesday hated her.
Admittedly, this wasn’t a groundbreaking revelation. Even if Enid had the emotional intelligence of a particularly dull rock, there was no other way to take the near constant glaring and silence as anything but negative. Not to mention on the rare occasions Wednesday actually decided to grace Enid’s ears with a response, the condescension in her tone was about as subtle as a grenade.
But even if all this failed and Enid still somehow deluded herself into thinking she was welcome in Wednesday’s presence, her roommate was courteous enough to drop a few larger hints here and there (i.e. at least four times per day) to make absolutely sure she got her point across.
“Your pop music will make my ears bleed, and not in a fun way.”
“I’d appreciate it if you would stop talking on the phone during my writing time. Your voice is grating.”
“Every time I look at your side of the room I want to gouge my eyes out.”
“Enid, what the fuck?”
The last one had come when Wednesday came back from class just as Enid finished sticking some super cool decals on their window. When Enid came back from her class later that day, Wednesday’s half of the window was clear again, and a colorful heap of carefully removed plastic stickers was pushed to her side of the room.
Oh, and also, their room now had sides, separated by a perfectly straight line of black duct tape down the middle. This struck Enid as an uncalled-for level of bullshittery since Wednesday literally could’ve expressed her need for boundaries like a normal person. And Enid wasn’t a petty person, but she did often poke the other side of the room with the toe of her shoe when Wednesday was gone, and it brought her immense amounts of satisfaction.
The next discovery was that Wednesday was extremely smart, which was also not a shocker since serial killers often were. She was majoring in criminology and minoring in biology, but Enid assumed she was doing the latter purely for the dissections.
Discovery number three?
Wednesday Addams owned a tarantula.
Enid still didn’t know exactly how it got there. All she knew was that it had been a Saturday and she’d been studying in their room all day and took a five minute bathroom break only to come back to Wednesday having a heated conversation with an arachnid that had suddenly appeared on her bureau seemingly out of the void. Its fluffy body and legs were a dark brown color and served to be the first thing on Wednesday’s side of the room to not be some dreary shade of black or gray.
“Um… Wednesday?”
“I am aware that there was not a tarantula in this room before you left and now there is a tarantula. If it comforts you, I also didn’t know there would be a tarantula.”
“That’s actually the least comforting thing you could’ve said, but I appreciate the effort.”
“My parents got him delivered without telling me because they feared I was lonely.” Wednesday stared flatly at the animal and Enid swore all of its eight eyes looked guilty. “They made an error.”
Enid perked up. It was probably too hopeful of her to think Wednesday considered their relationship to be anything beyond ‘coexistence,’ but she still asked, “You’re not lonely?”
“No, I was. It was perfect. They’ve ruined it.”
“Ah.”
Even though Wednesday’s face’s default setting was ‘post rigor mortis emptiness’, Enid still attempted to read her. She usually relied on Wednesday’s tone, the shifting of her eyes, or just general vibes when attempting to discern her emotions (if Wednesday even had any, which a lot of people would assume she didn’t, but Enid thought otherwise. Wednesday might’ve been the human embodiment of a ‘do not enter’ sign written in blood, but she was still human).
Right now she was directing what Enid interpreted as a mildly scornful expression down at the spider, but then she turned to Enid and her coal eyes were back to their usual empty stare.
“Enid,” she said, gesturing smoothly from her roommate to the tarantula, “this is Thing. Thing—“ Tarantula to Enid— “this is Enid.”
Enid gave Thing her best polite smile and fluttered her fingers in a little wave. “Nice to meet you, Thing.”
She couldn’t remember taking any hallucinogenic drugs that day, but that was the only explanation she could think of when the tarantula lifted one of its legs and waved back.
Wednesday said, “Enid, please close the door. If Miss Thornhill sees him she will request for him to be sent home, and I do not wish to endure the headache of shipping an exotic animal across several states. So many regulations these days…”
Miss Thornhill was a university staff member assigned to keeping an eye on their dorm house. Enid heard they’d tried student reps for years, but they were always a little too lenient on the rules. Either way, Miss Thornhill struck Enid as the type of woman that wouldn’t appreciate a big hairy spider anywhere in her vicinity, so Enid closed the door while Wednesday gingerly placed Thing in his glass enclosure and turned on a heat lamp, adding a warm burst of color to her side of the room.
And that was that.
The most shocking discovery Enid made about Wednesday came on their second week of classes, when extracurriculars were starting up. Enid came back from her afternoon classes in a rush to change into her shorts and tank top before grabbing her running shoes and heading out the door, where she saw Wednesday returning from the bathroom wearing a loose t-shirt tucked into gray sweatpants. She still had her signature pigtails, but the day Wednesday did her hair in any other style would be the day Enid died of shock.
They both paused at the sight of the other. The door clicked shut behind Enid and still they both just stared, Enid’s face displaying a steadily increasing level of curiosity, and Wednesday’s displaying—hold onto your pants—absolutely shit all.
Enid didn’t want to speak first. There was no competition going on that she was aware of, but showing interest in Wednesday’s life when Wednesday had never showed an interest in her’s felt too much like letting her win. But, Enid already had a veritable mountain of unanswered questions about her roommate piled high in her head, and she’d be damned if she had to add ‘performs mysterious activities that require sweatpants’ to the list (which would go in a tidy bullet point right above ‘how does she look good in sweatpants?’).
So Enid asked, “Where are you going?”
And Wednesday said, “Fencing practice.”
Enid blinked.
After a pregnant pause and a dart of Wednesday’s eyes to the bag over Enid’s shoulder and back, Wednesday asked, “Where are you going?”
“You’re in fencing?”
“Yes. Where are you going?”
“Are you good?”
“Yes. Where are you going?”
“How good?”
“I’m excellent. Are you going to tell me where you’re going or keep wasting my time with repetitive questions?”
Enid swallowed another question as it was about to fly out of her mouth. It wasn’t her fault she was curious—she didn’t even know the school had a varsity fencing team until now. But since this was a very rare occurrence in which Wednesday actually seemed interested in anything but herself and her typewriter, Enid tamped down her curiosity.
“I’m going to track practice.”
Wednesday gave her exactly one emotionless nod. “Okay.”
Then she slipped past her and disappeared into their dorm room.
After practice and showers and dinner (Wednesday still gave her a stoic “no” when Enid asked if she wanted to go to the dining hall together, but Enid noted that it took her half a second longer to answer that night, and she liked to think Wednesday had used that time to seriously consider the proposal), Enid resumed her questioning. She found out Wednesday was a New Jersey state champion fencer and was nationally second in her age group only to Bianca Barclay, who also attended their university. Enid made a mental note to keep a check on Bianca’s social medias to make sure she didn’t suffer an untimely and mysterious death in the near future.
When she joked about this to Wednesday during her writing time—which she’d been ordered not to speak during but frequently ignored that order in favor of regaling Wednesday with various internet scandals—the clacking of typewriter keys immediately stopped, and her roommate’s response was quick and sharp with… offence?
“I would never do that,” Wednesday said.
Enid rushed to amend herself. “Oh, I know! It was only a jo—“
“I need her alive so I can face her again and confirm I’m better.”
The clacking of typewriter keys started again. Enid did not interrupt.
Discovery five was that Wednesday was abnormally interested (see: fucking obsessed) with true crime. She listened to podcasts on her laptop, which would have made her typewriter obsolete if she used the piece of technology for anything other than checking emails and listening to those murder podcasts.
Once she even set up a black poster board in their room, gruesome pictures pinned on it along with grainy mugshots and crime scene photos, all connected with different coloured strings. And the fact that Wednesday didn’t have a printer and had to pay to print those images off on the public printer in the library didn’t scare Enid as much as the fact that Wednesday was just standing there with Thing on her shoulder acting as some eight-legged parrot. Staring at it.
In her defense, she clearly put a lot of work into it, so she had a right to look at it for as long as she wanted. In Enid’s defense, walking in on your roommate engaging in passionate eye sex with various pictures of random people’s severed limbs is gonna make a girl fear for her safety.
And maybe faint. Just a little.
Her last memory before gravity took over was the back of Wednesday’s head as she rambled on about the grizzly details of the case, then Thing crawling across Wednesday’s back prior to a dramatic fade-to-black. Enid awoke on her bed with Thing on her pillow beside her and Wednesday searching for smelling salts.
The murder board was gone the next day, Wednesday claiming it was because continuously having to pick Enid up off the floor would be a strain on her back.
Enid next discovered, through no fault of her own, that Wednesday’s birthday was on the thirteenth of October. It was through the fault of Wednesday's parents video calling her (a third thing to add to the extensive list of reasons for Wednesday to use her laptop).
Admittedly, Enid was an excellent eavesdropper. She’d always had an ear for gossip, able to pick her way through a room full of conversations until she found the one with the most secretive scandal. It was absolutely not her fault her ears were trained to zone in on even the quietest of voices if there was some drama to pick up. Wednesday knew Enid absorbed a lot of little details about people that nobody else would bother with, which was probably why Wednesday always plugged in earbuds when on a video call with her parents.
And as mentioned before, Wednesday was smart. Wednesday was a brilliant person who knew a lot of things, including calculus, how to play the cello, a plethora of obscure topics in biology, how to properly dispose of a body, seven different languages, the names of almost all known opening strategies in chess, how to cook a killer lasagna, etcetera, etcetera…
Enid would reiterate: Wednesday knew a lot of shit.
One thing, though, that Enid was absolutely, irrevocably, dead sure Wednesday did not know how to do was properly plug earbuds into her laptop.
Wednesday clearly had the knowledge of a 115 year old grandmother when it came to using twenty-first century technology, and likely the same amount of hearing loss if the ear-busting volume her laptop speakers were set to was any indication. Enid had a theory she just didn’t know how to turn the volume down, but she wasn’t about to show her how when it made information about the university’s most mysterious student fall right into her lap (along with gruesome details from her crime podcasts, but Enid could tune that out with her own earbuds on ear-busting volume so it wasn’t a problem). Wednesday clearly thought whatever audio she was hearing from her laptop was playing privately through her earbuds, when in reality all of her conversations with her parents were broadcasting loud enough to be heard from outside the door.
Between track and classes and studying, the hilarious phenomenon in which Wednesday sat oh-so-seriously with her useless earbuds in while her father called her his “little storm cloud” at full speaker volume was Enid’s greatest source of entertainment.
It was through one of these video calls that Enid heard Wednesday’s mother, Morticia (or affectionately called Tish by Wednesday’s father, Gomez), ask what she wanted for her birthday that coming Sunday. Enid had checked her calendar and, sure enough, Wednesday’s birthday fell on the thirteenth of October. She then scrolled back to the year Wednesday was born, just to see and—yeah, Wednesday was born on Friday, October thirteenth. That tracked.
Another thing Wednesday didn’t know was that Enid was accomplished in the art of crocheting. She’d done socks, hats, mittens, scarves, and sweaters, and used a wide variety of bright colors in her handmade clothing. Since she couldn’t picture Wednesday being appreciative over something that took as little effort as a gift card, Enid figured she’d crochet her something.
(The worry was there that Wednesday might actually have a violent visceral reaction to being on the receiving end of a thoughtful gift, but Enid would rather take her chances with that than let Wednesday’s birthday fly under the radar as she undoubtedly had planned)
Wednesday was at the gym early Sunday morning, which was perfect since it gave Enid time to go down to the cafe and pick out the most dark and depressing cupcake she could find—a chocolate one with unfortunately white icing, but the person working at the counter gave her a weird look when she asked if she could have it switched out for black, so it was whatever. She did manage to get a black birthday candle and some black sprinkles at the university gift shop (which apparently had everything because what the fuck were sprinkles and birthday candles doing next to packs of loose leaf ?), so she just smothered the cupcake in sprinkles and stuffed the candle in and waited until Wednesday got back.
Wednesday returned carrying a package from her parents that must’ve gotten delivered that day. It turned out to be a book about obscure murder cases of the early 1900’s, and Enid thought it was sweet that Wednesday’s parents seemed to know her so well.
(Enid’s parents had given her a rugby ball for her birthday once even though they knew her interests lied far from chasing a ball around a field and tackling sweaty people into the dirt. She would’ve actually preferred the murder book.)
Wednesday didn’t hesitate to open the book, not even bothering to sit down before she did so. But before she could get completely absorbed, Enid pulled the cupcake from behind her back. Wednesday’s eyes darted up at the flick of the lighter, then seemed to widen a fraction in either confusion or dread as Enid lit the candle. Her eyes stayed threatening and unblinking the entire six seconds it took Enid to sing a significantly sped up version of the birthday song (since she figured Wednesday wouldn’t tolerate joyful singing for long before she covered her ears or cut out Enid’s tongue or something). Even after Enid was finished, Wednesday stared at the cupcake like she was waiting for it to turn into a knife and stab her.
Enid would have let her take her time, but the candle was dripping wax onto the icing and she would not have her brilliant sprinkle job disrupted just because Wednesday was taking too much time to plot Enid’s grizzly demise.
“Just make a wish and blow it out,” Enid said.
Wednesday’s eyes briefly flicked to Enid’s before falling back to the cupcake. She stayed still and quiet for another moment, then blew out the candle with a soft puff of air. Enid grinned because Wednesday had actually taken the time to make a wish, although she didn’t dare ask what she’d wished for in the fear that her next birthday wish would be to unhear it.
Enid held out the cupcake to Wednesday, who took it with all the careful precision of a doctor performing open heart surgery. “How did you—?”
“Thing told me.” She winked at the Tarantula, who seemed to be watching them with great interest from the corner of his enclosure.
Wednesday looked particularly unamused at this. “Fine, don’t tell me.”
“I won’t.”
“Why did you do this?”
Enid shrugged. “I believe everyone deserves to be celebrated on their birthday.”
Wednesday’s eyebrows pinched in just the slightest amount. “I didn’t ask to be celebrated,” she said coldly. “You should have done nothing.”
Thing seemed to be actively attempting to sink into whatever crumbly material his bedding was made out of.
Enid took a breath in. Patience.
Yes, she’d just put a fuck ton of effort into celebrating a girl’s birthday who would literally drink a glass of water in front of her while she was burning to death—and yes, Wednesday being unappreciative of Enid’s continued attempts at friendship was 100% the most expected outcome. She shouldn’t have been upset.
But she was. She was kinda sorta pretty fucking pissed, actually. She knew Wednesday was Wednesday and she’d probably wither up and die if she displayed even, like, a quarter of a normal human emotion (seriously, it didn’t even have to be happy, any emotion would do), but holy shit Enid had tried with this girl. For more than a month she’d invited her to activities, ignored countless snide remarks and glaring for the sake of keeping the peace, showed an interest in her life and tried to relate with her, let her go on with her murder boards and creepy comments and psychotic habits and never called the police even once, and she’d bought her a fucking birthday cupcake!
And she wasn’t asking for Wednesday to do these things for her. She wasn’t asking for payment. She wasn’t asking for a Facebook post or acknowledgement or—god forbid—friendship, and she wasn’t even asking for gratitude. All she wanted was for Wednesday to treat her like she was anything except an insignificant speck of dust the world would forget.
Because she’d had enough of that in her life already.
“You didn’t have to ask, Wednesday, it’s just what people do,” Enid snapped, stepping right over that line of tape separating their halves of the room until her world became a kaleidoscope of dim black and gray. “I’ve tried to be friendly and welcoming so you didn’t feel like you were alone here, and I defend you when other people talk about how weird as shit you are because I’m a little weird as shit too, but at least I don’t use it as an excuse to treat people like garbage!”
Wednesday’s emotionless eyes never left Enid’s, even as she prowled closer, but she could’ve swore her throat bobbed with a swallow.
“Listen, I know emotion might be a difficult concept for you, but typically when someone gets you something, the least you can do is act like you give a shit.”
Enid stopped just a foot away from Wednesday and looked down at her. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but a pinch of disappointment stung her chest anyway when Wednesday continued to unblinkingly stare back. The silence between them was thick and icy, and for once Enid didn’t care to break it.
So she just turned around, dug Wednesday’s wrapped gift out from under her bed and tossed it to the other half of the room before grabbing her gym bag and heading out the door.
Sundays were usually Enid’s rest days, with the exception of a bit of yoga in the early afternoon. Today though, Enid was fueled by a rare rage, and she couldn’t decide if it was directed at Wednesday or the knowledge that her mother would be proud that she “showed some teeth”. Either way, Enid hit enough weights, cardio, and stretches to keep her sore for the next few days.
By the time she wobbled back to the room, both her body and her mind were too tired to keep fighting. She could still feel a spark of irritation if she really thought about it, but she now didn’t have the energy to turn it into a flame. She figured it was easier to just let it die and believed Wednesday would agree given her morbid fascination with all things dead.
She got back in the late afternoon half expecting Wednesday to round on her as soon as she opened the door, or, at the very least, be hiding behind it with a knife or a rope or any other weapon that could keep her imminent death the most quiet. But Wednesday was just sitting at her desk, stone still, staring at the cupcake Enid had given her.
Enid closed the door softly behind her. Wednesday didn’t move.
“It’s not poisoned,” Enid said flatly.
“What is this?” Wednesday asked, and Enid realized she was holding her crocheted gift in her lap.
“A snood.”
Wednesday definitely didn’t know what a snood was, but she didn’t ask. She just dropped her head a little and rubbed the soft yarn between her fingers. “I regret not showing my appreciation for your gifts more adequately,” she said… softly?
Enid blinked.
“It will not happen again.”
Then she stood from her chair, and Enid watched, frozen with shock, as she went to her nightstand, opened the top drawer…
And produced a large knife.
Even though Enid definitely should’ve been running or scrounging up her own weapon to fight for her life, all she could think as Wednesday moved closer with the knife was a satisfying called it. After all, this whole exchange made a lot more sense now that she knew Wednesday’s plan to prevent hurting Enid’s feelings again was not to start being kind to Enid, but instead to murder her with a knife. Classic Wednesday.
But she didn’t rush Enid, or hold up that knife to stab her, or do any of the things Enid thought any seasoned serial killer that had the athleticism and skill that this specific serial killer possessed would do. In fact, Wednesday didn’t even go near Enid (and Enid thought not being in the proximity of your victim was a bit of an inefficient way to kill them, but who was she to question Wednesday when it came to the art of murder).
Instead, she approached Enid’s cupcake, and for a moment Enid honestly thought Wednesday was going to make her watch as she demolished it just to have her suffer that extra bit before she died. But Wednesday just carefully cut the cupcake in half. Then she put down the knife, took a half in each hand, walked up the very edge of the black tape in the middle of their room, and reached across, offering one of the halves to Enid.
“I’d like to extend an olive branch. If you’d accept it, that is.”
And Enid promptly realized that scaring the shit out of her with the implication of murder then offering her half of a cupcake Enid had purchased herself was Wednesday’s version of an apology.
Wednesday waited patiently, eyes locked on Enid’s as Enid’s eyes darted back and forth between her unmoving gaze and the offered “olive branch”.
Silently, Enid took her half. Wednesday’s shoulders seemed to relax a fraction.
Enid’s lips tugged up at the corner as she said, “How can I be sure you’re not just waiting for me to take the first bite to make sure I didn’t poison it?”
“I wouldn’t need to do that. I built up my immunity to most of the common poisons when I was a child.”
Enid hadn’t been aware that was something a person could do, but she just smiled tightly in acceptance anyway. There seemed to be another moment where Wednesday hesitated, almost apprehensively, as if she was waiting for Enid to tell her that accepting her apology had just been some cruel prank and she could go shove her olive branch up her ass. Of course, Enid didn’t do that—number one because she knew how hard it must’ve been for Wednesday to swallow her pride and actually take accountability, and number two because Enid really liked chocolate cupcakes and she’d been secretly hoping Wednesday would share.
So Enid said with a level of serious formality that she’d never used in her life, “I accept and appreciate your olive branch.”
“Thank you,” Wednesday nodded with all the grimness of a soldier about to sprint into heavy gunfire. “I appreciate the… snood you made me. It is skillfully crafted.”
And that was the end of Wednesday’s apology. She went back to her desk, pulled out some homework, and snacked on her cupcake as she did it. And Enid thought Wednesday might just tolerate her.
Wednesday started acting differently after that. Not kind, per say, but definitely… less cold. But also not warm. But definitely not… frigid. Like the coolness of a glass surface in an otherwise warm room.
(And yes, Enid was describing Wednesday’s temperament in terms of temperature , but describing anything about Wednesday in terms of actual emotion proved difficult, so it was the best she could do with the resources she had.)
Wednesday still wouldn’t accept Enid’s invitations to go to the dining hall, but she did often invite her to eat with her instead. And thus, Enid finally found out that Wednesday Addams’ diet mostly consisted, not of the blood of her enemies, but of instant fucking ramen.
“Is something funny, Enid?” Wednesday asked the first time Enid had witnessed her pulling two packages of instant noodles from the top drawer of her nightstand and cackled.
“Is that all you keep in there?” Her voice was breathless and still threaded with giggles from the sight of big bad Wednesday Addams reaching into her drawer with all the steady seriousness of someone disarming a bomb, only to retrieve ramen. “A billion packs of Mr. Noodles and a huge knife?”
Wednesday looked confused. “The essentials, yes.”
Enid laughed so hard Wednesday left the room to make their ramen without her.
Wednesday also made them actual supper sometimes, with fresh groceries she seemed to procure through secret solo ventures Enid never knew she had time to take. The grocery store wasn’t that far away from campus, but she was never gone long enough to warrant the time it would take her to walk there and back. Maybe she jogged or something. Whatever, Enid wasn’t about to ask questions or complain when Wednesday had made them the best paella Enid had ever tasted one night in the student kitchen with a cooking dish she’d told Enid her mother insisted she bring from home for that exact purpose.
Wednesday also started doing things with Enid. Like, activities. It was never anything huge—a trip to the on-campus convenience store late in the night here, and a morning commute to the gym there—but it was enough to make Enid appreciate that the enjoyability of hanging out with someone didn’t always hinge on flowing conversation. Of course, Wednesday would talk to her, and Enid liked that too, but she started to enjoy their little quiet journeys simply because silence was comfortable with Wednesday in a way it had never been for Enid with anyone else.
Yet another discovery about Wednesday was that she was talking to a boy. His name was Tyler and he worked at the coffee shop on campus that Enid frequented to get her daily frozen hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and sprinkles.
(“It can’t be a frozen hot chocolate. It’s illogical,” Wednesday had said the day Enid convinced her to come to the coffee place with her, to which Enid‘s reply was an immature “you’re illogical” before forcing Wednesday to take a sip and watching as her eyebrows lifted just a millimeter in surprise. Then, after a lengthy pause, Wednesday finally said, “I’m extremely logical,” and went to the counter to order her own.)
Enid saw them sitting together at one of the booths during their first week, and while it didn’t exactly look like a romantic interaction, it didn’t not look like a romantic interaction considering he was one of only a few people Enid had witnessed successfully hold a conversation with Wednesday. While he’d looked semi-terrified, Tyler had smiled a few times and Wednesday hadn’t retreated at the sight of human emotion. Enid figured it had to be love.
Then came the night of the Rave’N party—a halloween mixer that almost all of the freshmen attended. Enid had pestered Wednesday about it the whole week leading up to the event, and Wednesday’s answer was always a flat ‘no’. Again and again Enid asked, and again and again Wednesday shot her down without so much as sparing a second to consider it. Wednesday made it clear to Enid, multiple times, with increasing degrees of annoyance, that she was absolutely not going to that party…
Until, suddenly, she was.
Until Enid saw her walk through the doors in a black gown that would look odd and eccentric on anyone else but on Wednesday looked so perfect Enid thought she might’ve actually gotten it custom designed by some mind-reading seamstress. Around the room, heads turned in her direction and stayed on that pale girl that was elegant macabre and midnight stars. Wednesday looked beautiful that evening in a way only Wednesday could. And, shit, she could.
Less noteworthy was Tyler walking beside her, his suit white but not shining nearly bright enough to contend with the woman beside him. He looked like an accidental fingerprint on an otherwise pristine work of art.
The rest of the night was uneventful, save for Wednesday having a cool dance moment to some random grunge song Enid wasn’t familiar with. And Wednesday knowing how to dance might’ve been discovery number eight if not for the fact that it was the most Wednesday dance to ever exist and Enid couldn’t even find it in herself to be shocked. Also, Enid talked a little bit to a cute boy named Ajax.
Enid found Wednesday at the end of the night saying goodbye to Tyler. After he left, she caught up to her and waggled her eyebrows, which Wednesday must’ve interpreted as an insult to her entire self and extended family if her warning glare was any indication (really, it was just one of her regular calculating stares, but the slightest pressing together of her lips made it not regular at all).
“So…” Enid hedged as they began walking together. “Tyler seems to like you.”
Wednesday hummed in grim agreement. “How unfortunate.”
“For you or him?”
“Both.”
“Do you like him?”
“I tolerate him.”
“Well, for you that’s the same thing. But anyway, onto other matters…”
Wednesday’s eyes shifted to Enid, and although it was the most muted expression of curiosity ever displayed by a human being (or whatever creature Wednesday was), Enid could somehow translate it for what it was.
Tell me.
Enid said, “I have a date.”
Wednesday made another one of those noncommittal hums as she shifted her gaze forward again. “When?”
“Sunday! Isn’t it so exciting?”
“I can hardly contain myself.” Enid grinned, bumping their shoulders and Wednesday gave no reaction as she went on with her questioning. “Who?”
“His name is Ajax. You know the guy I was talking to that was wearing the white beanie?”
A nod. “Location?”
“Well, we haven’t exactly ironed out all the details yet. What’s with all the questions?”
“I’d like to account for possible witnesses in the event he hurts you.”
At first Enid didn’t understand. Did Wednesday want people to see Ajax hurting her feelings? Was this some sort of plan to publicly humiliate her? She didn’t get to voice these concerns however, because Wednesday shrugged and added,
“It’s not a problem. It would be best to take him to a more isolated location anyway.”
And Enid made an underlined mental and verbal note to not tell Wednesday where they were going. Wednesday didn’t care. She said she’d easily be able to track them down anyway, and Enid tried not to think about a deathly calm Wednesday showing up to the diner they’d decided on with whatever weapon of choice she’d undoubtedly brought from home, all because Ajax forgot to open a door for her or something.
The night of the date came, and Enid got back from track practice, had a shower, and did her makeup and hair. On her way out she told Wednesday to wish her luck, and Wednesday, who was in the midst of her writing time, did not stop her typing even for a moment to tell Enid ‘if he breaks your heart I’ll nail-gun his’. And Enid’s heart had never fluttered over the threat of gruesome murder, but it did then and Enid chose not to think about what that meant. Thing “waved” to her as she left and she winked back at him before clicking the door shut.
Ajax ended up doing much worse than forgetting to hold open a door.
He forgot to come.
Enid waited on the bench they’d agreed to meet at for 45 minutes. It had been dusk when she arrived, and the moon was out in its full glory by the time she made her glum walk back to her room. And if she walked past Ajax’s dorm house on the way back and trailed a sharpie along one entire side of the pale brick building, that was nobody’s business but her own.
She told herself she wasn’t sad about it. She barely knew the guy after all, had only talked to him for a couple days. Yet, she came from a family full of stars and never felt like anyone had even the slightest bit of faith she could measure up, so… it had been nice for someone to show some interest in her for once. And she figured the tears in her eyes were probably more because of that being taken away than the boy.
She knew Wednesday would be finished with her writing time by the time she got back to the dorm so there was no hope of her entering unnoticed, and the idea of a girl who didn’t even know the word ‘weak’ seeing her with mascara lines running down her cheeks because of a boy she barely knew made her insides twist into a nauseating pile of absolutely not. But while she didn’t want Wednesday to see her cry, she didn’t particularly care much about the passerby in the hallways glancing at her with questioning eyes that skirted away every time she looked back.
The thin wood of their dorm room door appeared quicker than expected, then she didn’t have anywhere else to go and didn’t fancy taking a long relaxing walk around campus in four inch heels and a skirt in the dark. Yet, she couldn’t convince herself to go inside either.
Luckily, the decision was made for her when Wednesday opened the door from the inside.
It was a swift, creaking motion that made Enid jump. Then she was looking at Wednesday, and that bottomless, dark gaze looked back at her—from her eyes, to the tear tracks on her cheeks, down to the sharpie stain on the sleeve of her sweater and right back up.
“Where is he.” It wasn’t a question.
Enid sighed. “Wednesday—“
“Where.”
“It’s fine.”
“Yes, clearly. Tell me where he is.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do. Enid, I will keep asking until you tell me what hole that fish-eyed imbecile crawled into and I will—“
“I don’t know, Wednesday, he never came!”
Silence washed over them both. Enid’s eyes began to fill with tears again with the admission, and Wednesday blinked.
A male voice from somewhere down the hall called “that’s what she said”, which was followed by a few snickers. Wednesday’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, her mouth opened, and what followed was something the best prophets in the universe would have been unable to foretell.
“Your father should have never come.”
Enid’s jaw dropped.
A chorus of ooooh ’s and raucous laughter rang through the hallway, followed by jeering likely directed at whichever poor guy had just gotten demolished by Wednesday’s retort. Enid couldn’t help the bark of surprised, watery laughter that fell from her mouth too, and even when it was followed by a pathetic sniffle, Wednesday didn’t look at her like she despised the fact that she was able to break. If anything, Wednesday seemed like she despised what had broken her.
But when Wednesday grabbed her arm and tugged her into the room, Enid thought that maybe Wednesday didn’t see her as broken at all.
Wednesday shut the door and turned to face Enid again. “I’m aware that you have a preference for… peace in this situation,” she said, and the way peace came out was significantly tight and significantly not her usual flat-as-the-equator tone. It was like it took her an enormous amount of effort to fathom such an idea, let alone say it.
Enid sucked up an extremely attractive and wet sniffle. “Yeah.”
There was a brief pause. “I disagree.”
“I know.”
“I would like to take action.”
“C’mon, think about it. How embarrassing would it be if I had to send my roommate to talk to him?”
“Who said anything about talking?”
A huffed laugh, then, almost on instinct, Enid’s hand reached out. She didn’t exactly know what she was reaching for, but her fingers found more fingers and wrapped securely around them, not even hesitating at the shifting of Wednesday’s eyes down to their joined hands. And Wednesday’s skin was cool and soft.
Enid’s lips tugged up gently at the corner, like a tiny little shrug of a smile. “It won’t make it better, Wednesday.”
A muscle flickered in Wednesday's jaw as she stared at their hands. The silence between them was full and endless—a graveyard and a blue summer sky.
Finally, eyes unmoving, Wednesday asked, “What will make it better?”
Enid sighed dramatically and let go of Wednesday’s hand with a gentle parting squeeze, and Wednesday’s eyes only lifted when their fingers lost contact. “Not much, honestly. I’ll be over it in a couple days. Although, I would kill for a 7-Eleven slurpee. I used to swear those could fix everything.”
“Let’s get you one.”
“Ugh, I wish.” Enid sniffled and wiped under her eyes for the last time. Talking about slurpees was not a time for crying. “I don’t feel like walking that far tonight, and figuring out the bus routes would be—“
“I have a car.”
Enid’s completely logical excuse froze in her throat, then, after her initial shock, twisted and transformed until what came out was an insultingly disbelieving, “Really?”
“Yes.”
“And… you know how to drive it?”
One of Wednesday’s eyebrows raised an unimpressed millimeter. “We can waste time debating my driving credentials or we can leave. Your choice.”
So… discovery number nine: Wednesday had a car.
Enid asked a lot of questions as they made their way to Wednesday’s car, both bundled up in their snoods (because it’s chilly out, Wednesday had said defensively as she wrapped it around her head and Enid didn’t even try to tamp down her giddy grin as she grabbed her own so they could match). Questions like, do you seriously have a car, or are you just fucking with me? (I’m always serious), why do you have a car? (to get groceries for myself and supplies for Thing), where do you park it? (my parents bought a parking permit for the store across the street), and have you used it since we’ve been here? (yes, at least once a week).
“But, you couldn’t have driven yourself here. That tall butler dude brought your stuff up to the room. How’d he get back?” Enid asked. She was following Wednesday’s breakneck pace up the sidewalk, which was less likely due to any sort of rush and more likely due to Wednesday attempting to put physical distance between herself and Enid’s endless verbal assault.
“Lurch isn’t a butler. He’s a family friend,” Wednesday replied, and Enid almost smacked into her back when she stopped abruptly at a crosswalk to wait for the walk signal. “I would’ve taken my belongings myself, except he had some.. business to attend to in Vermont anyway, so we drove separate vehicles. His had more space so he took my things.”
Both of them seemed to have an unspoken agreement that whatever business Lurch had to attend to was better left a mystery.
Wednesday’s car turned out to be sitting in a dark corner of the store parking lot—the very type of spot a woman who frequently walked to and from her car alone in the dark would not want her car to be. Enid knew, though, that Wednesday had thought out that decision like she thought out every other minute detail of her life, and somehow came to the conclusion that dim-graffitied-corner-with-a-flickering-streetlight was the safest parking spot for her vehicle.
And Wednesday’s car was surprisingly… normal. This whole time Enid was convinced they’d get to the parking lot only to find an elegant black hearse honking to life when Wednesday clicked the unlock button on her keys, but Wednesday’s car was apparently just a regular black sedan with tinted windows and dark interior.
“It’s a hybrid,” Wednesday explained in response to Enid’s bewildered expression at the quiet hum produced when she pressed a button to turn it on.
“Oh, fancy.”
“Yes, well the planet is dying.”
“Right, yeah. Shit.”
Enid google mapped the nearest 7-Eleven while Wednesday pulled out of the parking space. And watching Wednesday drive was… an odd experience for Enid.
It’s not like she didn’t expect Wednesday to be a good driver—Wednesday was, to Enid’s knowledge, excellent at almost everything except for being emotionally all there, so the fact that she was a safe and confident driver wasn’t surprising in the least. But this was a girl who Enid witnessed clacking away at her centuries-old typewriter for a specific hour of the day every day. This was a girl who made murder boards and had in-depth conversations with her pet tarantula named Thing who may or may not display some level of conscious understanding and human-like responses. This was a girl whose wardrobe was completely devoid of color and she engaged in a niche sport like fencing for a pastime.
Simply put, the sight of Wednesday behind the wheel of a car was unnervingly… normal.
It made Enid antsy.
Then again, Enid wasn’t sure how else she expected Wednesday to drive if not for, you know, the normal way with her hands and stuff. Maybe by muttering unsettling threats to the car until it drove itself.
They made it to 7-Eleven with minimal mishaps, save for Wednesday having to take a couple detours due to Enid getting lost in whatever topic of conversation she was rambling on about and forgetting to tell her when to turn. It wasn’t Enid’s fault that she was so talkative—she was a talkative person anyway, but pair that with the fact that Wednesday didn’t listen to music while driving and Enid just could not shut the fuck up. She simply couldn’t be riding in the passenger seat of someone’s car without some other form of stimulation to keep her from dying of boredom. Without the option of singing along to some tunes, Wednesday had left her no choice but to talk both their ears off.
To Wednesday’s credit, she didn’t complain once. In fact, sometimes, between long spurts of talking when Enid was pausing to take a much needed breath, she would even respond. And it was probably because Enid was pathetic enough to accomplish the impossible task of squeezing an ounce of pity from Wednesday Addams, but if she didn’t know better… it kind of seemed like Wednesday was enjoying their outing.
But probably not.
All in all, the trip to the store that should have taken seven minutes ended up taking twenty-five, and when they finally stood in front of the slurpee machines, Wednesday spent at least another two minutes staring at the swirling colors in contemplation.
Eventually, after they’d stood there for a socially unacceptable period of time in silence and the furrowing of Wednesday’s eyebrows was becoming dangerously close to looking like an actual emotion, Enid leaned over and said, “If you can’t decide on one, you can mix them up.”
“Mix them up,” Wednesday repeated.
“Yeah.”
A long pause.
“No.”
Enid just shrugged and grabbed a plastic cup, filling it up with a little bit of each vibrant color available. By the time she put on a cover and stuck a straw in, Wednesday was still glaring at machines like they’d personally shot her tarantula.
Enid poked her arm with an empty cup. “You need to pick.”
“Half of these aren’t even real flavors,” Wednesday said, absentmindedly taking the offered cup as she went on. “For example, ‘Frog Water’ is abstract and tells me nothing about the actual composition of—“
“It’s watermelon lime.”
“And ‘Blue Shock’—“
“Basically just Mountain Dew but blue instead of green.”
“Well, they should label them appropriately if they want—“
Enid plucked the cup from Wednesday’s hand and left her mildly affronted roommate behind as she unceremoniously filled it to the brim with the blue slurpee flavor. She then got a cover and a straw, and made her way to the counter with both their slurpees.
She was digging in her pocket for the cash she’d brought when Wednesday appeared next to her and flashed a debit card. There was a beep, the printing of a receipt which Wednesday made very clear she wanted to keep for some reason, then they were heading back outside into the chilly autumn night. Wednesday wordlessly followed as Enid led them to a park across the street she’d noticed when they pulled in and they found seats on a squeaky swing set.
They sat in silence for a long time, the scraping of straws in plastic cups the only sounds to break the dull rush traffic in the distance. The only sources of light in the park were the warm glow of a few street lights dotted around. One of them must’ve been broken because Enid watched the shadows on Wednesday’s face change with every flicker.
Wednesday’s voice came after a while. Its suddenness should have startled Enid, but there was something about Wednesday’s voice being right at home in the cool dimness under the stars. It was a sound twisted in with the night air and rustling leaves that just belonged, and Enid couldn’t possibly be surprised at that tone of soft indifference finding its way effortlessly through the dark.
“Enid, may I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you change rooms?”
“What?”
Wednesday was staring into her slurpee that she’d finished two minutes ago, and Enid noticed when she opened her mouth to speak that her tongue was stained blue. “There’s a form you can fill out to request a room change. It’s on the website. I gave you every reason to request a room change and you didn’t.” She tapped her index finger against the rim of her cup. “Why?”
Enid thought about it. Wednesday had been kind of an ass to her those first few weeks. Her laptop on full volume and clacking typewriter alone could have been valid grounds for a noise complaint, and just the mere mention of her tarantula to the right person might’ve even gotten Wednesday kicked out of the dorms permanently. Wednesday was right—Enid did have every right and opportunity to get a room to herself.
“Because… we work,” Enid decided. Wednesday’s eyes darted up to meet her’s, the flickering streetlight reflecting in their darkness like a strike of lightning in a cloudy night sky. “We shouldn’t but we do. It’s like some sort of weird, friendship anomaly.”
Wednesday seemed to think about this for a moment. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
Even though it wasn’t the sweetest response, it was a Wednesday response, and Enid couldn’t help but smile anyway. Playground pebbles scattered and crunched as she used the toes of her sneakers to twist her swing around, winding up the chains, and when she looked at Wednesday again Wednesday was looking up at the sky. Enid’s eyes stuck to her—her steady gaze, the way her snood had fallen down from her head to reveal the curve of her jaw—but only for a few seconds before she looked up too. She found she couldn't care less about the view, and immediately deemed the stars dotting the sky a pale sight in comparison to the one before.
“You ever make a wish on a star?” Enid asked. Her voice was a whisper, like she was afraid to disturb the new peace they’d found.
“No, because I’m not a Disney Princess,” Wednesday said flatly. “Or five years old.”
Enid scoffed. “Oh, well excuse me, Miss ‘I’m dark and mysterious and drive a fucking hybrid, I’m too cool to make wishes’.”
She couldn’t help but look at Wednesday then, and with the warm flicker of the street light scattering across her cheeks, there was no denying the tug at the corner of her lips as her eyes shifted to the ground. “Wishes are a foolish concept created by people who believe that you can reach your goals simply by wanting to.”
“You made a wish, though.” Enid couldn’t stop grinning as she twisted to face the stoic girl beside her, tilting her head so it leaned against the chain of the swing. “On your birthday.”
Wednesday made a hum that she somehow managed to make sound regretful. “I did.”
Enid let out a smug hmph and lifted her feet off the ground, setting the swing in a slow spin back to its original position. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I suppose that would be fair.”
“Why did you apologize that day?”
Even though Wednesday hadn’t actually said the words, I’m sorry, she didn’t point out this technicality and Enid was forever grateful. She also didn’t flatly spew the textbook reason she’d apologized—because she’d hurt Enid’s feelings—because she must’ve known that wasn’t the answer Enid wanted.
Wednesday thought in silence for a few long moments, but despite her hesitancy, her voice was steady and certain when she finally spoke.
“I like to be alone. I always have.”
Shocker, Enid thought.
“I tried to make that known during the first month, however I quickly came to realize that you have an equally demanding preference to be around people. There wasn’t a way I could continue to stay in our room and get the privacy I wanted, but I didn’t have grounds to lodge a complaint against you, so I was hoping you would eventually lodge a complaint against me. You would either change rooms as a result or I would get expelled from residence, both of which would have been suitable.”
“You would rather be homeless than room with me?”
“No, I would’ve rather been homeless than room with you. My sentiment has changed.”
Right, so now Enid could rest easy with the confirmation that Wednesday’s attitude toward her had shifted from burning hatred to some halfway point between disgust and resignation. Incredible. Roomie goals achieved.
“Wow,” she muttered flatly. “I’m touched.”
Wednesday used the hand that wasn’t holding her empty cup to flap dismissively. “Anyway, when I didn’t react appropriately the day you gave me the cupcake and you left, I was alone for longer than I’d been since I arrived.”
Enid often wondered what Wednesday had done with all those hours alone. Maybe she’d worked on a few of her murder boards and gazed at them for indeterminate amounts of time before hiding them wherever she deemed suitable to keep them safe. Maybe she’d tried on a few pieces of monochromatic clothing to prepare a line of outfits for the coming week (because Wednesday was actually pretty fucking fashionable for a person who would derive great pleasure from setting fire to the entire color wheel, and Enid had to believe that it took some absurd level of planning to put together those outfits). Or maybe she’d simply used the extra time to continue writing her novel or playing her cello.
There was also the possibility that Wednesday had just sat at her desk and stared at the cupcake that whole time, but the self control she would have to possess to refrain from eating a cupcake that was sitting right in front of her for hours would just be proof that Wednesday was indeed a terrifyingly human-like robot, and that was simply not a realization Enid was prepared for.
“My parents refuse to accept that I can survive alone. It’s why they insisted I live in residence instead of an apartment off-campus. They wanted me to have the full social experience. To make friends.”
Wednesday’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, an expression Enid has secretly taken to calling ‘Sprinkle of Resentment’ simply because—
“I resented them for it.”
—Wednesday almost always stated that she resented something after making it.
“I was content with the fact that I was destined to be alone,” Wednesday continued. “But when you left that day and didn’t come back within a couple hours, I began to think the next time I saw you may be when you returned to pack your things and move out. And for once…”
Wednesday trailed off as her eyes shifted—from her cup, up to the night sky, then straight ahead in a blank type of way that made it clear she wasn’t looking at anything in particular. Enid let her take her time, didn’t say anything when she took a breath in and let it out in a sigh, soft like a midnight breeze. For a long moment Wednesday looked through the darkness like the end of her sentence might be written in the moonlight.
Then, finally, she looked at Enid.
“For once, being alone didn’t feel good.”
Enid stopped counting discoveries about Wednesday after that, not because she stopped making them, but because none of them seemed to matter as much as the one she’d made that night.
Wednesday Addams definitely didn’t hate Enid.
Wednesday might’ve actually considered her a friend.