Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams was intimately familiar with the manifestations of psychopathy.
Reading about psychopaths put the fun in fundamental when it came to literacy skills.
Poe, Machen, Maupassant, Lovecraft, Blackwood, Shakespeare, Bronte, and Bloch had rendered her a keen student of aberrant and morbid psychologies of all sorts.
That said, her upbringing did leave her somewhat bereft of (meaningless) social graces and any insight into so-called “normal” people her age.
From what she could glean, they were obsessed with sports (Enid loved something called the San Jose Sharks, which was tolerable because sharks were soulless killing machines, the pinnacle of predatory design for millions of years), insipid videos that mostly revolved around revolting kittens doing equally revolting things like batting at feathers rather than slaughtering small vermin (Enid preferred puppies, especially golden retrievers), and hormonal nonsense that deprived them of what few wits they possessed (Enid had dated Ajax, bringing her IQ down to his level as they engaged in their repugnant physical dalliances).
They were still something of a mystery, but Wednesday was adept at identifying patterns, tracing them down to their source and noting variations even when it came to the comportment of people.
Which was how she knew:
Enid was hiding something.
That much was obvious.
After her initial transformation, the werewolf had almost become touch-starved, always pawing away at people. Casual touches abounded. Hugs were disseminated with alarming frequency and regularity, setting Wednesday's teeth on edge when Enid would veritably hurl herself at other girls in their dorm for a quick cuddle like some kind of ... promiscuous puppy always looking for head-pats no matter their source.
Dogs' loyalty had been exaggerated, obviously.
A shoulder bump with Yoko. Just a little harder and she'd take a tumble down a flight of stairs.
The squeeze of Bianca's bicep as the other girl preened like a peacock, needing to be plucked and stuffed, at fencing practice.
Fingers brushing a lock of hair behind Divina's ear while Enid shot Yoko an eyebrow wiggle and a line about “her little sea urchin,” which made for delightful dishes when you cut them open and scooped out the insides.
Disgusting. All of it.
Enid's head, so close that it could be felt, resting against the leg of Wednesday's chair at her writing table, the girl just wanting to be close to her, sitting there on the floor like a good dog. So close that, over the clack of typewriter keys, Wednesday could hear her breathing and humming as she swiped and tapped at her cell phone screen. The warmth of her body soaking into the small of Wednesday's back.
A flutter of clothing, caress feather light, as she eased passed a deskmate like Wednesday in one of their classes, pressed tight for so long that Wednesday reeked of floral perfume after class. The price to pay to make certain that Xavier wouldn't try to sit next to her again.
So much touching!
Wednesday should have known that the ... odious – yes, odious allowance of a hug was just the beginning. It had been so repulsive, turning Wednesday's stomach like it was being infested with crawling, skittering vermin as Enid wept and clung to her, heavy with the intoxicating scent of blood on her radiant, relieved face and gore-endowed claws. Caked into Enid's skin. A dribble of crystalline tears streaking her cheeks...
Yes. It was terrible.
The hug was terrible.
No doubt.
But if the hug was the beginning, she asked herself as she brooded and sulked and plotted out the best way to murder Yoko (just in case), who was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Enid at their lunch table this very moment, what, exactly, was the ending?
Because Enid was no longer touching her.
At all.
Or so it seemed.
This situation merited more thorough investigation.
As part of the experiment, Wednesday deigned to join her compatriots for lunch, removing an apple from her pocket and shining it on her shirt as she walked over. Rumour had it that apples were supposed to keep doctors away, which sounded as if it would increase the number of deaths that occurred in Wednesday's proximity. The table was cramped and bustling, surrounded by Enid, Yoko, and a collection of other pupils unworthy of being mentioned.
The student not actually touching Enid had been seated to her left. Without saying a word (though she did scream slightly), she'd departed when Wednesday brandished her carving knife – just for the apple, since the faceless girl was wise enough to take the hint.
A proliferation of details stabbed into Wednesday's eyes, raked over her brain as the dark cloud about her intensified when she slipped in next to her roommate.
The shift of a rear, legs folding awkwardly and posture tucking inwards in a flagrant display of guilt or shame or consternation that usually gave away an anxious suspect in a mystery novel. Unhealthily flushed cheeks, as if she was catching ill. A slight lean and resettling of weight onto the opposite elbow, chin-in-palm and revolting rainbow fingernails drumming nervously against a cheek, when Wednesday settled at the table.
More than suspicious.
Confirmation.
Enid had shifted over to avoid touching her.
Intentional refusal to do so, dopey grin on her face as she laughed uproariously at something Yoko had said while the vampire gave her an incredulous and longsuffering look, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.
Not even a touch of her hip, rump to rump, could be permitted.
This, of course, was a good thing.
“How do you do, fellow young person?” Yoko called out, sagging against Enid's shoulder as if in an attempt to press her back into Wednesday's space. Enid did not appear amused, if the rumbling, savage growl that bubbled up in her chest was anything to go by.
It sounded like the seductive, whispered promise of impending death.
Lovely.
Her fangs as well. Enid had lovely fangs, pearly white daggers accented by the pinkish scar tissue along her cheek, obvious when her lips peeled back in a snarl.
Yoko, who was apparently in her 'I'm actually a hundred years old and have been repeating grades at Nevermore for a century' phase again, gave Enid a suspicious nudge in the ribs, ignoring the feral grumbling.
“Don't talk back to your elders,” she chastised, flicking Enid's nose.
Wednesday would like to cut off that finger.
She didn't have a vampire index floating in formaldehyde as part of her collection. That was all.
“Greetings.” Wednesday examined her carving knife before dissecting her apple, contemplating the cuts necessary to sever Yoko's digit at the knuckle and observing the werewolf carefully. “Enid.”
It merited direct statement that the only person she was actually eating lunch with was Enid. The others were merely sadly-warm bodies in her general proximity.
“Hey, Wednesday!” the wolf barked so loudly, the greeting drawn out and rising upwards into a near high-pitched howl, that it drew stares from a few of the other lupines around the courtyard. They appeared to be feeling the urge to join in and bay at the midday sun. Shoving Yoko away, Enid threw an awkward and somehow preppy wiggling wave with her fingers.
Then she winced and broke eye-contact, squirming.
“Was just going to go try to track down Mr. – uh – Mr. Pickman to discuss his figure drawing class next term, so, uh, gotta-”
“Professor Pickman's visiting his in-laws this week,” Divina noted while rearranging her cutlery. “Ms. Karabekian is handling his classes.”
“Oh, right, then-” clawing at the back of her neck and leaning into Yoko's space, so much so that it almost appeared that the wolf thought that she was a puppy and wanted up on mistress' lap, Enid averted her lustrous blue eyes. “I should probably go finish that makeup tutorial about that rainbow smoky eye technique I was telling you guys about! Can't let my subscribers down!”
The assembled collection of girls looked upon her as if she was insane.
But it made perfect sense to Wednesday.
Caustic multi-hued colours, slathered all around your eyes.
If Enid hadn't just unveiled her intentions, Wednesday might have thought that the other girl's strange behaviour was due to her hiding her effort to perfect the technique in anticipation of Wednesday's next birthday. What a malicious and cruel way of blinding her, melting out her eyes with a few firm strokes of a makeup brush.
Wednesday would have been touched at the thoughtfulness and personal touch.
That wouldn't account for Enid's current unwillingness to touch her, though.
... She had just used the word "touch" thrice in two sentences. That did not bode well.
“I don't think so, girl,” Yoko interjected before Enid could rise and, it seemed from the quivering of her legs and jaw, bolt. A firm tug on her arm forced her to remain seated. “You don't have time for that before class, so you just sit down-” The vampire pressed down on Enid's shoulder, keeping her firmly in place- “here next to me and Wednesday and relax.”
Enid smiled.
It was, perhaps, the most fetching smile that Wednesday had ever perceived, as she seemed to be in the midst of shifting into her werewolf form, if the sheer number of fangs displayed was any indication.
“Yeah,” Enid gritted out through her teeth, causing her vampire friend to reciprocate the rather dangerous smile. “No time, and can't be rude and antisocial.”
“So what brings you over to our table?” Divina asked almost conspiratorially, leaning in to share a queer glance with Yoko before, noting the little smear of blood on the side of her cheek, she clucked her tongue and reached out with a napkin to wipe it off her girlfriend's face.
“It is a lunch table.” With a deft twist of her knife, Wednesday speared a hunk of apple and raised it up, showing off the precise cut. “I am eating lunch.” She thought for a minute, and added, “And practicing my dissection skills.”
Speaking of which, she pulled out a paring knife from her pocket, testing the flex of the blade against the table, and began peeling her apple, trying to avoid nicking the flesh.
Like skinning a cat.
“Right.” Yoko pressed her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose, pushing up her black sunglasses to rub at her eyes. “Not much of a lunch.”
“I am not particularly hungry.” As a matter of course, Wednesday enjoyed the perfectly miserable sensation of her body wasting away and consuming itself.
Apparently to her girlfriend's consternation, Yoko chortled, looking out above the top of her sunglasses to glance around the table. “Some girls are thirsty, though.”
What a bizarre assertion considering the circumstances. Wednesday brought the now nude slice of fruit to her mouth and chewed, cheeks pinching at the tartness of the baking apple. For some reason, Enid was squirming more intensely now, apparently staring at Wednesday's grinding teeth.
Wednesday swallowed and patted her lips with a monogrammed handkerchief, a gift from her father, withdrawn from her pocket. “If you've consumed an insufficient amount of blood, I can offer you some of mine. Anemia is a heady experience.”
A grinding, prolonged rasp rose up from the table, rough and gritty, like the sweet symphony of nails on a chalkboard. When Wednesday glanced downward, she found that a series of deep claw-marks had been gouged into the tabletop next to Enid's empty tray, peppered with the remnants of what appeared to be a bloody blue-rare hamburger.
Lips pursed and spine rigid, the wolf was raising up her popped claws to pick out wood shavings.
“Yeah, no. I... don't think that your blood would sit well with me” Yoko slapped her friend on the shoulder once, twice, and was going back in for a third strike when Wednesday glowered at her. The vampire's hand froze in the air mid-clap, and then drooped to her side. She sighed, setting her chin in her palm. “And I'm really not the one who's thirsty here.”
Whatever that meant. Everyone in this school spoke in such strangely mysterious fashions.
Enid was now scratching away at the ruination that was all that remained of her multi-coloured nail-polish, eyes fixed on her clawed fingers and face red.
Really, though, there was nothing to be embarrassed about when you had claws like that. After all, they looked quite fetching when they'd been torn up. Messy. Like she'd just rent through human bone.
Sadly, that was the high-point of the lunch period. While it did seem to improve Enid's mood, her voice regaining that sickeningly sweet bubbly tone as opposed to phlegmy growls, an ensuing flighty conversation about something called k-pop bands was of no help in Wednesday's quest to ascertain that which had, now, been confirmed unequivocally.
Enid was acting strangely.
The lack of touching was just the tip of the iceberg into which the Titanic of their friendship was apparently destined to crash, metal hull shearing and boltholds bursting, taking on water and sinking to a watery grave.
She'd always loved that movie. All that death. The perfect feel-good film that always soured her mood and inspired her.
Capped off with Rose killing her lover by refusing to move over half a foot to let him use all that space on the wide raft, offering him the sweetest kiss of betrayal and said watery grave.
But, in this case, Wednesday would not countenance Enid's betrayal... whatever form it might assume.
Considering her utterly miserable sleeping schedule, one had to wake up very early indeed to pull the wool over Wednesday Addams' keen and perceptive eyes.
Enid would absolutely go back to touching her both in public and in private.
Which was a bad thing, of course, and not in a good way.
But at least everything would be perfectly, miserably normal again.