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The full moon hangs loose amongst the various hues of midnight blue in the darkening night sky, and the pulsing light it creates breathes life into the orbiting stars. The clouds roam along the valleys remaining far off in the distance, and below, trickling speckles of color haunt the populated city.
The clock strikes 12, and the heavy door scrapes against the floor of the dorm room as the notorious occupant enters- Wednesday Addams.
The smell of sweet death trails behind her footsteps, and the power of fear stains her blackening aura.
The door clicks softly behind her, and she clasps her hands in front of her waist while her head swivels slowly around the room, examining the damage her eccentric roommate could’ve possibly done while she was out and about.
Usually, after returning from long night ventures or ominous snooping in the library, she would find a collection of sticky notes plastered across her side of the room, with each entailing a bright thought Enid had about her while she was gone.
If the colorful girl was feeling especially cheerful, she could find herself peeling obnoxious decorations off her wall after hours- with gloves.
It seemed like no matter Wednesday’s whereabouts, Enid made it her responsibility to bring a torturing amount of color into her perfectly dull life.
She’s convinced herself she’s never hated anything more.
But when she notices a vast majority of emptiness on her half of the room- indicating everything is just as she left it- she feels a mysterious tug in her chest, a pull that resonates far too deeply.
She ignores the meaningless feeling.
She glances over to Enid’s half of the room, taking note of the way her multicolored bed sheets are strewn across her mattress in distress, as if she jumped out of bed in a bothered hurry, her mind far too restless to be able to be put to bed.
A rustling draft runs across her tight sweater, which causes her to jerk her head towards the glass doors in the middle of their room- and she notices a lurking Enid lean against their balcony.
Her brightening colors mesh against the dark sky, her head looking down solemnly, her posture mimicking similarities of someone who seems convincingly upset.
She feels that same tug in her chest again, except this time it causes her stone cold eyes to soften into something less icy.
She walks swiftly across the length of their room until she reaches the doors alluring towards the balcony, her steps light yet heavy against the floor.
She expects Enid to feel the threatening, all consuming darkness of her presence, but she doesn’t. She expects her to turn her head around to greet her with her kind, blue eyes; but she doesn’t.
She does everything but acknowledge her.
Her posture stiffens, a contrasting comparison to the aloofness of her counterpart.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” The toughness of her voice causes her words to slip out of her mouth in the sound of a demand rather than a question, per usual.
Enid sighs, a deafening sound that brings distraught to Wednesday’s ears.
She doesn’t exasperate a breath out of bliss or surprise, rather pain this time.
And as much as tormenting agony comforts the raven haired girl, she finds an unsettling moment of disdain coating her heart.
“Why do you care?” She whispers, her throat scratchy and her vocal chords sore.
“I don’t.” She deadpans, “It was just an inquiry.”
The shyness of the cold night hugs the pair, a dangerous silence suffocating them into something unfamiliar. There never seems to be a quiet moment with Enid, and she was oddly quiet tonight.
The refusal to respond washes over the platinum blonde, and her pink and sapphire strands of dyed hair sway in the awakened wind, her eyes staring out into the view beyond.
Wednesday feels a restlessness settle inside of her stomach, the kind that can’t be cured with medicine and a good night’s sleep.
“Typically, I enjoy indulging in the misery of others. But if you’re upset,” She starts with a flat tone, her footsteps resounding in the floor as she walks over to stand next to Enid, “Don’t be. It’s making me drastically uncomfortable.”
They stand too far apart for lovers, yet too close together for friends.
Enid’s posture slouches further, her eyes falling upon where she rests her arms, her blue-orange woolen sweater swallowing her wrists.
She holds within her irises a stormy look of defeat, her eyebrows furrowing upon her messy thoughts.
“Do you…” She whispers, the hesitant words falling through her plump lips the same way a skydiver plummets to their demise.
Wednesday immediately listens, her ears perking up at the honeydew sound of her voice. She turns her head slightly to the side, showing that she’s heard her, but acts as if she doesn’t care enough to turn her head fully.
Enid sighs again, and Wednesday internally flinches in response. The uncomfortability she spoke about earlier drenches her senses, as if a bucket of cold water is shamefully being held over her head.
“...Do you love me?” She says it like an insecure child- a child who is still scared of the dark, what’s under their bed, and what hides behind the hangers of their closet.
Wednesday feels her look into her eyes, and it lights her skin on fire.
“No.” She states blandly, the dryness in her voice speaking volumes.
“I don’t ‘love’ anything. Love is humiliating. I much prefer hatred- it cradles you.”
Enid’s eyes drop back down, and she falls into her own cocoon of contemplation.
“Then,” She murmurs, “Do you hate me?”
Wednesday’s neck straightens awfully, and her dark brown orbs look out into the city below them. The cruel idea of ‘hatred’ and ‘Enid’ belonging in the same sentence brings a treacherous shiver down her spine.
She experiences the same bout of uncomfortability again.
“No.”
A blazing web of confusion ebbs across Enid’s pale face, the tainting color draining from her veins. The bright lipgloss she wears can no longer conceal her insecurities; instead, it puts them on blast.
She shakes her head, her eyelashes batting against her eyelids when she blinks back her tears, her lips pursing in a whirlwind of emotion.
“If you don’t love me,” Her words stumble with her quivering voice, “And if you don’t hate me,” She shakes her head, “Then why are you with me?”
The genuineness of her hurt seeps through her heart and bleeds onto her skin, as if the words of her pain are inked onto every part of her body like some poor, tattooed sleeve.
Wednesday feels that cramped, awkward feeling in her stomach again, and she tips her chin towards the world that exists beyond the two of them.
“Because you’re tolerable.”
Enid shakes her head for what feels like the millionth time, and a condescending scoff escapes her mouth, something Wednesday’s never heard directed at her before.
Sure, she’s heard it when their teacher messes up a step in their fencing practice, or when she forgettably misplaces her school uniform’s tie when doing laundry- but never when they were having a conversation together.
It felt almost like an insult.
Maybe, Wednesday considers to herself, It was meant to be one.
“I don’t wanna be tolerated, Wednesday.” A defeated look devours her facial expressions, like her wants were similar to everyone else’s. She pauses briefly, her face too sorrowful to be her own.
”I want to be loved.”
There’s unforgivable tension grazing between their bodies after she’s admitted her truth, and Wednesday’s usual witty humor falls short and fails her under these circumstances.
She can’t seem to find a way to make a deprecating joke out of this.
For a split second, even, she doesn’t think she wants to.
“You know,” She begins, a short sniffle coming from her nostrils, “Your heart feels so cold. I can’t imagine myself not loving you, but you can’t imagine yourself ever loving me.”
Wednesday physically feels her heart soothe when she says those words, and she finds herself taking a deep look at Enid’s side profile, her forever hardened exterior cracking away every time she looks at her.
“My heart is warmer when I’m with you, I presume.”
The truth scars her, especially when it’s a truth she doesn’t like to admit.
Upon her time spent with Enid these past months, she’s realized how much she hates feeling her feelings. But when she’s with her, it becomes a little less insufferable.
She makes a struggling effort to not add agonizing slander, because there’s a piece of her that feels supple and lukewarm when she’s around her happy spirit. That part of her yearns for her to keep Enid safe, and to never let harm come her way, even in the form of her own words.
“But you don’t…” She whispers again, “Love me?”
The obvious conflict in her tone bothers her a great deal- so much so to the point where it pushes her to think harder.
She wasn’t even sure she knew what love looked like, much less felt like.
Sure, she had her parents for an example.
Her father was obsessed with her mother, and would do anything to please the dark hole residing in her body where her heart should be.
It made her sick.
She could never love someone like that- she could never even like someone like that. How could she? She didn’t live to please others, she lived to exploit others, and then some.
Love wasn’t in her vocabulary, nor was it in any dictionary she had.
How could she begin to love someone like Enid when she’s never known what that even feels like?
“Love humiliates you.” She repeats, “Hatred cradles you.”
“Do you think,” She whispers, “I should be humiliated for loving you?”
Wednesday’s shoulders pinch back behind her, as if an invisible string was being tugged against her spleen, causing her to be as rigid as a chalkboard.
There’s so much sincere discomfort in her tone, and the various emotions packed beneath her question feels like the Sahara desert on Wednesday’s tongue.
“No.” She honestly answers, although she reconsiders it before the answer even gives way.
“But I would be humiliated if I were to ever love you.”
The weight between them falls forward, and Enid has her answer she wishes she never received.
The rejection stings her lips and eyes like a buzzing bee got caught underneath her delicate skin, and she swallows tediously, her jaw clenching to mask her undeniable hurt.
“Okay.” She says, and smiles.
Because she always smiles, and could never not smile.
Especially when talking to Wednesday, she always smiled.
This time was no different.
She would smile at her if she loved her, or if she hated her.
Or in this case, if she felt neither.
Even as it feels like a gut wrenching knife has been torn into her intestines and plunged into the cavity of her chest, she blinks away the negativity, her plastic smile failing to fool herself into a mirage of happiness.
“Okay.” She says again, much more blurred this time, and her eyes swamp with unreleased tears.
“I’m gonna go to bed.” She announces as a polite gesture, “Goodnight.”
Before Enid, Wednesday was sure of her motto. It was all she knew.
Love humiliates you, and hatred cradles you. Hatred would never leave you standing alone at the altar in a fluffed white wedding dress, would it? No, hatred would fuel you. It would motivate you into becoming the version of yourself that everyone couldn’t stand.
It would keep you warm at night, and tuck you in before bed.
Love could never provide what hatred did.
But as she watches Enid walk away from her, her unconvincing lips ghosted with lies and eternal sadness, she feels an overwhelming drought of guilt for not loving her.
How could she love her? A valid question in itself- but how could she not?
How could she not admire the smiley sticky notes she hangs up all over her bed posts when she’s gone, and the way she grins with affection when she does it?
She watches her leave, and the guilt is all she feels.
“Goodnight.” Her heart thumps when she says it, and when she feels the eeriness collapse in her chest, she knows the lingering three words and eight letters stain her mouth pathetically like ruby red blood on a freshly washed white button down.
She says ‘goodnight’, but she means to say ‘I do love you’.
But she doesn’t.
So instead, she retires to her bed, and pretends like she doesn’t love the only girl who’s ever touched her heart.