Chapter Text
“Extraordinary,” Larissa hums out, looking through her magnifying glass at the enlarged right eye belonging to one very awake Wednesday Addams.
“Say 'ah'.”
The Addamses’ eldest opens her mouth, but her death glare remains trained on Enid.
(So it appears to be one very awake and very angry Wednesday Addams.)
Enid looks away, awkwardly standing off to the side as the rest of the Addams family crowd around the bed, waiting with bated breaths for the medic’s assessment.
Eventually, Larissa puts her tools away in her bag and stands up to deliver her verdict.
“This is nothing short of a miracle. From my examination, Wednesday is still a bit frail—as is to be expected—and I will continue to monitor her condition, but there’s nothing that a bit of bedrest wouldn’t fix.”
She pauses, looking deep in thought.
“However, I must admit, I have no idea what may have triggered her sudden revival.”
“I’ll tell you what it was!” Gomez eagerly exclaims.
He leaps onto the bed and scoops his daughter into his arms. She only offers him an unimpressed glance before she’s back to glaring at Enid—as she had been doing so for the past half hour.
“The thought of her nuptial night must have been so titillating that it aroused her from her deep slumber!”
The disbelief and revulsion on Wednesday’s face mirrors Enid’s.
“She gets that from me, you know?” Gomez proudly grabs Morticia’s hand, dragging her towards him.
“Tish,” he whispers, dragging kisses along her neck. “Do you recall our very own first union? When the moonlight dipped into the waters of the lake, just like how our intertwining bodies had melded into one another.”
Enid sees Pugsley mouth “Melded?” to himself in disgust which prompts a chortle and a pat on his back accompanied by, “You’ll understand when you’re older” from Fester.
Plunging Gomez’s face into her chest, Morticia releases a sensual, drawn-out moan. “How can I forget, mon sauvage?”
A gagging sound comes out of Pugsley.
“Mother. Father.”
It’s the first time the Addams heir has spoken tonight.
Wednesday’s warning drawl, though quiet, is effective in making the room fall silent, and her voice carries a more feminine lilt than Enid had anticipated.
Not that Enid had anticipated any of this.
From her entering an abrupt marriage with a faceless stranger nearing their demise; to her carefully devised widowhood being snatched away—which was a very crucial part of her strategy; to her in-laws about to have at it on their unexpectedly reanimated daughter’s bed—
Enid had anticipated precisely none of this when she woke up this morning.
All she wanted to do was trade her grade AA stone in exchange for some coins and return to hiding out at the inn like a hermit.
How did she go from that to…whatever this is?
Miraculously, Wednesday is able to pay no mind to her parents’ increasingly feral foreplay beside her, but her expression darkens with the raise of her left hand.
The black diamonds on her ring twinkle beautifully.
“Will somebody explain what profane horror this is?”
Her death glare returns on Enid.
Larissa clears her throat awkwardly and immediately takes her leave.
“I wish you all the best. I shall be back tomorrow morning.”
It doesn’t take long to fill in the Addams heir.
(Basically, just the fact that she had gotten married to Enid while she was knocked out.)
And to be fair, though Enid is also feeling rattled with the drastically unpredictable progression of the entire day, she is a rather reasonable person and recognizes that the other girl must not have it easy either.
She did just wake up to Enid—someone she had never met before—cursing like a sailor, and bouncing on top of her, after all.
(And that was before Enid had proceeded to scream bloody murder right into her face.)
“Wednesday, stop that,” Morticia chides in disapproval. She reaches out for Wednesday. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Wednesday swats her mother’s hand away.
“Why...won’t...this—” Wednesday grunts, twisting and pulling at the band that’s stubbornly stuck on her finger. “—come off…!”
However, just like the ring exchange troubles Enid had run into earlier, Wednesday is now facing them, too.
The bandage Larissa had re-dressed only a few minutes ago around her hand seeps with fresh blood, and Enid feels a bit queasy at the almost purple color Wednesday’s finger has taken on. The skin looks more raw and swollen than ever.
Huffing in extreme dissatisfaction, Wednesday reaches under her pillow. Her scowl deepens when her hand comes out empty.
She lifts her pillow, turning it over.
“Where. Is. My. Dagger.”
Pugsley retrieves the knife Enid had discarded on the bedside table, but Morticia intercepts it, holding a finger to her lips. She quickly passes the knife to Enid, motioning for her to hide it.
Enid doesn’t really want it but she shoves it in her satchel anyway, because it’s probably not a good idea to leave any weapons out at the enraged woman’s disposal.
“Why is she trying so hard?” Enid hears Fester ask Gomez when Wednesday goes back to trying to yank her ring off, sans her favorite weapon of choice.
“Even if she manages to take it off, it’s not like it’ll reverse or undo their wedding vows,” Fester tuts. “Women are so stubborn. And they say I'm dramatic.”
His words seem to incite Wednesday, and she takes a break from her removal attempt to glare at her uncle.
“My wedding vows—?!”
“I never once—!”
“...!”
Lost for words, Wednesday turns her attention to the rest of her family.
“Why would you do this to me?” she seethes.
Her eyes shift to Enid with repugnance.
“Particularly with a vagrant who has most certainly wandered in from the gutters of an alleyway.” Wednesday turns her nose up at Enid, looking pointedly down at her feet. “One of whom that cannot dress themself, even minimally.”
“Hey!” Enid objects.
It’s not Enid’s fault she may be the tiniest bit bedraggled, or in need of a bath.
She’s been on the run for several weeks, for goddess’ sake.
How many runaway brides can anyone expect to come out looking dressed for a gala?
“My little deathtrap, you were comatose," Gomez explains in genuine confusion. “How would you have been able to choose a wife for yourself with no such cognition?”
Wednesday looks flabbergasted.
“Why would I even need a—”
“Enid.”
Morticia brings Enid towards Wednesday, so they are side by side. She looks at the two of them with pure affection and hugs them tightly in her arms.
“We have been truly gifted by the shadows,” she says, letting out a sniffle. “I have my daughter back. And I have been blessed with another.”
Leaning back, Morticia touches Enid’s cheek tenderly. “Thank you, Enid. For saving Wednesday. We do not know how we can ever pay back this debt.”
“Enid…” Gomez’s voice drips with adoration as he comes to join the hug. “Our one and only savior of the Addams lineage.”
The disbelieving and exasperated look Wednesday sends her parents keeps Enid mum.
But also, it’s not like Enid knows how to respond to their gratitude. It’s not as if she actually did anything to bring the girl back to life.
It was just luck—or, bad luck for Enid, in this case.
“My love,” Morticia clasps onto Gomez’s arm. “We must offer blood wine and tallow candles to our spiritual ancestors.”
Gomez’s mouth drops open, letting his cigar out. Thankfully, Lurch is able to catch it before it burns a mark on the floor.
“My dear, how right you are! To the Addams crypt!”
Morticia and Gomez scramble out of the door with Lurch trailing after them, the discarded cigar held out with his outstretched arm.
Clearing his throat loudly, Fester turns to Pugsley. He wriggles the skin where his missing eyebrows should be.
“We should also leave the lovebirds alone. It is their first night together, after all.”
He leaves with a snicker and waddles out jauntily.
“Good night, Wednesday,” Pugsley says, hugging a reluctant Wednesday. “I’m glad you’re not dead. I would have missed you a lot.”
He heads out, leaving Enid alone with her new wife.
Her very much alive and not-dead wife.
For all the social etiquette classes her mother forced her and her brothers to take, not one of them could have prepared Enid for the situation she finds herself in, that is: how to conduct a conversation on your wedding night with your recently resuscitated newlywed wife who you’ve never met, and is no longer at death’s door, as you had originally expected and counted on.
And as if everything isn’t strained enough with the tense silence quickly brewing between the two honeymooners—especially under Wednesday’s unblinking and stony stare—without prior preparation or practice for handling such a specific and sensitive matter, it only leads to Enid’s brain—and mouth—going rogue.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
Just like Enid’s usual nonsensical rambling, the speed at which the words come out is comparable to an arrow being shot from a crossbow. If Enid is lucky, it’s typically too fast for anyone to catch or make any sense of, giving her time to backtrack and take her foot out of her mouth.
However, in this case, she knows Wednesday has definitely understood and caught on to what she had unintentionally said, with the menacing dark aura that starts to radiate ominously from her.
And Enid knows it must be strong because how can you even feel an aura?
The edge of Wednesday’s lips tighten, and a seething and quiet rage simmers in her eyes.
It is, of course, just Enid’s misfortune that everything is made even more awkward when the barely muted voices of the family come through from the other side of the bedroom door.
“Oh, girls! Though it may be the first eve of your matrimony, Larissa has forewarned that Wednesday’s body cannot sustain too much…excitation as of yet. It is advised that you refrain from engaging with a missionary flair. And perhaps something less quivering—such as coitus interfemoris?—may be more apt for tonight?"
“I know this must be disappointing to hear, my little bombita. But remember—it’s a marathon, not a sprint. ‘Tis just the beginning of your carnal peregrination together!”
The door creaks open just enough for Lurch’s hand to pop in, sliding a tray holding a filled bowl into the room before it closes shut again.
“Awww! Why does Wednesday get to have all the good stuff? No fair!”
“Now now, Pugsley. Your sister is now a mated alpha. She needs to be virile and keep her strength up for her lengthy wedding night duties—”
Horror-stricken, Enid side-eyes Wednesday.
Between the other girl's icy behavior and the ever-growing paleness in her face telling Enid that she is most likely not feeling very well—or maybe it’s from hearing such guidance from her family—she doesn’t suppose Wednesday is in the mood to partake in any traditions typically performed in this late hour between a newly mated pair.
But who knows?
Enid doesn’t know exactly how long the Addamses’ eldest had been dead to the world for. And with the disclosure of Wednesday’s secondary sex status, she wonders…
What if it’s been a super long time and Wednesday actually craves the touch and feel of an omega; like the one standing right in front of her—her wife—to provide comfort for her ailment?
Despite her alpha status, the other girl looks pretty petite and debilitated—apparently she needs to do something for her muscle atrophy, Larissa had mentioned during her examination—so Enid thinks she may be able to hold her own in a fight, if it comes to that.
But still, she can’t take any chances.
One arm immediately comes up protectively around herself as Enid’s other promptly brings the hidden weapon out of her satchel. She doesn’t verbally add anything, but it must be apparent what she is thinking because Wednesday slowly drags her eyes along Enid’s body before scoffing loudly.
“I see someone must hold a rather inflated view of themself, do they not?” she says, with a roll of her eyes.
“Rest assured. Your unkempt vessel of a body is of no interest to me,” Wednesday drawls before adding with a muttered snark, “Or any other being with an ounce of sanity, I would imagine.”
It’s both relieving, yet irksome to hear the comment. And unfortunately, there’s only more that Wednesday has to say when she sees Enid open her mouth to counter the curtness.
“I would rather remain in the nine circles of hell; held under duress; tormented by the most loathsome of all inhabitants of the universe throughout the entirety of time, before I would even entertain the idea of—”
“Alright!” Enid interrupts with a mild fluster.
She throws her hands up in frustration.
“I think I’ve got it! You don’t have to go on and on and on—”
“Wait.”
Cutting Enid off, a scowl grows on Wednesday’s face. Her eyes drop down to the knife Enid waves around in her grip.
Recognition lights Wednesday’s face, and her eyes narrow dangerously.
“Is that my missing dagger?”
Suddenly forgetting what words are, Enid finds herself babbling and shoving the aforementioned implement behind her back.
“W—what?” she says in a rush. “What dagger? There’s no dagger here. Do you see a dagger anywhere? Well, I don’t!”
Her feigned ignorance fuels Wednesday’s wrath further, and the six solid seconds of silence following that seems to be the limit to Wednesday’s patience.
“Return it. Now.”
For such a tiny woman, her demand is in an incredibly intimidating tone. It tells Enid there is no room for argument.
Without waiting for a response, Wednesday launches herself forward in such a frenzy that has Enid’s heart dropping with fear.
However, Wednesday’s threat would have been a lot more impressive if her legs hadn’t immediately gotten tangled in the sheets in her haste to get out of bed. Seeing the other girl flail in her battle against her sheets as well as gravity, has Enid immediately rushing forward to help.
But then, she stops herself.
Because why should Enid help the woman who is trying to attack her? She agrees with love thy neighbor and all other empathic and compassionate ways of life, but surely this must be an exception.
Either way, Enid’s moral dilemma doesn’t matter.
The mattress soon comfortably catches Wednesday’s fall, and she flumps almost comically face down into her sheets.
Enid’s eyes remain on the top of Wednesday’s head; at the other girl’s face buried deep in her quilt.
A stilted silence lingers for one beat.
A second beat passes.
And then a third.
Enid’s irrepressible snort of laughter comes on the fourth.
She instantly covers her mouth, but it’s too late.
Wednesday’s head snaps up from the mattress, her face filled with indignity. She predictably throws another glare at Enid before clambering over towards the head of the bed.
Ringing the service bell—seemingly triggered by the tug on a small bronze hoop hanging off of a black cord above the headrest—a knock on the door follows almost immediately after.
Lurch pops his head through with both hands over his eyes.
“Ughhh?”
Eyeing Enid with contempt, Wednesday crosses her arms over her chest.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lurch. This is nothing like my parents’ ludicrous requests for aid in their sexual escapades.”
“Ugh?”
He slowly uncovers his face, hesitantly opening one eye first, and then the other.
“This moronic thief has taken my dagger,” Wednesday declares, nodding to Enid. “Retrieve it from her.”
Just as Enid is about to defend herself against Wednesday’s accusation—and explain that it was not stolen, but given to her by Morticia—Lurch hesitantly taps the tips of his index fingers together almost sheepishly, warily looking between the two.
Interestingly, he doesn’t make any move towards Enid and instead, engages in conversation with Wednesday.
Like a fly on the wall, Enid can only watch on.
“Ughhhh…ughhh?”
“What?”
“Ugh. Ugh. Ughhhh.”
“What's mine is hers—”
“Ughhhh.”
“Lurch. Have you lost your forsaken—”
“Ugh? Ughh. Ughhhhhh.”
“She’s your what?”
“Ughhhh. Ughh.”
“By extension—?”
“Ugh!”
“No, no, you incompetent fool—this ungroomed blockhead is not your mistress.”
“Ughhhhh. Ugh. Ughhhh?”
“No—do not go get mother. She does not need to—”
Although Enid can’t understand a thing Lurch is saying, Wednesday does not look happy.
Not that Enid has seen her looking anything but.
Squeezing her eyes shut and bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, Wednesday looks like she has given up.
“If you are not going to be of any help to me, then you are dismissed.”
Nodding, Lurch backs out of the room. Before he closes the door, he points to the tray on the floor.
“Ughh? Ugh?”
Wednesday explodes.
“No, I do not need more supplies for my virility!”
Wednesday hurls a pillow towards Lurch, and he has the sense to close the door before it hits him.
Not that it would have, because the pillow only manages to reach the foot of the bed before it gently bounces off onto the floor.
As Wednesday sits there in her bed with her deeply heaving chest and her fisted hands bunching the sheets tightly, Enid shuffles on the spot.
“Hey there…” she tentatively says, when the silence grows to a point that she can’t handle anymore.
Enid has always hated silence.
Especially awkward ones.
“You…good?”
With disapprobation, Wednesday looks at Enid incredulously.
“Good?” she repeats through gritted teeth.
“Do you genuinely think anyone in my situation could possibly think that any of the horrific events that have transpired here tonight upon my discourteous awakening is—good? Are you that much of a bonehead?”
Along with the plethora of new discoveries tonight, one thing Enid has learned is that with Wednesday’s habit of throwing out insults, it loses its edge upon every use. Meaning that Enid finds the cutting remarks from the other girl to no longer be as…cutting.
Though it still stings a bit, Enid ignores the name-calling—because sticks and stones may break her bones—and she defaults to her naturally ungraceful nature.
“I mean…” she responds casually with a sniff of her nose. “I don’t know your life.”
Narrowing her eyes, Wednesday’s stare is steely.
“Yet, you know me well enough to wish death upon me.”
“What?” Enid asks. “When have I—”
“‘You were supposed to be dead’,” Wednesday says in a disparaging tone. “I admit, it’s not the first instance I’ve heard these words, but it’s certainly the first time they have been directed at me inside of my own chambers.”
Opening her mouth, Enid finds herself speechless with the reminder of her faux pas. She clears her throat and lets out a nervous laugh.
“OK, so. I totally did not mean to say that—”
At the challenging look Wednesday sends her, Enid trails off and admits quietly, “—out loud.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrow further.
“OK! So I was rude to you!” Enid exclaims. “I’m sorry!”
“But I’ve only said one rude thing to you,” she says, bringing her pointer finger up. “One! Whereas you have said waaaay more rude things to me!”
Despite Enid fully intending for this to diffuse things between them, the dark and affronted look across Wednesday’s face deepens.
“Do not have the audacity to downplay your effrontery,” Wednesday exclaims incredulously. “You forced my hand in marriage against my will, whilst I was otherwise indisposed. And in return for what? My inheritance?”
Yanking her fist up from the sheets, Wednesday winces.
The medical wrap across the rightfully incensed girl’s palm is now so fully soaked with crimson, it makes Enid feel faint at just the sight of it.
“Ahhh...errr—do…you want me to call the medic back?” Enid offers with concern, already heading to the door. “Or…your mom?”
Cradling her hand in her other, Wednesday sneers out, “What I want is for you to be sent back to the depths of whichever monstrous netherworld you originated and crawled your way up from and—”
“Oh, my goddess!” Enid yells at the top of her lungs.
She’s had enough of the hostility.
“Look! I don’t want to be here either!”
At her outburst, Wednesday appears mildly taken aback. And surprisingly, she does not have a ruthless remark ready to spit out at Enid.
Half-choking on a hysterical laugh coming up her throat, Enid puts her hands flush against her face with frustration.
“Do you think I want to be here?”
Deep inside, Enid truly understands the source of Wednesday’s outrage.
Out of everything, she knows what it’s like to have no control over your own life.
“Do you think I want to be married? To you?”
But similarly, she’s so, so tired of being Wednesday’s punching bag. Especially when she’s got her own overwhelming crap on her mind.
“Do you think I want to be married to some—some—” Enid gestures wildly at Wednesday. “—totally-not-dead and angry little alpha who’s so full of pride that she can’t even admit that she’s working herself up so much that she’s probably going to pop her veins open and bleed all over her bed?”
Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow together as if she doesn’t understand, and Enid doesn’t blame her.
Because she doesn’t really know what she’s saying herself.
She’s just so exhausted.
Her mind is frazzled, her nerves are fried.
She can’t even think anymore without a headache coming on; without all of these weird and inexplicable emotions rushing through her.
Digesting her own words even after they’ve already spilled out, everything suddenly fully sinks in.
She’s married.
She’s got a wife.
She’s someone’s wife.
Enid is…
…married.
Looking down at the ring wrapped so innocently around her own finger, Enid feels tears sting her eyes.
Oh my goddess.
What have I done?
“Buyer’s remorse?”
For the first time tonight, Wednesday’s voice is neutral and lacks malice.
Blinking her tears away, Enid turns to Wednesday in bewilderment. She’s propped up by the pillows behind her, and she appraises Enid carefully.
“Things not go according to plan?”
The simmering anger is no longer emanating from Wednesday, replaced by an aloofness.
She adds, “So, we agree.”
Unsure how to follow the direction of the conversation, Enid lets out a deep breath, wanting Wednesday to be as blunt as she is with her taunting.
“What?”
“Neither one of us desires this marriage,” Wednesday states.
Enid agrees. “Right…?”
She receives a simple nod from Wednesday.
“So leave.”
“Huh?”
“I cannot speak for my family, as they have long lost any reasonable sense or rationale by now—” Wednesday scowls. “—however, it is of no concern. For I give you permission. To leave.”
The adrenaline is still pumping through Enid’s veins, and she lets out a disbelieving laugh.
“You give me permission?” she mocks.
Wednesday’s scowl morphs into a frown.
“Do you not wish for my permission to leave?” she asks, lifting a brow. “Do you not wish for this sham of a marriage to be dissolved? You had evidently agreed to this…partnership based on my predetermined death. Yet, here I am.”
Enid wants to retort that she needs no permission from a random egotistical stranger, and that she can do whatever the hell she wants.
But she knows Wednesday is right.
As unjust and antiquated as it is, Wednesday is the alpha here.
Wednesday is the one who holds the power.
After all, if Enid had any semblance of power or say in her life herself, she wouldn’t be here in the first place, would she?
Swallowing the bitter taste of defeat in her mouth, Enid sadly whispers, “I do.”
Fortunately, Wednesday does not rub salt into Enid’s wounds and all she says is, “Well, you have it.”
A wave of relief washes through Enid, and she feels all the tension leave her body.
She can go.
Despite the wedding ceremony she underwent, she doesn’t have to be shackled here.
She doesn’t have to be married anymore.
“You may leave,” Wednesday declares, nodding to the door. “Right now.”
“Wait—”
Enid storms towards the bed, and the sour taste seems to ease a bit when she notices Wednesday pull up the quilt—only slightly, but it’s enough—in response to the distance closing between them.
“Right now?”
“There is no time like the present.”
Aghast, Enid gestures to the balcony, at the glass doors overlooking the night sky.
“You really want to throw a girl out at this time of night?”
“A girl implies some sense of muliebrity,” Wednesday says in a flat tone. “Which I see no evidence of.”
Ignoring Wednesday’s ridicule, Enid shakes her head.
“Uh…no! I’m not leaving now. Your place is like, deeply hidden in the woods. It’d be way too dangerous.”
If she leaves now, Crackstone’s cronies are not the only things she needs to worry about.
Already curling herself up into a ball on the floor, Enid brings the Persian rug in the middle of the room over herself like a quilt.
It’s not the warmest makeshift blanket, but it will do for one night.
“I’ll go when it’s light outside,” Enid says, closing her eyes and resting her head down on the floor. “Wake me up when it’s morning.”
The prickling of a blazing rage hits Enid’s back, making it too distracting for her to fall asleep. When she cranes her neck around, she sees Wednesday’s now characteristic death glare trained on her.
“What?” Enid asks, mildly miffed by the disturbance. “I’m trying to sleep and you should too.”
Wednesday’s stare is thunderous though her voice is low and steady.
“I will not be able to slumber until my chamber is free from brazen interlopers who refuse to know their place.”
Enid rolls her eyes, wondering how Morticia and Gomez—sweet and loving as they are—had managed to spawn such a surly and crabby elder child.
“Your mom said I’m forever an Addams, now that we are married.”
“There is no marriage,” Wednesday says with barely constrained fury. “Have we not agreed that both of us desire to be rid of this ridiculous conjugation?”
“Er, yeah, and we will be,” Enid says with a triumphant grin. “When I leave tomorrow morning.”
It felt good to say it, but Enid thinks perhaps provoking the other girl is not the best idea when she sees Wednesday furiously reaching for the service bell handle by her bed, no doubt wanting assistance in booting Enid out of her room.
Running her hand through her hair and trying not to wince at how crusted and filthy it feels, Enid sits up.
“How are you going to explain this to your parents?”
Wednesday’s hand freezes mid-pull on the bronze hoop.
“What?”
Clicking her tongue, Enid says, “I mean…since you’re so desperate to get rid of me, you must have already prepared an explanation for them, right?”
The blank stare from Wednesday tells Enid she is tugging on the right thread. Hopefully, it won’t be long until the entirety of Wednesday’s defense unravels.
“What?” Enid mock gasps when Wednesday remains silent. She brings a hand to her mouth. “Are you saying you haven’t thought of one yet?”
Encouragingly, Wednesday’s hand drops from the handle.
“Get to the point.”
“Your parents like me,” Enid says with a shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “Your whole family does.”
(But she knows it’s a big deal, judging by the way Wednesday clenches her jaw with disapproval.)
Gritting her teeth, Wednesday says, “And this is relevant because…?”
Yawning obnoxiously loud, Enid rests her arms on her knees and cradles her face in her hands.
“If I leave now, without a word, what would your family think? Won’t they be sad?”
Frowning, Wednesday responds with, “I am certain they will survive.”
“Oh, for sure! Survive, yes!”
Enid claps her hands together, making sure to pepper in some sarcasm.
“I’m not that up my own butt to think that your family’s individual livelihoods depend on lil old me.”
“But…” Enid continues in an innocent tone that gradually dwindles into a condescending baby voice. “We can’t say the same for you, can we?”
Wednesday’s eyes shift back and forth rapidly, trying to decipher Enid’s implication.
“You rose from the dead literally as soon as I married you. I’m—” Enid explains, signaling to herself with a hand on her chest. “—the one who brought you back to life. I’m your savior.”
A skeptical scoff comes out of Wednesday.
“Do you sincerely believe that your involvement had anything to do with—”
“Nope,” Enid answers immediately, popping the P blithely.
At the interruption, Wednesday snaps her mouth shut.
“I—” Enid says slowly, patting the hand on her chest. “—don’t believe it. And you—”
She points to Wednesday.
“—don’t believe it. But…it doesn’t matter, does it?”
Bringing her hand to cup her lips, Enid signals to the floor with her other hand and whispers, “Because the rest of your family do.”
She sees when realization hits Wednesday as soon as the murderous expression spreads on her face.
“What if you get sick again?” Enid asks. “They’re going to think it’s because you sent me away.”
Waving her hand across the air, Enid looks up at the ceiling and recites, “Enid—our one and only savior of the Addams lineage.”
Wednesday raises her fist in anger.
“You insolent—!”
Turning to Wednesday, Enid puts both of her hands up in surrender.
“Hey—your dad’s words, not mine.”
Happy that Wednesday does not interject further, Enid wraps up her dramatic display.
“Just…something for you to think about. If you’ve not yet thought of anything semi-reasonable to explain why I’ve left…”
She shrugs.
“Well, who knows? Maybe something will come to you once you sleep on it.”
And Enid knows she’s argued her point successfully—finally, something good that is going Enid’s way tonight because she can sure do with a break—when Wednesday clenches her jaw tighter.
Wednesday’s shoulders droop, and she looks away with a restrained huff through her nose.
“Fine. You may leave tomorrow morning. Imminently.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
With both wanting the last word, the repeated string of "Fine"s continue for a while before Wednesday ends it with the ring of her service bell.
Lurch looks appropriately concerned when he pokes his head tentatively through the door.
“I need a room prepared,” Wednesday orders, glaring at Enid. “We will not be sharing the same quarters.”
Other than his curious gaze languidly shifting between the two, Lurch merely nods. He waits with a bow and opens the door wide, motioning for Enid to follow him out.
It’s childish, she knows, but the way Wednesday constantly turns her nose up at her with sheer revulsion—as if Enid were some horse dung found under her shoe—makes Enid want to rebel.
Just to soothe her self-esteem and to make herself feel a little bit better.
“Who said the room is for me?” is the ridiculous remark that comes out of Enid.
It equally shocks the three of them, but it’s too late for Enid to take back.
Plus, she doesn’t want to when she sees the stunned look on Wednesday’s face. The other girl probably wonders where Enid got her boldness from.
Even Enid doesn’t know.
And to her surprise, Wednesday doesn’t argue.
A tiny wave of guilt passes through Enid when she sees the feverish flush spreading across Wednesday’s cheeks. It looks like she would topple over if someone so much as sneezed in her direction.
She supposes Wednesday has had enough and does not want to deal with her unwelcome consort any longer.
“Fine,” Wednesday seethes, admitting defeat with scorn.
Seeing his mistress kick the quilt furiously off of herself, Lurch hurriedly clambers over to support Wednesday out of bed.
He helps Wednesday out of the room, offering Enid a respectful bow as he passes by, which Enid automatically returns.
Because if there’s nothing else that Enid's mother has thoroughly drilled into her by now, they are manners and propriety.
(That is, with the exception of Enid kicking her severely ailing and decrepit wife out of her very own bed—that's not very gallant.)
As Lurch leads Wednesday out into the hallway, Wednesday throws her head back over her shoulder.
“Fine. Take my room.”
“Fine. I will,” Enid harrumphs, crossing her arms stubbornly. “And I have.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
And then, Wednesday disappears through the door of another room down the hall, and Enid is left with silence.
All alone in her bridal bedchamber.
Enid’s self-declared win is not really a win. She should have taken the new room.
It seemed a bit too gross to sleep somewhere where a body—especially Wednesday’s—had been lying in a vegetative state for an extended period of time; surely it would have collated all sorts of bodily fluids in the bedding. So, Enid eventually resorted to taking the armchair that definitely looked much comfier than it felt.
And now, she feels she needs a horse cart to roll over her spine before she can stand up straight again.
(Or, to take her away from this maddening nightmare where the goddesses think it funny to pass her along from one hot-tempered alpha to the next.)
Moreover, the dust beneath the Persian rug had sent Enid into multiple fits of sneezes, further not adding any comfort to her night of rest in the foreign quarters.
As soon as the warm and soft rays of sunlight flowing through the windows hit her face, Enid is already flinging the multipurpose rug-turned-blanket off of herself, and she's out of the lumpy armchair in less than five seconds.
Her depleted optimism begins to refill.
Yes, her well-laid plan—that was not so much well-laid as it was no-laid, and simply her getting caught in the currents—may have fallen to shambles. But at least she can treat everything that’s happened as a bad dream and get out of there.
And most importantly, she can't wait to leave this “marriage” and her “wife” behind.