𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ℂ𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ➶

𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕪: 𝕃𝕠𝕨 (ℕ𝕠) 𝕀𝕟𝕙𝕚𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Much like Gomez and Morticia, dinner was weird and fancy.

Every course was stranger than the last, which was certainly saying something, given the hors d'oeuvre was a songbird that had been fattened up Hansel-and-Gretel style before being drowned in Armagnac. Valentina knew this because Morticia described it to her in detail. Graphic detail.

She watched in horror and fascination as the other kids at the table popped the whole roasted bird --head, feet, and all-- in their mouths and chewed with reckless abandon. The sound of bones crunching made her stomach churn.

But at least she could pronounce the name of the first dish, as it was just named after the bird that had lived and died quite gruesomely for the refinement of their palates... The rest of the courses were in French. They smelled delicious, looked good, but she lost all appetite the moment she learned what they were made of.

Foie gras au torchon? Duck liver, barely cooked and rolled up in a kitchen towel. Tête de veau en sauce verte? Boiled calf's head. Boudin noir? Pigs' blood sausage, stirred constantly so it didn't congeal. Langue d'agneau en papillotes? Baked lamb's tongue.

Valentina ended up eating next to nothing, just downing glass after glass of ambrosia instead. It was supposed to be the drink of the gods, so it fit the theme. In reality, it tasted more like the creamy fruit salad popular in the South, a mad mixture of pineapple and coconut and oranges and cherries. She could almost feel her teeth rotting with every sip.

It was so sweet that she didn't realize that it contained rum --and a lot of it-- until Vincent, of all people, stopped the waiter from topping off her glass for the umpteenth time.

"I think you've had enough," he said. "All those shots will be catching up to you shortly."

And, boy oh boy, did they ever. The mere act of standing up from the dinner table was a challenge. She was as wobbly on her feet as a newborn foal, had to hold onto someone or something at all times for balance. Not only that... She swore she could feel the earth's rotation beneath her feet. The room was ever-so-slightly spinning.

Several shots of hard liquor on an empty stomach would be a recipe for disaster for anyone, but she had it particularly bad given she was a lightweight. Being underaged, the most she'd ever drank before was a sip or two of her mother's hot mulled wine during Christmas.

She was definitely going to be sick later... But, for now? It felt nice, felt good.

"I wanna dance," she told the room at large, her speech slurred but only a little bit. The other guests snickered at her from behind their hands, but she couldn't bring herself to care. So this is why people become alcoholics, she thought. Her anxiety was as low as her inhibitions right now.

Vincent winced, watching her teeter precariously as if she were walking on stilts. "That's a bad--"

"What a wonderful idea!" Gomez crowed like a rooster at the first sign of dawn, completely cutting off the other boy.

She wasn't in any state for a tango or a quickstep, however. So Morticia taught her to waltz. Or, rather, she tried to. All her instructions were going in one ear and out the other. Due to her inebriation, Valentina was too distracted and uncoordinated to truly listen and follow along.

But Gomez put on a record of Ray Charles' "It Had To Be You," and eventually the two girls managed to find a rhythm to sway to. There were no precise steps or fancy turns... Just a gentle rocking motion. And honestly? Valentina wouldn't have it any other way.

She shamelessly wrapped her arms around Morticia's waist --more of an embrace than a dancer's hold-- and laid her head on her shoulder. The older girl was as cool to the touch as a stone carving. In contrast, Val felt like her flesh was made of molten lava.

However, sooner rather than later, she started to feel icky on the inside, and not in the way that she expected to. Her middle school DARE program had warned her that alcohol was a depressant, but she didn't truly understand until she started to feel its effects for herself.

"Do you like me?" She whimpered.

"I love you," Tish reassured her with an indulgent smile, reaching up one fine-fingered hand to brush an errant lock of hair out of Valentina's eyes. The younger girl boldly pressed her flushed face into the palm of her hand. She couldn't help herself. It was so refreshing, like an ice-cold glass of lemonade on a sweaty summer's day.

"I knooow..." Her tone was one of misery, as if she already knew the answer to her question and it wasn't to her liking. "But do you like me?"

Her girlfriend replied with a question of her own. "What's not to like?"

What a perfect non-answer. "You're dodging my question."

"The only thing I don't like is your need to ask such an insecure question," she sighed. "Have I ever given you any reason to doubt my love?"

No, Morticia had been nothing but affectionate and attentive ever since the three of them became a polycule. But, still... "We're so different."

"We have more in common than you'd think." Easy for her to say. "And besides, our differences make our relationship all the more special." Then, "I love you, mon chou. And I'll spend every day of the rest of my life showing you that."

God, that sounded more like a threat than a promise. Little did she know Valentina had already emotionally checked out, was looking for the right time to break things off. The rejection would sting at first, but the pain --and hopefully the love arrows' effects-- would fade with time. This really was in the best interest of all three of them.

Hopefully Gomez and Morticia would eventually see that as well.