𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ℂ𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ➶

𝔽𝕚𝕗𝕥𝕪-𝔽𝕚𝕧𝕖: 𝔾𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕥𝕪 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖

Valentina hadn't a clue where Morticia was taking her. She couldn't see anything through all her tears and snot, four out of her five face holes all but completely swollen shut.

All she knew was that, wherever they were going, they were going fast, passing through the halls in a blur. When Tish finally let go of her, she collapsed, crashing down onto the floor of her room in Ophelia Hall like a toppled Jenga tower.

Morticia must have realized what a hopeless task righting her would be, because she fell to her knees next to her instead. Quick, nimble fingers flew to the zipper of her little red dress. But, of course, the damn thing jammed.

Val went absolutely feral, ripping at the silk and the chiffon with a short but sharp little shriek. She felt trapped, like she couldn't breathe.

"Sh, sh, sh, sh, shhh," Tish hushed. Eventually her insistent tugging bore fruit: the teeth of the zipper pulled apart just enough where Valentina could wriggle her way out like a writhing snake, leaving a trail of pink scratches down her back.

It didn't help. It felt like all the air had left the room for how little oxygen was actually ending up in her lungs.

A bit of rooting around in her drawers, and a pair of cotton pajamas were pulled out. Morticia dressed her like a doll. A doll in the midst of a panic attack, but a doll nonetheless. When she was done, she peeled back the layers upon layers of fuzzy blankets before ushering her into bed.

"The police are going to know I was on the scene, but they don't need to know you were," she uttered into the dark room, voice barely above a whisper, as if that would cushion the blow of her words. "Get into bed. Go to sleep. We'll discuss the rest later."

Val didn't know what to say to that. What do you say to someone helping you get away with murder? "Thank you?" It didn't matter. Unfortunately, she was too busy gasping for air between sobs to get anything out.

Tish disappeared like a billow of smoke. Valentina laid there, facing the wall in case Fran walked in, with Baphomet in a chokehold. It took a while, but eventually the adrenaline wore off, leaving her utterly exhausted.

She didn't sleep, just dozed between long blinks. She waited all night for the other shoe to drop, for the cops to come and take her away. But, to her shock, no one walked through the door. Not even Fran.

She felt a stab of relief when the first rays of light streamed through her window that Sunday morning, and then guilt like a shotgun shot to the chest. One innocent boy was dead because of her, and another was spending the night in jail for her crime.

~~~

The police kept Gomez in custody for four days, and they were the longest ninety-six hours of Valentina's life. She wanted to go and confess, make things right, but Morticia thwarted her at every turn.

She returned from classes Monday afternoon to find the upperclassman packing her an overnight --or, rather, an over-several-nights-- bag.

"You're a liability, to yourself and to us," she explained as she gently tucked Baphomet into the duffle bag as if she were laying a baby down in a cradle. "You're staying with me until the heat dies down."

Fran didn't ask where she was that night, nor the night after. She was too busy comforting Larissa, who apparently "witnessed Addams kill Garrett." Her words, not Val's.

Gates' death was even in the school newspaper. Naturally, the journalists took Gomez's side. "Protective boyfriend defends against violent stalker!" It was a good story. Too bad it was complete hogwash.

Valentina was never more thankful for her dreamcatcher. She awoke every night in a pool of cold sweat, a scream trapped in her throat... But she didn't remember any of the nightmares that kept waking her.

After suffering through the first night together alone, she selfishly asked to sleep in Tish's bed with her. Again, Baphomet had to stay in her bed --the plush took up too much room-- but she graciously agreed, despite them not being together anymore.

The third and fourth nights, Val --the presumptuous little thing that she was-- just climbed into her bed without asking. Morticia simply turned over and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Wednesday night was spent tossing and turning in Tish's arms as usual. But, sometime around midnight, she noticed a man's figure hovering over the foot of their bed while she was drifting between the realm of consciousness and unconsciousness.

At first she thought it was the ghost of Garrett Gates returned from the dead to reap his vengeance. But then Morticia snapped her fingers and every candle in the room lit up at once. Standing there, bathed in the dim glow of candlelight, was...

"Gomez!"