Beneath the surface || Wenclair

Chapter 8: the addams curse

Wednesday awoke with a start, the dim light of dawn barely cutting through the gloom of the room. Her mind instantly replayed the events of the previous night—the kiss, the overwhelming flood of emotions, and Enid's sudden absence. Her bed was still untouched, her presence noticeably missing.

The night had stretched on in unbearable silence, and Wednesday had waited—though she would never admit it—for Enid to return. But as the hours passed, that hope had withered into frustration. Where had Enid gone? Why hadn't she come back?

Wednesday couldn't afford to think about it any longer. She quickly dressed in her usual black attire, tied her braids with precision, and grabbed her bag. Before Enid had the chance to return and make things unbearably awkward, Wednesday slipped out of the dorm. She needed space—desperately.

The crisp autumn air provided a sharp contrast to the swirling chaos in Wednesday's mind. She had spent the morning avoiding the dorm, her thoughts heavy and jumbled. What had happened the previous night had left her disoriented in a way she didn't care to admit.

Enid's lips on hers had felt... too right, too overwhelming. Wednesday prided herself on her control—her ability to remain detached from the trivialities of emotional entanglements. Yet here she was, haunted by something so absurdly simple, yet undeniably powerful.

She continued her brisk pace, her boots striking the cobblestones as she made her way through the courtyard. She needed answers, or at least some perspective. Unfortunately, the only person who might understand was the one individual she hated consulting: her mother.

Phones—brain-destroying death traps that Wednesday despised with every fiber of her being—had become a necessary evil over the years. She'd learned, reluctantly and awkwardly, how to navigate the basic functions of the device gifted to her by Xavier at the end of their first year. He had given it to her as a way to "stay connected," though Wednesday suspected it was more about appeasing social norms than anything else.

Regardless, she had kept the cursed object out of necessity, using it as sparingly as possible. This, however, was one of those rare moments when it might serve a purpose.

With a deep, begrudging breath, she pulled out her phone and awkwardly navigated to her mother's contact. Her fingers hovered over the call button, hesitation gnawing at her resolve. She didn't want to ask for help. She didn't want to admit there was a problem at all. But after a moment's internal battle, she pressed the button, half-hoping her mother wouldn't pick up.

The phone rang once, twice, and then Morticia's voice purred through the speaker, smooth and knowing. "Darling! What a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning call?"

Wednesday scowled. Of course her mother would think this was some kind of pleasure call. "This is purely hypothetical," she said, her voice as sharp as ever, "but is there a way to stop the Addams curse?"

Morticia's laughter was soft and amused, a sound that grated on Wednesday's nerves. "Ah, the Addams curse. I see. And this 'hypothetical' question wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a certain someone, would it?"

Wednesday's grip on the phone tightened. "This has nothing to do with anyone. This is a general inquiry."

"Oh, darling, you can deny it all you like, but I can hear it in your voice. The curse has found you, hasn't it?"

"I don't have time for your dramatics, Mother," Wednesday snapped, hating how transparent she was to her own blood. "This is not about me, nor is it about any... 'someone.' It's a general question. Is there a way to stop the curse or not?"

Morticia's tone shifted from teasing to thoughtful, though Wednesday could still hear the amusement lurking beneath her words. "The curse isn't something you can just stop, Wednesday. It's a part of who we are. Love, passion, they come for us all—whether we want it or not. And fighting it only makes it stronger."

Wednesday's scowl deepened. "I don't care about love. I care about control. And right now, this... this hypothetical situation is becoming a distraction. A very irritating distraction."

"I see," Morticia hummed, clearly enjoying Wednesday's predicament far too much. "You know, your father tried to fight it at first too. He swore he would never fall for me, but in the end, he couldn't resist. It's charming, really."

"This is not about Father and his ridiculous displays of affection," Wednesday hissed, her patience wearing thin. "I have no interest in such trivial emotions. I simply want to... end this."

"Wednesday, you may be able to deny it to me, but can you deny it to yourself? Feelings have a way of surfacing, no matter how deeply you bury them."

"I have no feelings to bury," Wednesday said coldly, though her words felt hollow even to her. "This call was a mistake."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss your feelings, my dear. If this person is causing you such distress, perhaps they are more important than you realize."

Wednesday gritted her teeth. "There is no person."

"Of course, darling," Morticia said smoothly. "Just remember: love isn't something to be feared. It's a part of our legacy."

Wednesday ended the call abruptly, shoving the phone back into her pocket with more force than necessary. Her mother's words echoed in her mind, though she despised every one of them. There was no love, no cursed passion. It was just an experiment, a misguided moment of weakness.

As Wednesday walked through the courtyard, her thoughts only tangled further. She couldn't allow herself to spiral, couldn't let this distraction—whatever it was—consume her. She had no use for such feelings.

And yet, no matter how hard she tried to push the thoughts away, the memory of Enid's lips on hers kept creeping back into her mind.

By the time Wednesday returned to the dorm, it was late in the afternoon. The hallways were quiet, and she half-expected Enid to be waiting for her, but when she opened the door, the room was still empty.

Wednesday's chest tightened. Enid hadn't returned. She told herself it didn't matter—Enid had her own life, her own friends—but the absence gnawed at her. The room, normally buzzing with Enid's chaotic energy, felt stifling and too quiet.

She dropped her bag on her bed and sat down, forcing herself to focus on anything but the growing discomfort in her chest. She had crossed a line last night. Now, she would have to face the consequences. But as the hours dragged on, the reality began to sink in.

Avoiding Enid wouldn't be enough. Whatever this was—this curse, this distraction—there was no escaping it. Not forever.

With a deep breath, Wednesday buried her face in her hands, trying in vain to silence the storm of emotions brewing inside her. You're not in love. You're not in love. The mantra was useless. The truth, however unwelcome, was closing in.