• chapter 11 •

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• WEDNESDAY •
* 1963 *

• WEDNESDAY • * 1963 *

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Sunlight. Why so much sunlight?

I held out my hand, trying to block the sun that came shining in from the windows. A grimace made its way to my face when I sat up. I was in one of Elliot's rooms. I'm not sure which one, if I'm being honest. (how long had I been asleep? where's Five?)

When I sat up I was met with my reflection (Elliot had a huge dresser with a big mirror right in front of the bed): my brown hair was tangled, hand covered in a bandage (it was then that I felt the slight ache), bruises littered my face, but at least the blood was gone. There was also a little bandage on my forehead, probably from where a small piece of window glass cut me.

I stood up, legs aching, and shuffled over to the mirror. There, on the dresser, sat a bunch of beauty supplies along with stationary. Guess Elliot used this for a desk too.

I made a move for the hairbrush when suddenly I snapped my hand back, bringing the other up to touch my hair (it was tangled beyond belief. it would take me about an hour to untangle it).

Before I could even really think, my hand was reaching out for a pair of scissors that sat in an old mug. I brought them up to my hair, holding it taught in my hand and bringing the blade up to my shoulder. I looked at myself with long hair one last time in the mirror before snipping away, allowing the hair to fall to the floor.

• FIVE •
* 1963 *

"No, no, no," Diego insisted. Luther sat at the stove, cooking some eggs and allowing them to overflow from the pan (idiot). "I don't understand. They keep following me."

"Wait, who?" Luther asked, piping up (leave it to Luther to be behind on everything that's happening around him.

"Those Dutch psychopaths," Diego snapped, causing me to roll my eyes. They really don't pay attention, do they. Before I could correct him, a familiar and sweet voice rang out.

"They're Swedish, you idiot." Wednesday came hobbling from the hallway, tiredly grabbing the pot of coffee and pouring herself a cup. Diego, Luther, and I went silent, watching her as she made her way to stand next to me. She took a long, drawn out sip from her coffee before speaking again. "What?"

"Your hair," I whispered, mainly talking to myself. I had always loved Wednesday's hair, but this...I liked it. It sat shoulder length now, the slight curls framing her face beautifully.

She subconsciously reached up to touch it. "I...couldn't stand the long hair anymore. It gets in the way when I fight," She muttered. "Anyway, the Swedes are just hired guns paid to eradicate  us before we do any more damage to the timeline."

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢💛              (FIVE HARGREEVES X OC) Where stories live. Discover now