Young and in Love - Wenclair

10 Things I Love About You.

Like some kind of monster. Made of teeth and fire, was all that Wednesday had managed to see for the better part of an hour, gaze locked like the viewfinder of a camera on the ball of energy on the disgustingly colourful side of the dorm room.

Even more disgustingly so, were the splatters of orange, yellow and red bordering her delectably dark half of the room. She didn't pay much mind to the absurdity that was Enid Sinclair on a good day, usually busying herself with research to make the torture-time of the pleebs of this institution far more enjoyable, but this torture? Oh it was unheard of.

The delicious solitude she so adored and macabre creative process were being rudely disturbed by the sounds of clattering tins and the stomach-turning smell of chemicals hot in the air. Murder was a constant in her mind, but the scenarios twisting through every tiny molecule were currently all centring the taller girl in small ditches, decaying, as the lead of her own slasher film.

Oh, how lovely it would be for Enid Sinclair to stop existing within her space for even just a moment.

She gave it another 5 minutes, before the idiotic blonde started to hum a song, and she started planning what Enid's funeral would entail.

She clicked her teeth together, spinning around in her chair to face the mess unfolding in time to watch a blob of sunset coloured dye hit the hardwood.

Her left eye twitched.

And that stupid. Fucking. Tinkering. Laughter.

It twitched again.

It was all so painful, and not the good kind that made her want to bathe in a virgin's blood or dangle Pubert from a cage off the awning roof, but the kind that made her heart want to carve out a hole in her chest and flop onto the floor with a sickly beat singing finality.

And not even something so morose could get her jaw to stop grinding itself into a fine powder, or unleash her white-knuckled grip from the chairs backing.

Enid, all bubbles and colour, looked to the sound of cracking wood, eyes flickering from the shrapnel glittering to the floor to dark eyes, shit-eating grin ever present.

"Isn't it cool?"

Wednesdays eye was close to spasming beneath low brows when Enid took a few steps closer to the gothic teen, her own thin eyebrow cocked and hair sticking out in weird angles that sort of made her look like a Trolls doll. "Do I look good?"

"No." Wednesday didnt hesitate, voice flat, "You look like a nightmare. And not the nice kind."

Enid rolled her eyes, undeterred, continuing to lather her hair with colour in the reflection of the stain-glass window. "I think it suits me just fine. You'd look good in some colour."

Wednesday let her face twist uncharacteristically from nothingness to a grimace at the sight of a clear plastic glove stroking yellow dye into the ends of blonde curls.
Black was better. Black wasn't like a needle to the eye to look at.
"Must you be so asinine?"

Another roll of blue eyes, and a scoff, "Oh, have a heart my disturbed, evil roommate."

Sormething tugged in Wednesday's chest- like an ice pick tickling her ribs. "You think I'm evil?"

Enid skipped back to her desk, discarding her yellow goop for orange, and then, shooting a wink over her shoulder, "The worst."

Perhaps colour wasn't the worst thing, if it kept making the tugging at whatever resided within Wednesday's chest occur. Not because it felt nice, or comfortable- but because it was uncomfortable, and foreign. And she loved the feeling of wanting to skin herself into a nice rug quite a lot, she found.