Young and in Love - Wenclair

runnin' through my mind

Wednesday hates a lot of things. The smell of fresh grass, tears, physical affection, law abiding citizens. But her new abject horror that was causing a whole new disparity within her, was the godforsaken treadmill.

She didn't enjoy most physical activity if it doesn't involve dancing to the point she feels as though a very old ghost has come over her, enriching her with tales of old and casting the world into a dark murder-mystery of whodunnit, or if it isn't a skill requiring precision like archery.

Her family's waken the dead ritual was, of course, her favourite form of activity and filled her need for human interaction, as liminal as she so needed.

But the treadmill is a man-made horror, a nightmarish invention the principal has forced upon her to relieve some of her 'murderous rage' or whatever.

She thought her murderous thoughts were of the perfect amount for a healthy teenage girl.

But it didn't quell the so called rage. It made it all the worse. Her head felt thick with pressure, her throat dry and lungs heaving uncomfortably. It was an awful thing to do to someone- damn near inhumane, and worse?

She was sweating.

Wednesday Addams did not sweat.

She did not sweat in the heat of summer, she did not sweat when running for her life (something Xavier took pity on, saying she resembled a very sad and very dead sloth) and she did not sweat while being attacked by the first boy she ever kissed in the woods. Enid would say she did- as well as a few other unimportant people squabbling about. But she didn't. It was merely the sheen of a thousand God's scorning her for past atrocities committed.

But this contraption was causing her to soak through the black long sleeve and pants she wore- having to go as far as tying her hair back in order to keep it from whipping her. It was frizzing up and her bangs were slick against the sheen of sweat on her forehead and it was all grotesque.

Her ears clicked, her body sort of starting back when she got a little too tired and her feet began to drag. She was sloppy and uncoordinated and Edin Sinclair absolutely loved it.

Love was loathing, if you asked Wednesday, as she glowered at the blonde leaning in the gymnasium doorway, a glare that usually set others uncomfortable, but Edin seemed all the more motivated by it. Because she would later confess, it looked like a pissed off raccoon stuck in the mud.

And oh, how she loathed her Lycan room mate more than ever at this very moment.

Edin adored working out. She wasn't a stranger to running around- the werewolf in her seemingly her drive, trying to discharge as much pent-up energy as her human body could take- and wasn't a stranger to the weights section either. She was well respected by all creatures in there- and she was toned. So toned.

It didn't hurt Wednesdays eyes as much as she thought when she caught Edin in just a sports bra, abs and arms shapely and flushed from the shower.

Not that she'd admit to it.

She pressed on, speeding up a bit despite her exhausted cardiac system begging her to stop. She would not allow Enid fucking Sinclair to be the one to ever see her fail.

The treadmill was worse than the electric chair- though she only found it bad once, then found sheer delight in having her brain zapped and turned to a near liquid by her brother. But she would never enjoy the abominable machine whining beneath her heavy footfalls.

And, of course, a waiver was sent home. Morticia was adamant that Wednesday didn't need such activity- stating that chopping things up and digging up resting spots was gruelling on its own, which the school seemed a little disturbed by, if them avoiding Wednesday more than usual was anything to go by.