The Woe We Deserve

Chapter 3

Xavier woke up the next morning in his shed. He could hear raindrops pounding on the roof, which only worsened the pounding in his head. He sat up and groaned; a wave of nausea washed over him, but he took deep breaths and tried to keep down the contents of his mostly empty stomach.

"And this, kids, is why you don't drink," said Wednesday, trying not to sound too amused.

Xavier whipped his head around in the direction of her voice, which only made him feel like a boulder had been dropped on his head. He threw himself back on the bed and groaned.

"What are you doing here? If you came to torture me, I'm not really in the mood."

"Nobody's ever in the mood to get tortured," she said plainly. "Except for me sometimes... But to answer your question, I was just out on my morning walk, and so I thought I'd stop by."

"In the rain?"

"Yes. What's your point?"

"Don't know. Hurts to think."

"I thought you might be feeling like crap," she started. "I couldn't miss the show."

"Gee, thanks."

"I can help."

Xavier slowly turned his head to face her and watched as she rummaged through her backpack. She walked back and plopped ungracefully on the edge of his bed. He was sure it was on purpose.

She handed Xavier a small mason jar containing a liquid that was the exact texture and color of puke.

"Is this some sort of prank?"

"It's my Uncle Fester's secret hangover remedy. It's made with—"

"I really don't want to know."

He propped up his torso and reached for the vile concoction. He eyed it suspiciously and took a deep breath before removing the lid. It somehow smelled worse than it looked, but he forced himself a sip. Wednesday tried to keep a straight face when he gagged.

"I recommend chugging," she said plainly, reaching for a nearby bucket and holding it near his face. "If you can't handle it, don't even think about getting it on my boots."

Xavier followed her advice, and downed the drink in three gulps. He retched and groaned but managed not to puke. He really, didn't want to give Wednesday the satisfaction.

Wednesday jumped up and rummaged through her bag once more. She returned with a thermos and a paper bag and placed them in his hands.

"Please tell me it's not more hangover remedy."

"Coffee and a croissant."

Xavier sighed and unscrewed the lid off the thermos, taking a sip. Anything to get the taste of that muck out of his mouth.

"I wasn't sure how you took it," she said, motioning to the coffee. "But any self-respecting person past the age of six should drink their coffee black."

"Black is perfect."

He didn't say it then, but he wasn't only talking about the coffee. Over the last few months, black had become his favorite color. Her black clothes, black hair, and black eyes all haunted his dreams and his nightmares, and he couldn't get enough of it.

Wednesday wasn't kidding about Uncle Fester's recipe. Within ten minutes of drinking it, the pounding in his head was fully gone.

"Wednesday?"

"Xavier."

"What are you really doing here?"

"Can't a girl just drop by to check on her friend?" she asked, feigning offense.