Woe it's Wenclair

Forward

Thanks for 30k guys :)) Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've been losing motivation but I'm gonna try to write more. Anyway, enjoy. T.W. Unhealthy eating

Wednesday

I trace my finger around the grain of the wood on my desk. The teacher, whose name I did not catch, drones on about chemical compounds. I learned this stuff when I was about ten when I stumbled upon challenging-looking books in the family library. I've always been such a conceited idiot. The fact is it didn't matter. I didn't care. Until now.

I feel horrible. The food in my stomach feels overwhelmingly wrong. I want to throw up. Thoughts like serrated knives keep swirling around me, alerting me to their unabashed truths. Enid would be so much better off without me, if she never knew me. And to think, through all of that, she's worried about me. Me. I'm the one who caused all the problems, goddammit.

I'm the one who deserves her pain. I don't need some therapist. I'm not fixable. I'm a nihilistic violent mess. I'm not the kind of person known for loving. I've shown that again and again, I'm a misanthrope and a let-down.

What does she even see in me? What does she see that cues her beautiful smiles and warm cheeks? She must be seeing something wrong.

"Addams? The bell rang." The chemistry teacher calls.

I jerk back to reality. I'm sitting in the classroom alone, the teacher sitting on his desk, legs crossed. He looks at me with a knowing glance.

"Daydreaming?" He asks.

"I don't daydream," I mutter, throwing my bag on and heading out the door.

—————

The rest of my classes go by much slower than my liking. I spent lunch in my dorm, knowing I would throw up if I tried to eat. Enid is surely looking all over for me, probably worried, but she'll find me in our dorm. I escaped from my last class as soon as I could. The other students were trying to talk to me, so naturally I gave them a nice kick in their shins and ended up sent outside.

"Wednesday! Oh my god, there you are!" Enid says, barreling through the door.

"Where were you at lunch? Never mind that, we're running late for my appointment."

Her appointment? Oh, right. Therapy. Of course I forgot about something as important as that.

"I'm going with you, but I'm not signing up for anything." I mutter.

She widens her eyes and steps over to me. "But you said you would."

"No, I didn't."

She looks at me with concern and hurt. "But..." she starts to say.

I'm too focused on her expression to notice her hand moving toward my narrow waist. The second she touches me I jump and scramble backwards. I don't want her to touch me like that. It erupts this icy cold, shameful feeling in my body, in my cheeks.

I don't want her to worry about me. It just makes everything worse. I can't eat. I just can't. It's a waste of her energy worrying about me.

"I'm fine," I assure her.

"You barely ate today." She says in a small voice.

I swallow. I guess I can't deny that.

"Wednesday... you know I love you."

I look up at her from my feet. She's never said that before.

"And I don't know what this is about... if I did anything..." She sputters, after taking a ragged breath.

"No. No, please don't think that." I plead, vigorously shaking my head.

"It isn't?" She asks, relieved.

"Of course not," I say, walking back towards her.

"What is it?" She asks softly.

I could tell her everything. How I want this more than anything, what I was thinking ever since that day in the attic. Why I haven't been eating.

But it just feels selfish.

"We're running late."

"Right. Can you... can you think about it?" She asks, referring to me making an appointment for myself, I'm sure.

"I'll think about it."

She smiles. "Thank you. I mean, yeah. Okay."

—————

The waiting room is disgustingly boring. The walls are painted an ugly shade of green and motivational posters are hanging on every wall. One has a picture of a kitten in a tree with the words 'Hang in there.' I want to burn this place to the ground.

I've spent my time waiting for Enid's appointment to end shrinking into my chair, and thinking about setting myself up for an appointment. I hate the idea, but maybe I could try just one. It could be helpful. Maybe.

"Alright, two weeks from now, then Enid. See you soon!" An androgynous person calls as Enid leaves the room.

"See you! Thank you." Enid waves.

"Finally," I mutter.

"Wednesday it was literally only one hour," Enid says, walking over to me.

"One hour in this place is torture."

"Sure." She replies, rolling her eyes.

"It is."

"Mmkay. You ready to leave?"

"Yes."

"Did you sign up for anything?" She asks, arms behind her back.

"Yes, the drama club."

"Shut up. Did you sign up for an appointment?" She replies, kicking my chair lightly.

I sigh. "How do I do that?"

"You just walk up to that dude over there," Enid explains, pointing to a tired-looking old man at the front desk.

"I don't like him," I say, crossing my arms.

Enid sighs and pushes me over to him. I groan.

"What can I do for you?" The man says, itching his beard.

"I'd like... I'd like an appointment. Sometime. I think."

He blinks multiple times.

"Can you be more specific?"

"Appointment. For therapy. Soon. Here."

"Say please," Enid whispers to me. I glare at her.

"...please."

"We can get you in with Mx. Roth in a week, either Tuesday at 6 pm or Thursday at 4 pm."

"Uh."

"You should do the Thursday one, it's right after mine, we can go together," Enid whispers.

The man with the beard yawns.

"Thursday. At 4 pm. Uh, please."

"Alright, can I get you to fill this in, please?"

"Yes," I say, taking the paper.

"This. is. a lot. of. paperwork."