Young and in Love - Wenclair

Three Words... (Not Those Ones)

Enid sighs heavily, her gaze drawn down to the laptop in her hands, hot and mean. It's almost as if it's pulsing something vitriol and violent into the palms of her hands, though she knows nothing would show should she look. The gashes feel real all the same, gripping tighter to the source of her pain.

"Enid, if you keep making noises I fear I'll have no choice but to de-vocalize you."

The threat falls on death ears. Enid is staring at the screen, her eyes starting to burn from the bright display. The words quickly begin to blur, but they hurt all the same. The laptop burns something fierce on her lap, the fan reacting to the heat undoubtedly unfurling from her rapid mood switch taxing on the poor computer. Striking, taking, taking...

"Enid!"  Wednesday now stands toe-to-toe with the blonde, glowering fiercely with her hand held out and beckoning. "Give it."

Enid doesn't even flinch at the sudden appearance of the goth, nor does she care for the repercussions of whatever the other girl may have in store for her. She quietly murmurs a no, eyes tracking from top to bottom the god forsaken profile picture she'd enlarged. Trying to place it. Trying to put a single bullet to the face of a dozen turrets. Perhaps a freshman, or a Frenchman. There's no telling with the broad spectrum of readers she has that flock to her blog but still she tries. Because maybe if it's someone she vaguely knows she can prove herself to be good. Or send a sweet message, or take their words into consideration and press herself into a pretty enough print. Something, something, anything...

"Give it." Wednesday cuts in, voice taking an edgy tone. Enid lifts her head, and she realizes quickly Wednesday's marble features are as blurry as the words on the screen.

Tears.

Wednesday looks horrified at the similar realization, taking three paces back with a sharp intake of breath. She looks... wounded, maybe. Not as disgusted as Enid had gotten familiarized with in the earlier months of her stress-induced breakdowns or heat-cycle hormones, but something nearly tender.

Enid drops her head, feeling sorrow burrow deeper into her chest- no, beyond that; deeper, deeper... bone deep...

"...Enid?" Comes the quiet call, but she doesn't meet Wednesday's calculating gaze. The screens turned off by now and her reflection shows her tauntingly. Hauntingly.

Her eyes are swollen from holding the tears like sanctuary, her lips a constant quiver else a horribly unattractive downturn. She looks at how flat her hair lays; the vivid colours that need a desperate touching up and the brown peeking through her blonde roots she swore no one would ever know to be true despite the fact her wolf form is a great brown beast.

But it's just Wednesday. Wednesday who had seen and worshiped the brown fur with streaks of colour. And she can't bring herself to care; not in front of Wednesday, not when a fraction of her is on the screen and a fragment of herself is lost to the ether. Not when her hands are shaking so horribly that the click of her nails sink into the edges of the laptop, a burst of smoke and embers lighting up their dreadfully still room until there's only a flicker of blood lining Enid's nail beds- there and gone in an instant.

How horrible it is to not even bleed like a real person would who needs to release the darkness festering inside. Instead, she has to watch the blood coagulate in the split second before the wound fully shuts and she's left with smooth flesh and blood that's been heated into vapour. Left to the darkness doubling down in punishment for her rebellion. Thick and horrible in her chest, head and veins.

Maybe if she's lucky the wolf in her will get tired of the shadows and start clawing at her from the inside out. At least then could she dilute her mind and focus on something tangible, something that wouldn't keep slipping out of reach like a sibling holding a toy over your head...