maybe i'm too emotional,
but you're apathy's like
a wound in salt
[ wednesday fanfiction ]
[ wednesday x fem! oc ]
[ book i of the NOTHING'S FOREVER trilogy ]
[ part of the BEAUTIFUL MESS series ]
[ #1 in #weathervane ]
[ #1 in #pr...
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CHAPTER TWELVE; another conversation with nothing good to say
( criminal virtue )
[ ʚїɞ ]
WHEN SHE pushed the door open, Elizabeth was surprised to find herself greeted not by pop songs blasting at full volume ( Enid's favorite thing to do ) nor silence—which tended to happen when they left Wednesday alone in the dormitory—but by soft, plaintive music and something that sounded suspiciously like keyboard spamming.
She stepped inside and took in the scene—a record was spinning on the gramophone, and Wednesday sat at her desk, typing furiously.
Wednesday turned away from her typewriter to glance at the blonde girl. Elizabeth suddenly felt her mouth dry up, realizing that they hadn't talked in a while—not since that day in the infirmary.
"Hey," she managed.
"What do you want?" Wednesday crossed her arms as she always did and spun around in her chair so that she was now directly facing her roommate.
Elizabeth stared at the gramophone, struggling to figure out what to say next now that she had initiated this awkward conversation.
"La Llorona by Chavela Vargas."
"Wait, what?" Elizabeth asked, her attention sliding to the petite girl.
"The song. My parents . . ." Wednesday trailed off, and for a split second, nostalgia crossed her usually blank—if not annoyed—expression. She met Elizabeth's gaze and looked mildly embarrassed. "Never mind."
Before Elizabeth could respond, Wednesday's arms fell to her side and her entire body tensed. She sniffed the air, almost resembling a hungry predator, and Elizabeth instinctively took a cautious step back.
"Okay, maybe I was wrong about you being a psychic . . . maybe you're also a werewolf?" Elizabeth mused.
Wednesday ignored her, pulling the needle off the record and stalking to her bed, where she yanked the blankets aside.
"Hello, Thing."
Elizabeth blinked in confusion, unsure of whether she was hallucinating or maybe her new roommate was just a little insane . . . because did she just refer to the mattress as Thing? And then it certainly looked as though Wednesday was playing tug of war with . . . something.
From the bedpost, Wednesday wrestled free a fleshy-looking thing that squirmed in her hand. "Did you really think that my highly trained olfactory sense wouldn't pick up the faint whiff of neroli and bergamot in your favorite hand lotion?"
The little thing continued to struggle in her grip.
"I can do this all day long," Wednesday told it. "Surrender?"
