She's an Agent of Chaos, I'm a Softie

c. 3: Daddy Issues? Me, Too.

  The walk back to Ophelia Hall was a silent one, the day’s events looming in Enid’s mind, serving to torment her. There had been some good, some bad, some grizzly. Despite Wednesday’s words of affirmation, Enid still could not shake the sense of dread she had felt when looking down at Tyler’s bruised and battered body. Just like the Hyde, it too was burned into her mind now. He didn’t look like himself anymore, his face horribly deformed, mired in blood and mucus.

  And it was all Enid’s fault.

  She’d feared ever facing Tyler again, but now that she had overcome that fear, there was a new monster to fret over: Herself. How could she be capable of such travesties? In her base form, Enid had done irreparable damage—to think of what she was capable of once she was fully transformed. What terrified her the most was the fact that she hadn’t even meant to. She wasn’t herself.

  It was an involuntary reaction to a hectic situation. But look what it had led to. The situation was extreme, yes, and Wednesday certainly hadn’t helped chancing her life like that, but who’s to say Enid wouldn’t snap like that again? Who’s to say she won’t exasperate a petty dispute and hurt an innocent person? Neigh, one of her friends.

  Awful thoughts plagued Enid, flooding her mind with visceral images. Of her friends. Yoko, Ajax, Divina, their features skewered, and their skin charred. Apparitions of mangled corpses surrounded her. They stared, faces unyielding, and they refused to speak, but Enid could feel it all—all that blame.

  Their judgement permeated the air, filling it like a noxious gas. She couldn’t breathe. The air was thick with pollution. The fault of soulless corporations working in their own best interests. Scratching and clawing just to save face.

  Soulless. Worthless. Churlish. Irregular. Sadistic.

  “Fuck off!” Enid suddenly exclaimed, her anguish-stricken voice echoing off the polished walls, no doubt rousing a few. The figures were gone now, the only faces staring back at her being those that hung on the walls. Paintings—just paintings. Enid took a few deep breaths in, clenching her fists together. They were still hurt from the damage she’d inflicted on herself earlier.

  I need bandages—disinfectant, too. Wednesday keeps a med kit in her drawer. Enid’s breathing calmed again, her mind flashing back to a particular moment last term. After her initial fight with the Hyde, Wednesday had insisted that Enid remain with her over checking into a hospital or even the hospital wing, which was functioning as a makeshift shelter at the time for all the injured students. “The nurses here aren’t to be trusted—besides, I’m well-versed in stitching digits back together, and how different can this be, really?” Wednesday had said, not caring for her own injuries that needed tended to.

  In that moment, Enid was more important. Though the following night was painful, Enid cherished the memory. It signified in her mind that she and Wednesday, though flawed, did indeed work. One’s vast array of colours was the other’s torment, and the sullen girl’s macabre was the other’s comfort. They were solar opposites, but they fit together cleanly like two puzzle pieces.

  Enid’s face transitioned into a smile, and so she took her new mindset in stride, continuing on down the corridor. It was late now, the halls deathly quiet, devoid of the student body that gave them life. Empty halls had always been especially unnerving to Enid, the liminality they evoked gripping her in particular. It was a place in transition, and Enid’s presence felt like a fallacy. It was just her in a desolate space in which she was not meant to be occupying.

  Well, Enid had assumed it was just her. As she neared she an Wednesday’s shared dorm, Enid became aware of another. There, propped-up against the wall, face buried in his phone, was Xavier Thorpe. He didn’t pick up on her at first, too engrossed in the digital world. But, eventually, his eyes wandered, finding Enid, who was staring at him quizzically.