Mutual Feelings | A Wenclair Love Story

Chapter 10: Forty dollars.

Wednesday, January 9th, 2023
9:01PM
Wednesday's POV

Enid told me that she wouldn't leave me, and yet here I am, sitting down alone at a random four-seater surrounded by adolescents. Murder me and put me out of this misery. I am not exactly sure where Enid went. I turned to get a cup of water, realized that the pitcher was indeed not full of water, put the cup away and she was gone. I never normally feel lost, rarely even. However, something about being in a massive house with people my age and having little to no one to speak with...it's mildly unsettling.

The plan of my flirting with Enid hasn't gone anywhere either. Although, in my defense, I have no clue where she is at the moment. So, you can say I didn't attempt to try when I didn't have the opportunity to.

The table I am seated at is small, right next to the glass doors leading to the back porch. I shift in my seat as I hear laugher in the background. I would ignore it but it's so loudly distracting I can't help but look. I watch as a teenage boy chucks a plastic bottle of some sort across the living room, hitting someone straight in the back of the head. The boy that threw the bottle dramatically ducks behind the couch, narrowly avoiding the other kids view as he turns around.

It's Enid's brother, Easton I believe his name is. The punk one. He starts hysterically laughing behind the couch before he looks around him, stopping his gaze when he sees me.

"Wednesday!" He says, almost as if he was relieved to see me. He cautiously gets up, making sure the kid isn't still looking for him, he then walks over and sits across from me at the small table. "Do you prefer if people call you Wednesday or Addams, cause I've heard people say both." He asks, getting comfortable in his seat. I would normally despise my lonesome being interrupted, but right now is different.

"Either. Not many people call me Wednesday though." I admit. He gives me a confused look.  

"How come?"

"I assume it's because not many people know me well enough to fell as though they can call me by my first name, which doesn't make much sense considering it's my name. You don't need to be special to call me who I am." I explain. I truly don't find it necessary to worry about what name people call me by, as long as it's my name it's fine. If someone refers to me as Addams it feels like work, if someone refers to me as Wednesday it feels more personal, something I've grown fond of since coming to Nevermore.

Enid is the first person outside of family to call me Wednesday and make me feel a certain way about it. Terribly enjoyable I'm afraid.

"Hm." Easton hums. "Who calls you Wednesday?" He questions.

"What?"

"You said not many people call you Wednesday. I'm just wondering who does."

"Why?"

"I'm a naturally curious person. What, could you not tell by the way I wanted to know what would happen if I threw a water bottle at a kid?" He replies, laughing at the recent memory. I nod my head in response, realizing he's just trying to make conversation. I'm always late on picking up situations like this.

"Well, my parents of course. Even so, my dad does use nicknames for me a decent amount. My younger brother Pugsley, alongside the rest of my family. My friend Eugene who reminds me of a younger brother. Teachers occasionally...and Enid." I note. My voice gets noticeably quieter before I say her name. I really don't want to make it obvious that I like her, especially to one of her older brothers. I'm aware of how her mother feels about the gay community and in case her brothers have the same viewpoints, I don't want to make my sexuality clear. Part of me feels as though if Enid's brothers were homophobic, she wouldn't have nearly as strong of a relationship with them as she currently does. But that's just a feeling, and regretfully, I'm not always 100% correct.

That's really hard to admit.

"Speaking of Enid," Easton starts, adjusting his posture. "what do you think of her?" I raise my eyebrow, concerned and puzzled as to what that question could entail. "No, not in like a bad way. Enid just talks about you a lot, over text and calls and shit like that. You're definitely one of her favorite people, and that's saying a lot cause she makes friends pretty easily. And I mean no offense when I say this, but you don't seem like a super outgoing person."

"What would make you say that?" I ask, slightly offended.

"Before I came over here you were sitting alone. Again, no offense, just an observation." He states. To be quite frank, I'm not offended. All that he said so far is true, I'm not a very outgoing person. I rarely start conversations with people and by the slight chance someone starts a conversation with me, most of the time I'm figuring out my escape plan. Nevertheless, he said Enid talks about me a lot. Based on the way he phrased it, good things I would hope. Hell. She's the only person in the world that I wish says good things regarding me.

I stay quiet, unsure of how to go about this exchange. On one hand I want to be honest, tell him how I feel about her, that way the weight on my chest will get lifted. Yoko knows but for me, it feels as if nobody does. Maybe that feeling would go away if I just told her. On the other hand, I don't know Easton well. I put my trust into someone once then they ended up being a Hyde. Not suggesting Easton will murder innocents and attempt to end my life, but there is always that possibility.

I don't respond. 

"Shit." He says, now looking down at the table in disappointment. I stare at him, wondering if he's always this odd.

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah, I owe him fucking forty dollars. Such bullshit bro, I thought I was right." He confesses. I watch as he takes out a batman wallet, opening it up scavenging for money. He tosses a twenty, three fives, a few ones, and a variety of coins onto the table. "Reggie mush be able to sense this kind of shit."

"What are you-" I start but get cut off by a familiar voice.

"I must be able to sense what kind of shit?" Reggie interjects, sitting down in the chair next to Easton, now facing me as well. He has a red solo cup with him, filled with what appears to be straight vodka. Werewolves do have a higher tolerance with alcohol, so I find it slightly impressive that he's had numerous drinks tonight without even slurring a single word.

"Lesbians man, I thought you could only detect gay dudes." Easton comments, sliding the money on the table in front of his brother. Reggie smiles at him before pocketing the cash and loose change.

"My gaydar works on everyone." He responds. So much was just said in such a small period of time. How did Reggie know I was a lesbian? Is he gay? That would make sense, him and Kent were having a very flirtatious seeming conversation when we first arrived here.

"While we're on the topic of overall gay, that chat you were having Kent seemed very promising. I could feel the tension from across the room. You both were basically fucking each other with your eyes, eye-fucking if you will. " Easton notes. Reggie shrugs his shoulders before taking a sip of his drink.

So, Reggie is gay, and Easton is okay with that. Good. That's good. They know I'm a lesbian, and they are also okay with that. Furthermore, good news. I have to say, I do find it peculiar that they placed a bet on my sexuality.

"Why did you both bet I was a lesbian?" I not-so-subtly inquire. They both look at me slightly shocked.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, are you not a lesbian?" Easton asks.
"Wait, we're so sorry, we shouldn't have done that now that I think about it." Reggie quickly apologizes, talking over Easton. 

I glare at them absently.

"Why the apologies? Neither of you have answered my question yet." I say. Instead of confused they both switch to a more at ease expression. 

"Oh, well, we didn't bet on you being a lesbian exactly, but...something else." Reggie acknowledges. But Easton payed him, so they must have bet on something. They both give me a knowing look before focusing past me. I start to scan the room that I'm in, wondering what or who they are referring too. Nobody important catches my eye until I find myself staring through a doorway and into another room. 

Enid.