UNDEAD BECOMES HER, wednesday addams

vii. singing with the choir

"Whoever invented high heels clearly had a side hustle as a torturer," Wednesday muttered, sitting down outside the dance beside Bianca. Considering Ollie had worn ballet slippers, she couldn't say anything, but she could sympathize. 

"As my dear mother always says, 'fire tests gold, suffering tests a woman,'" Bianca said.

"Speaking of suffering, where's your date?" Wednesday asked. "I didn't see you and Xavier on the dance floor."

"We had a little tiff. About you, actually." Bianca sighed and looked away. "You don't know what it's like."

"Being beautiful and popular?" Ollie asked. "Or being on such a high pedestal that any indication you're human brings everything you've built crashing down around you?"

Bianca glared at her and she shrunk back. "Never knowing people's true feelings. If someone likes me for me."

Wednesday tilted her head towards Bianca's necklace. "What about your amulet?"

The siren scoffed. "It's not foolproof. It's a mild prophylactic, so to speak. That's why Xavier broke up with me. He could never fully trust me. The worst part is I could never trust his feelings, either. I never knew if they were real or not. You're lucky."

Wednesday stiffened. "Do tell."

"You don't care what people think of you."

"Honestly, I wish I cared a little more."

That seemed to be the end of that conversation. 

They ended up back on the dance floor, awkwardly staring at each other in the middle of the crowd as an upbeat pop song rolled over them. 

Everyone was having a good time. Everyone was dancing. Ollie was going to throw up.

Then Wednesday reached out, took Ollie's hands, and they began a simple square waltz. A bee crawled out of her ear and down the column of her throat. 

"Thank you," Ollie said, barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

"For what?"

"Everything."

Then liquid hit her shoulder. She looked at it. It was red, and for a moment, she thought it was blood. A curious vine crept up through her ribcage for a taste and recoiled. 

The sprinklers went off. Everything became red. Wednesday smiled as droplets hit her face.

"Don't look so happy," Ollie said, feeling lightheaded. "It's paint. They couldn't even spring for real pig's blood. No Carrie moment here."

Everyone realized what was happening and cries of dissent spread through the crowd. Then people began to scream and run, slipping on the floor comically.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Ollie said, and touched Wednesday's shoulder. Her eyes widened and her head snapped back, like she was having a seizure. "Woah, are you okay?"

"Eugene is in the woods. He's in danger. We need to get to him." That was all the explanation Wednesday seemed to be willing to give, as she sprinted out of the room a second later. How she didn't slip was behind Ollie, who had to carefully make her way out. 

The fresh air was only rejuvenating for a second, since she was still covered in paint and paint historically hasn't been a plant's best friend. At least it hadn't gotten under her dress yet. She sighed and ran after Wednesday, barely keeping the girl in her sights as she followed her out into the woods.

The next couple of hours were a blur. Ollie knew they found Eugene, bloodied and unconscious. She knew that in a panic-fueled state, she'd carried him back to the school, Wednesday hot on her trail. She remembered shoving him into Principal Weems' arms, incoherently babbling about the monster. 

She remembered being hustled away from everyone by Bianca and guided to the showers. She remembered being unable to get out of her dress and the siren having to help her. She didn't remember how Bianca reacted to the bare bones, but she did remember that Bianca was the only reason she made it back to her room.

Wednesday had gone to the hospital with Eugene, and showed up later that night with Francis on her arm, whom she was feeding centipedes. 

"Don't," Ollie mumbled, face half-smushed into her pillow, turning over to be more coherent. "They give him indigestion."

"Do you need water?" Wednesday asked brusquely, filling up a cup from the dispenser. 

"Yeah."

"Open your mouth."

Ollie opened her mouth and Wednesday tipped the cup's contents down her throat. 

"I can't imagine paint was good for your health."

"Nuh-uh. Eugene?"

"Being taken care of. He's in a coma. I shouldn't have gone. I should've been with him."

"I should've gone, too. I never should've gone to that stupid dance. Poor Eugene. Right before Parents' Weekend, too. I'mma bring his moms flowers. Go to bed. If I die, bury me shallow in the ground. And take care of Francis."

"I will," Wednesday said, and Ollie got the feeling she was being humored. 

"He likes larkspur and water hemlock, but they're bad for him," Ollie mumbled, and fell asleep.

She woke up in the middle of the night, crying sap-filled tears, making her cheeks sticky, reaching for something that wasn't there but was supposed to be there. Why wasn't it there? Why hadn't she been there? 

Francis was curled up in his little nest, sleeping peacefully. She stared at him, wondering what went on inside his head. 

Life was so unfair sometimes. Normal human tears contained salt ions, which was why your eyes hurt when you cried, and why tears taste salty. Plants don't do well with salt, and now her tears had sap instead, for some reason. One of the things that symbolized humanity was the ability to cry, and now she couldn't even do that right. 

Be grateful, Bianca, she thought. At least your tears are still filled with salt.

She realized she'd kicked the covers off and reached for them. I am going to lie here and be sad until my parents come, Ollie decided. I am not going to leave my room and I am going to tell my teachers it's because the paint took me out of commission. I am going to drop the falsest lies in the history of musicals if that's what it takes. 

She pulled the covers back over her body and stayed awake until morning.