Chapter Text
Outcast outreach programs were in place all over the world; joining outcast and normie kids, uniting them, helping them understand one another and become friends. But no program anywhere was as popular or well attended as that of central Florida’s Walt Disney World. In fact, Wednesday Addams’ own parents had met there nearly thirty years before. They could not wait for their daughter to follow in their footsteps just as soon as she was old enough to attend and begin working.
She was even forced to take on the same job that her mother had occupied at the Haunted Mansion attraction. Living, as she always had, in her shadow. Wednesday’s father had been at the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, which sounded far more enjoyable to her. Being literal cannon-fodder.
Instead she was required to wear a turn of the last century maid’s uniform, specially made in gray and black for her due to an allergy to color. She lived with a werewolf who was obsessed with rainbows and unicorns and the color pink of all things. Who served ice cream by the scoop at the Plaza Ice Cream Parlor on Main Street, USA. And there was a boy who, for some unfathomable reason, seemed to like her. Or at least he wouldn’t stop looking at her, smiling at her, talking to her. It was enough to make her want to scream.
Wednesday supposed she should be glad that no one asked her to smile or be chipper. She wasn’t hired to be anyone’s friend, companion, helper. Her job was to be morbid, a little bit rude, and deliver every phrase with a deadpan attitude and flat gaze. A job made for her skill set.
Enid insisted on walking her right up to the cast member entrance of the Haunted Mansion on her first day, presenting her to the lead with a kind of unnecessary flourish that had Wednesday rolling her eyes. The two of them made quite a sight crossing the park in their costumes; one in bright mint with a shock of pink hair and the other in grayscale.
The lead had dismissed her roommate with a “Shoo!” And Wednesday had been taken within the very bowels of the ride. Over the next few shifts she would learn of a number of secret passageways and tunnels leading cast members from one location to the next, giving the mansion its ghostly magic while apparently making her life easier.
Wednesday, on a whole, found the place to be rather boring and more than a bit drab. She had assumed among the 999 happy haunts that there must be just one real ghoul but she quickly figured out that she was wrong. The sinister energy guests felt was manufactured with music and cheap thrills, a spooky Vincent Price style voice. And her. She, herself, gave the ride some integrity, authenticity, as an Addams.
The lead, Marilyn, a petite woman in her late thirties with thick framed glasses and dyed red hair, had shown her her responsibilities and left her in the supposedly capable hands of Xavier Thorpe, a butler.
The first thing he had done was stare at her with wide green eyes, pale but full lips turned down as he glanced over her from her white frilled mob cap to her clunky black Mary Janes. And then he had had the audacity to smirk. A little dimple appearing in his cheek.
“So, you’re the new girl with the special uniform.”
“I can’t wear color,” she told him, glaring.
He merely hummed in response, striding further into the faux house, and with two raised, crooked fingers, beckoned her to follow.
Wednesday chaffed at the idea of being obedient, of being the little dog, but she thought of her mother’s words at their parting and sneered, knowing she had little chance of fleeing and no where to go. So she had better do her best, worst, at the job.
Until such time that she formulated a feasible escape plan at least.
Xavier Thorpe was a nuisance. He was intrusive. He showed her the ropes of her job, helped her get settled into the tasks and routines. But once she had it, understood, was deemed by Marilyn to be perfectly capable in her duties, he was still there, still around. Lingering.
He was gaunt and caustic. Sarcastic. And Wednesday found herself peculiarly attracted to those things about him. But he smiled at her. In odd little moments, Xavier would catch her eye and grin. Or, across the doors, as she opened them, and he ushered guests along, he would leer. At the end of a shift he would always pause and say, “See you next time, Addams’,” and toss a smirk her way. It was ridiculous. What did he think he was doing? Who or what did he think she was?
Enid? With her insipid little crush on the gorgon who served coffee at the bakery? He wasn’t making her heart flutter. He was making her want to stick needles in her eyes.
Which actually sounded like a far preferable evening to the one that her roommate was attempting to drag her to that night.
A cast member dance party, of sorts. Unsanctioned.
“Please, Wednesday,” Enid had begged. “Ajax will be there and I can’t show up alone!”
“Go with Yoko,” the vampire girl who worked as a server at Aloha Isle.
“She’s going with a date! Some normie chick,” Enid pretended to gag. “Do not ask me why…”
“I assure you, I will not.”
Enid pouted.
Wednesday gave up staring at her classic black typewriter to look at her ridiculous companion. “Take Eugene. He would be happy to escort you.”
“He’d think it was a date!” She squawked. “What if Ajax thought it was a date, Wednesday? What would I do then?”
“You could tell them both it was not a date.”
Enid threw her arms up, letting out an aggravated little shriek.
“I’ll be your best friend.”
“That would be more for you than for me. I do not need a best friend. Or any friend for that matter.”
Enid rolled her eyes.
Wednesday could see the other girl thinking, gears turning over in her mind.
“Xavier will be there.”
Wednesday paused for only a fraction of a second, considering, and decided she did not care. But her roommate pounced, like only a werewolf smelling gossip could, on the momentary hesitation.
“You guys could like, hang out.”
“I see him enough at work.”
“I heard he was asking around about you.”
Turning back to her typewriter so that Enid could not see her face, Wednesday schooled her appearance, her voice, to give away nothing. If the rack could not break her, neither could a silly pink haired girl. “So?”
“Didn’t your parents have some legendary Kingdom romance?”
She wanted to vomit.
“That’s so sweet,” Enid went on without an answer, not noticing her roommate’s disgust. “You could repeat history!” she gushed excitedly.
“God! Fine!” Wednesday spun back to her. “If I go with you will you cease talking for five minutes so that I may work on my novel?”
Enid grinned from ear to ear, ecstatic. “Of course,” she bounced up and down. “I’ll need that time to get ready!”
And that was how Wednesday Addams found herself, clutching a clear plastic cup filled with Jack Daniels and Coca-Cola, at a Disney cast member party, hosted by a group of boys she had never met, in the basement of a building across the quad. Wearing her black dress with the short puff sleeves and thick white collar, though Enid had begged her to put on something, anything, else.
“Pretty lame, huh?” He opened, sipping from his cup, eyes a little glassy, body listing into her personal space. Xavier was warm. And tall. He wore a black and white t-shirt featuring a logo she didn’t recognize and assumed was a band she did not know, black jeans, and black and white sneakers.
“Yes,” Wednesday agreed without elaborating, conjuring up a hex to throw at him if he touched her.
Or if he didn’t touch her.
Because she had had two of the drinks in her hand and while they were not Uncle Fester’s European wines, stolen from the richest villains in that part of the world, they were making her head fuzzy. And his presence was confusing both her senses and her general state of well being.
She glanced up at him through dark lashes, the tips of her fringe slightly obscuring her view, his mouth was downturned, brows drawn.
When she took another sip of her noxious drink he continued, ignoring her lack of general conversation, “I didn’t think I would see you here.”
“You would do better not to think of me at all.”
That garnered her a sad smile of sorts before his mouth turned rueful, “Now where’s the fun in that, Addams?”
Clearing her throat Wednesday explained, “I came with Enid.” His brows raised and she noticed his hair was down. She liked it down. It fell like a curtain around his hollow cheeks while highlighting the shape of his skull.
Why exactly did that occur to her? And why was she engaging? She should walk away.
“I thought she was into Ajax…”
“The hour she spent preparing for tonight would imply that to be true.”
“But you two came together?”
“I did not mean in that way.” She sipped from her cup.
“Oh. So like as friends. You didn’t come with a date or anything.” He said it in such a way that Wednesday could not determine if it was a statement or a question.
She may have been mildly intoxicated but she still knew that he was fishing for personal information. About her.
So she chose not to answer.
Xavier rarely left her side for the rest of the night and while she would not have admitted it, even on threat of being torn limb from limb by wild horses, which she thought sounded like a particularly intriguing way to die horribly, she did not mind him being there. With her. In her space.
Though he talked, he was not always speaking. He fetched drinks and found them a dark corner to be away from some of the noise and colorful strobe lights. At one point his hand found it’s way to the wall beside her head but he did not attempt to touch her, which was smart as it would have resulted in the excruciating loss of an appendage.
Bianca Barclay, who Wednesday knew used to be Xavier’s girlfriend, thanks to Enid, watched the two of them in her periphery throughout the night. Her ex never spared her a glance, so invested was he in keeping Wednesday company, telling her about fellow party goers that she did not care about. She did like the way his mouth moved when he talked though so she allowed him to continue speaking. And once, in a moment that was entirely outside of her character, and perhaps could be blamed on the drinks she had consumed, she caught Bianca’s eye and smirked. The other girl frowned, eyes narrowing aggressively.
Enid had convinced Ajax, who it turned out was Xavier’s roommate, to dance. Xavier asked if she would like to do the same. Wednesday shrugged and walked onto the dance floor without waiting for him to join her.
As they danced, or more so, she danced, Xavier stared at her, grinning, moving his feet and arms in some approximation of dance. Her roommate and his joined them, others eventually did to, and soon there was a little pack of outcast teens dancing in the middle of the floor. They were being themselves, enjoying the song, something forty years old, and letting themselves be free. It shouldn’t have surprised her that they would have drawn attention. That the normies would have taken notice. But Wednesday was distracted. Fun was a distraction. Friends were a distraction. Xavier Thorpe was a distraction. And the distractions had made her weak, along with the alcohol, as she always knew would be the case, and why she had avoided such things for her previous eighteen years of existing.
Enid, a little too drunk for her own good, giggling and stumbling, had insisted that only Ajax would be able to walk her back to their apartment. Wednesday had glared, wanting to leave, while Enid insisted she stay, eyes wide and pleading. So she had stayed. Unfathomably.
Four drinks in, Wednesday felt light on her feet, a disturbing sensation. She had the following day off and knew she would likely be sleeping in well after her usual waking hour, but her mind kept turning to the boy with his arm resting across her shoulders. She should remove every finger at the knuckle as punishment but she was too tired, while also being too excited, to actually do anything about it.
Her panties were damp. And she was realizing how woefully ignorant she was about all things regarding herself and sexual attraction. She knew what sex was, of course, you couldn’t grow up with Morticia and Gomez Addams and not know. And she had touched herself before, attempting to give herself pleasure, finding the experience perfectly adequate, though lackluster. Perhaps, if then, she had had Xavier to think of, imagine between her thighs, it might have been more thrilling. Because even standing there beside him made her guts roll tightly while her pussy clenched and tingled wetly.
But why? He was never anything but a nuisance. Was it his hands? She did like them. His mouth? It was quite nice. She thought about it a fair amount. The hair? She wondered how it would feel on her fingers. His eyes? Watchful, sullen, bruised and exhausted. The sharp line of his cheekbones? She wanted to run her tongue along them.
She swallowed, realizing it may have been all of those things. And perhaps the Jack Daniels was making her body react stronger to those base impulses.
The smell of him didn’t help; that tang of citrus mingled with cedar wood, clean clothes, and boy. Back in their corner, Wednesday found herself surreptitiously inhaling that distinct odor from his t-shirt. Xavier was talking about Kent, a siren, who worked as a loader on the Little Mermaid ride. His fingers came over her shoulder, tickling along her clavicle through her lightweight dress. She caught herself leaned into him, as he downed the last of his vodka and whatever else was in the cup.
People were filtering out, the crowd dwindling, and Wednesday felt she had given Enid enough time. And yet she didn’t find herself actually compelled to leave, to be without her companion. Her gaze narrowed and her thoughts turned introspective. She blamed the whiskey. It was evil. And not in a good way. Not in a way that she liked or enjoyed.
Finally, noticing her long distance stare, and sunken tired eyes, Xavier offered, “I could walk you back?”
“I do not need an escort,” she reminded him even as she took his proffered arm.
He grinned, “Well, maybe I do.”
Wednesday sighed, “Then I suppose you had better come with me.”
They stumbled out of the basement, the building, together, Xavier laughing and Wednesday’s face a serious countenance, onto the grassy quad. It was warm and humid, the air thick and damp, as they emerged.
Xavier never released her. Not even as some normie asshole slammed his shoulder into him, cursing under his breath at them, pausing for a moment to eye them up and down, and smile in an entirely condescending way.
Wednesday glared back until the boy was forced to looked away. She had seen him before, around the park. He worked on a nearby ride she thought.
Xavier walked her all the way to her door, which was entirely unnecessary, as she told him, but he insisted. And as she put her key in the lock he grabbed her other wrist from behind making her inhaled sharply though her nose. Upon turning back around, he was staring at her intently.
“Uh, you have tomorrow off, right?”
She nodded in the affirmative, wary, suspicious.
“Do you want to maybe hang out?”
“Hang out?” She repeated. Why was this the term people insisted on using? It did not make sense to her.
“Yeah, like do something together?”
She considered for a moment, “I had thought about going out to find some new animals for my taxidermy.”
His brows drew in. “Taxidermy?”
“Yes. It’s a hobby. I quite enjoy it. But I am out of specimens. Do you have a car? We could attempt to find something along the roadside. Marilyn told me many things are killed on the Florida Turnpike and I might look there.”
He swallowed, examining her face. “I, uh, sure. I have a car.”
Wednesday grinned, pleased. “I will bring trash bags.”
Xavier’s gaze moved left then right before focusing on her again, nodding, “Thanks.”
She turned back and opened the door. Xavier was still holding her wrist, though his hand had moved to cover more of her own. She looked down at it, as if the hand, hands, belonged to someone else, some alien species.
“Good night then, I guess,” he sighed. And she found she liked his tone of voice, the wistful melancholy of it, bleak and empty in the warmth of a sultry Florida evening. So she kissed him. Her mouth brushing his as she stood on tip toe. She had never kissed someone before and began to worry that she was doing it entirely wrong when his mouth held still, firm. She thought he would kiss back, would attempt to take over, or at least be interested, but there was no reaction.
Wednesday was ready to pull away and slip inside her apartment, where she would slit her wrists in the bathtub in order to never relive the experience she was having in that moment, when his mouth somehow melted under her own. His lips moving, his tongue begging entrance, as he sighed, cupping her face.
He licked inside of her mouth and the sensation was filthy. Wednesday loved it.
When his cool palm dropped down to cup the weight of her breast, squeezing lightly, a thumb passing over her nipple, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him back, turning on her heel and entering the apartment without so much as a good bye or good night.
She slammed the door in his bewildered face.
The apartment was quiet. Enid’s door was ajar, the pink crescent moon nightlight she slept with glowing in the darkness. Wednesday, overwrought with sensation, confused at herself, how she felt, what she wanted, collapsed into her own bed without undressing, closing her eyes and passing out.
And after waking up, mouth tacky and full of cotton, head pounding, and stomach filled with the writhing snakes of regret, Wednesday had Enid tell Xavier that she was too ill to go out that day. They didn’t speak after that for two more days.
Xavier was hunched in on himself, breathing heavily against the wall where Wednesday sometimes went to take her break, escape the masses. She was good at being scary, hateful, dismissive, which apparently made her perfect for loading parties on the Haunted Mansion but talking to people; hot, angry, self absorbed parents and tourist, was a torture beyond what even she could enjoy. It was misery. And not the fun kind. So whenever she could, she fled, finding silence and solace near the dumpster where other employees occasionally tried to sneak cigarettes but generally avoided due to the smell.
That day, she entered the narrow back causeway and found she was not alone, which was originally disappointing but when she realized it was Xavier, she found herself oddly pleased. Until she got a good look at him.
He had heard her arrive, stumble upon him, so to speak, and glanced up from his hunched over position. His face was bleeding, his eyes were bright, and his mouth was twisted into a frown.
Wednesday stepped over to him, dropping the small black backpack she wore to keep her personal items to the ground at his feet. He stood up then, to his full height, towering over her by a foot, thin wiry frame straightening even as he grimaced.
“Who did this to you?” She demanded, running her thumb along his split, bleeding, bottom lip as he hissed and grabbed her wrist roughly.
“It’s nothing,” Xavier told her harshly, exposing his red teeth, as he spat a globule of bloody saliva on the ground beside the trash.
There was a crusty stain on the white collar of his shirt and when Wednesday in a fit of pique hauled him toward her for a closer examination he gasped, touching a hand lightly to the ribs of his left side. She catalogued it with the rest and manhandled him into turning around. At the back of his skull his hair was matted with a small amount of drying blood. She put her hand there and her fingers came back tacky with it.
“Wednesday,” he sounded exasperated. But he didn’t whine or whinge as Puglsey would have done. He seemed simply to have accepted his fate.
“Who,” she repeated, voice soft but with deadly inflection, “did this to you?”
She all but shoved him back against the brick wall making him suck in a sharp breath as she examined his face for tells. She didn’t know Xavier that well but she knew he wore emotion on his face, carried it in his shoulders, showed it in the movement of his lithe pale fingers. Wednesday was certain she could read him better than a polygraph machine.
He stared back at her, smirking a little. It made something in her stomach flutter strangely, uncomfortably. It was a new and disquieting sensation. She decided she liked it. And she liked the ingenuous smirk as well. Liked how it changed his face and made it roguish. Liked how it made the cut on his lip open further and trickle more blood onto his chin. She wondered what it would feel like to lick that trail of blood.
Finally he spoke, “I didn’t see the guys.” He glanced up at the black wooden awning above them.
Wednesday reached for him once more, grasping the lapels of his deep green uniform jacket. She wanted to shake it, violently, out of him. But as she came into contact with the polyester fabric of his butler’s costume her head fell back and a live current of uncontrollable electricity shot through her, bowing her spine and throwing her head back. It was a simultaneously blissful and utterly excruciating experience.
The vision was hazy, the colors like a nuclear sunset versus the bright sunny sky of Florida, but Xavier was there. A boy held him by his lapels much as Wednesday knew her hands were physically doing in that moment even though she could not see them. He had shaggy hair and a slender but muscular build. Shorter than Xavier but a bit broader, more athletic. Three others flanked him. Males of a similar age. They all wore the red doublet and black breeches of Peter Pan’s Flight attendants.
The boys in the back jeered as their leader slammed Xavier into a khaki color painted wall, punching him twice in the ribs. He didn’t fight back.
“Freak,” the boy hissed and Xavier rolled his eyes, it felt like a scene that had played out times before and Xavier knew the script. “Who’s your new little friend?”
“Fuck you, Galpin,” Xavier breathed, sounding winded.
“Hot little goth chick with pigtails. I think you know the one,” Wednesday could hear something in his tone that made even her cold heart shiver. “The boys and I wanted to introduce ourselves,” his cronies laughed, as one mimed something with his fist at his mouth, sticking his tongue against his cheek repeatedly. The other two high-fived one another. She knew one of them from the party, he had bumped into Xavier as they were leaving.
The leader, Galpin, turned to his friends and Wednesday recognized his face, his mouth that was all teeth. He had talked to her during a coffee break a few days before as she waited for her quad. His name was Tyler. His jokes had been incipit. He had attempted to charm her, she believed, but she had seen no reason to entertain him and his prattle, simply grabbing her drink when it was ready, and walking out of the shop and back into the unfortunate sunshine.
Wednesday watched as Xavier’s jaw worked stiffly, awkwardly, mouth pinched, eyes flat with a deadly kind of fury she had never witnessed from him. With Tyler facing away from him Xavier shoved, two hands connecting with the sturdier boy’s chest. It knocked him back a couple of stumbling steps and he released Xavier’s lapels, turning his head around in surprise.
The two boys faced off, staring at one another. Tyler apparently read something in Xavier’s stance or expression which Wednesday could not discern because when he next spoke he sounded gleeful. “Oh shit, boys. The freak doesn’t like us talking about her. You like her, Freak? Want to make her your little freak girlfriend and find out if she can keep that quiet when you’re pounding the shit out of her? Cause I have this theory that the quiet ones, in the end, always scream the loudest.”
Xavier shoved him again and the trio guffawed. “Don’t talk about her like that,” he pointed at Tyler.
The other boy didn’t respond with words. His fist swung out and connected with Xavier’s mouth, slamming into him, knocking his head back into the wall and splitting his lip
“Fuck,” Xavier spat, hand coming up to touch the ruined skin over his teeth.
At that moment one of the friends said, “Shit, Ty. Someone’s coming,” and they scrambled. The vision spun and moved and Wednesday could make out that they were in an alleyway, there was a black dumpster and a couple of rickety wooden chairs near by.
“Don’t forget to tell her hi from me,” Galpin called as he exited the scene and Xavier slowly slid to the ground, dropping his head into his hands, hair falling limply from the bun he had been wearing, and around his face.
When she came to, head snapping back into place, Xavier was staring at her, mouth open and eyes wide. Wednesday knew she looked feral, she often did after her visions.
“Are you okay?” He asked, voice laced with concern.
“Fine,” she told him, gritting her teeth.
She wasn’t sure exactly what compelled her but Wednesday leaned forward and pressed her lips to Xavier’s, sucking the split lower one into her mouth, tasting the blood pooled and dried there. She tugged on it with her teeth until he gasped, sounding both exhilarated and pained.
When she pulled away he looked at her in wonder and touched his mouth. “Why did you do that? I thought…”
She didn’t answer, instead turning and walking away, leaving him panting against the bricks.
After her shift Wednesday typically waited for Enid and Eugene if they were working and as none of them had cars they would ride in the provided shuttle bus back to their apartments. That day Eugene was on the late shift, working a dessert party during the fireworks display. Enid was at their usual meeting spot though, her cotton candy pink hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and a mint green cap listed sadly upon her head. Her shoulders were stooped in her mint and white striped blouse, fluffy kitten backpack falling from one arm.
“I’m exhausted,” Enid told her immediately. She turned around, “Can you get this knot out?”
Her apron strings were both twisted and knotted. One was oddly brown in color looking possibly singed.
She glanced around as Wednesday worked, “No Eugene?”
“Dessert party.”
Enid pulled a face, “Ew.”
Wednesday finished and released Enid from the starched white apron with a nod and handed the square of fabric to her.
“Thanks, Bestie!”
The dark haired girl was silent for a moment, squinting against the harsh sunlight and staring off into the distance.
“Everything okay?” Enid asked, noticing.
Wednesday was thoughtful for a moment but somehow Enid always seemed to know everyone as well as everything that happened in the happiest place on earth.
“Do you know Tyler Galpin?”
“Ugh. Yes. Why? Did he talk to you?” She frowned. “Just steer clear of him and his jerk normie friends.”
“Why?”
“His dad’s some big manager in the park and Tyler thinks he can get away with anything,” she sighed. “Anything, okay? He’s not a nice guy.”
“I believe he and his friends beat up Xavier.”
“That tracks. They’ve done it before. Pretty bad actually. Eugene too. And Ajax. They pick on everyone that’s not like, in their normie group.”
A large bus, red with white polka dots, and featuring the smiling face of Minnie Mouse trundled up to their location. A small group had formed waiting and Wednesday could make out a great number of passengers already aboard. She and Enid would likely need to stand. Again.
Her feet hurt. And Wednesday once more cursed her parents for enrolling her in such a program but also gave them credit, rarely had they found a way to torture her so well.
Enid groaned as they climbed the stairs and grabbed a black nylon ring to share, holding tight so as not to fall over as the bus pulled away from the curb. “Can’t they ever stop here first? Does it always need to be last? I just want to sit! Or sleep.”
“You smell like burnt sugar,” Wednesday informed her.
“I spent eight hours making waffle cones. What else do you expect?” Her friend sighed in a bone weary kind of way.
As Enid closed her eyes, allowing her body to sway with the movement of the bus, Wednesday began to plot her revenge.
It was a couple of days before she could put her plan into action; needing to get to a store for supplies had been the most difficult part of the process. But in the end it had come together thanks to Wednesday’s discovery of Instacart on her roommate’s cell phone.
Enid entered the apartment, dropped her backpack to the floor and rushed over. “Is Wednesday Addams baking?”
She was in fact cleaning up the dishes she had used and putting them away but she figured the whole place must smell of chocolate.
Enid danced over to the oven, flicking on the light, and glanced in through the little window. “Are those brownies?” She cooed, smiling.
“Yes.”
“When will they be done? Can I have one?”
“How can you stand the thought of more sweets after working all day in that ice cream parlor?”
Her roommate stood and looked at her, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.
The entire front of Enid’s costume was stained bright pink. Wednesday sighed, “What happened?”
She rolled her eyes, “Strawberry syrup disaster! Remind me of this day if I ever tell you I want children.”
Her friend hummed, putting away the mixing bowl then picked up a box of laxatives and strode toward the small apartment bathroom. Enid pulled a face.
“Do I want to know?”
“No,” Wednesday smirked darkly. “And you definitely do not want one of those brownies either.”
“Oh god,” her roommate groaned.
She arrived particularly early the following morning, riding on the first bus, and leaving Enid still in the shower. Striding purposefully with her plate of brownies in hand she made her way through the tunnels and into the alleyway behind a particular area of rides. As she came up to Peter Pan’s Flight she recognized the black dumpster, the wooden chairs, from her vision. There was also a table with an umbrella and a bench. That was where she left the dessert with a note, written with one of Enid’s pink glitter pens. It simply said ‘Happy Birthday, Lucas!’ With the drawing of a puerile Mickey shaped heart balloon beside the lettering. She knew Tyler and his cronies, including the birthday boy, Lucas Walker, were all scheduled for that day thanks to a party invitation that was circling the dormitories, and as for anyone else who partook, they were collateral damage.
Later that afternoon, coming back from his lunch, Xavier skidded in through the cast member’s door and into the first room within the Mansion, incredibly out of character, and pulled Wednesday down the narrow corridor between the faux elevators. Her counterpart, Sarah, looked on in confusion but continued with the loading of passengers.
Wednesday’s eyes were wide with surprise as she glanced down, Xavier’s hand still clutching her arm. She liked the contrast of his spindly white fingers with the black and gray of her uniform sleeve. She liked that his hands were always cold. She liked that he always touched her with a bit too much force, digits digging into her flesh, grasp just on the knife’s edge of too tight.
She bit her lip as she lifted her gaze, their eyes locking. He was staring at her mouth.
For a long moment he stood there saying nothing, just watching, and then he seemed to come back to himself, shaking his head.
Xavier tugged her even closer, looked over her shoulder and bent down to whisper in her ear. “Tyler, Lucas, and those fuckholes,” he gasped a soft laugh and she felt it, the air, his lips, like a spark of energy down through her chest, her stomach, as it settled unfamiliarly in her underwear, where she suddenly throbbed. “I don’t know what happened but they shit their pants! While they were working!” He pulled back to gauge her reaction, grinning. Wednesday cocked her head, unsure how to respond. Did she want him to know that she was responsible? That she had done it for him? And Eugene, and Ajax, and Enid. For all of them, she reminded herself. Not just for what they did to Xavier. Xavier who never fought back until they dragged her into it. Or did she simply want him to revel in the moment, the thrill of karma?
His eyes dropped, his grin drooped. She realized she was not reacting how he had thought, hoped, she would. How she should have responded to the news.
So she let one side of her mouth lift, “How awful.”
And then he was smiling again. “I just heard from Divina. She was in the costume room when they came in. She said Lucas was actually crying!” Wednesday’s own grin grew as Xavier spoke. “You know how you can’t just leave your post?” She rolled her eyes and glanced behind her at her abandoned post. “Okay,” he huffed, “most people can’t. Well, they were all complaining they were sick or something but they were told they had to wait! Only one of them could go at a time. And they shit their pants! Like in front of riders! Fuckers. It couldn’t have happened to better people,” he laughed.
Xavier had still not released her arm and Wednesday recognized that she did not want him to. Instead she reached up on tip toes, put her other arm around his neck and dragged him down toward her. His eyes were wide. He wet his bruised lower lip, still swollen and split, but healing. The color of it was deep purple, fading to an ugly yellow at the edges. Wednesday brushed her thumb over it, admiringly, before lightly pressing, making him hiss. And then he surged down to press his mouth to hers, letting go of her arm so that he could wrap both of his around her, one at her waist and one around her shoulders. He was bent awkwardly and her face was tipped up entirely, her mob cap threatening to fall. Her fingers tore out the elastic holding his hair back and carded through, scraping along his scalp. He moaned hotly against her and she did it again as the hand at her waist dropped to cup her ass through her polyester uniform skirt.
Xavier turned them, backing her into the purple fabric covered wall, cartoon eyes all around them, staring. He was picking her up, settling himself between her well covered, parted thighs, when there was a knock on the wooden door at the end of the hall.
“Wednesday,” Sarah hissed loudly in exasperation, happy to cover for her for a minute or two but her patience wearing thin.
The girl in question turned her head, parting their lips, as Xavier moved to sucking a bruise into the meat of her neck, teeth nipping, and making her hips involuntarily buck.
“Christ, fuck,” he breathed. “I want you so bad.”
She dropped her legs and he lowered her down reluctantly. “Later,” she told him straightening her costume.
“When?” He whined.
Wednesday pulled him into one last, brief, kiss, and turned to go.
“And by the way,” she grinned menacingly, “if you see some birthday brownies for Lucas around?” He cocked his head. “Don’t think you’re getting revenge by eating them. You really do not want to try one.” And then she was striding down the corridor.
“Wait!” He called after her. “Wednesday, did you…” but his voice trailed off, became muffled, as she opened the door, closed it, and returned to work.