Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Enid’s always liked New Years Eve.

The idea of a new start, something fresh. There is of course the wave of melancholy that comes with it, but she’s excited this year. Plus, it’s the first year that she can legally drink for the celebration, not because she’s finally twenty-one, but because she’s in Scotland and nobody bats an eye at a nineteen-year-old in a rowdy pub on a Saturday night.

It’ll be the first year without her family present too, guilt twists in her stomach at how excited the idea makes her feel. Her agent booked her a really good modelling gig, it just happened to be in another country, over New Years. She was in the airport early boxing day morning, nobody had offered to drop her off, not that she was expecting it. Her mom’s proud at least, that’s a first.

Despite the bitter cold and strange array of accents, she’s quite enjoying Scotland right now. She’s tried haggis (yuck) and spent the last few days shopping in the small ski town that she’s staying in. At least she thinks it’s a ski town, she’s yet to actually see anyone with skis. But its rustic and cute and perfect to post on her various social media platforms.

She takes another sip of her Bailey’s, the smooth liquid running down her throat and making her stomach warm. Regardless of the heavy snowfall outside, she feels herself tugging at the neck of her sweater and wiping the back of her hand across her forehead at the sheer heat in this place. It feels as though everybody is shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. You can’t move without being jostled or someone almost spilling their drink on you. She’s close to slipping outside and trying to catch some fresh air before the countdown begins, but then she sees her.

Oh.

Maybe it’s because she’s tipsy or too warm and flustered, but the world seems to spin for a second when she lays eyes on this woman. Her heart rate grows sluggish, and she feels like her tongue becomes cotton because she’s just laid eyes on the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

Her drink stays abandoned, and she moves without even realizing what she’s doing and before she knows it, she’s reached the woman’s table. The seat opposite her is vacant, which Enid immediately thinks is odd because every surface in this place has been taken up by someone. Her hand pulls out the chair and she sits down, the woman frowns and looks like she’s about to protest, so Enid speaks first. Her tongue is heavy in her mouth, and she needs to down like three glasses of water to quench her thirst because the woman opposite her is gorgeous. The little tealight weakly flickering in the tiny glass jar in the middle of the table, reflects off of the many silver rings gracing pale hands and Enid can’t even focus. Can’t admire one part without her eyes straying to another, equally mesmerized each time.

Pale skin, not rare among the crowd in the pub tonight, but hers is ghostly. Her entire appearance is almost vampiric, from the shadows under her eyes to the dark black clothing and gothic jewelry. Her adorable and intricate braids, not a hair out of place and the gentle curtain bangs that sit so effortlessly perfectly. Her lips a deep red which looks both seductive and a little too similar to that of blood. Her eyeliner is dark, only adding to the existing shadows of her face and highlighting those dark, ebony eyes.

“Give me thirty seconds and I’ll be gone, I promise,” she breathes out and the other woman’s eyebrow quirks upward. There’s a moment of quiet contemplation in those dark eyes, yet her face remains blank. If anything, she looks somewhat irritated that somebody is speaking to her. But, in a movement so subtle, so small that Enid would probably miss it if she wasn’t observing her so intently, she tips her head, gesturing for Enid to continue.

Oh god.

“Maybe it’s because I’ve had too much wine, but you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I felt as though it would be unfair to you if I didn’t tell you that,” she sucks in a deep breath and rubs her sweaty palms against the fabric of her jeans and continues. “I just-I’ve been watching you from across the bar, which is creepy I know, but I needed to tell you because my god, why would a woman like you ever talk to someone like me.”

Word vomit.

The bombardment of what she hoped was flattering and romantic words, leaves her feeling somewhat ill when she sees the bored expression on the woman’s face. Her chin resting on her fist, if anything she seems a little amused.

Enid glances at her watch and realizes that she’s stayed longer than she promised, muttering a quiet apology and standing far too quickly than what’s appropriate for the amount that she’s drank this evening. Her converse gets a little stuck in the space between the leg of the chair and the table, so she almost falls on her face trying to leave, hoping the ground would just swallow her up and-

“Why not?”

Oh?

Enid, who was previously contemplating throwing herself in the large fireplace across the pub, snaps her head around to look at her, mouth open like a fish. “Huh?” She squeaks, finally freeing her foot from its imprisonment and standing half hunched next to the table.

The woman stares at her intently and sits up a little bit straighter.

“Why not?”

Oh.

Enid slowly, but cautiously, sits back down opposite her. Somewhat taken back by the woman’s American accent, what are the odds huh?

“Well, it’s just-look at you, you’re the most breathtaking person I’ve ever seen in my life and I’m trying to break into the modelling industry so trust me when I say I’ve seen hot people. But I’m witnessing your presence in a random bar-or pub I guess, in Scotland which smells like sweat and cigarettes and I saw three people taking what I think was ketamine in the bathrooms earlier,” she laughs weakly as the woman stares at her wide eyed. “I guess I thought in the two seconds my mind took to process your existence before barreling over here, that I should just shoot my shot. Worst they can say is no, right?”

“But you haven’t even asked me anything yet,” the woman says in a monotone voice, sipping her red wine and Enid watches her lips around the glass. Her stomach swirling at the sight.

“I mean I asked you why a woman like you would ever talk to someone like me. But the nights young, plenty of time for other questions, right? Like your name, maybe we should start there.”

Smooth Enid.

The woman scoffs and glares at a man who bumps into her chair on the way past, before turning her head back towards Enid. “Does this work for you? The thirty seconds where you attempt to impress a stranger and seduce them?” She murmurs, eyes narrowed at Enid, analyzing her every move.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

There’s a moment where the woman’s nostrils flare slightly and she’s thinking. Maybe deciding between telling Enid to fuck off or taking Enid somewhere to fuck. Enid’s not actually sure which one sounds scarier.

“Wednesday.”

“It’s a Saturday-”

“My name, it’s Wednesday.”

“Wednesday’s child is full of woe,” Enid mutters, (mostly to herself) but she almost jumps at the intensity of Wednesday’s stare when she says it. Their eyes are locked in what may be a silent debate, which Enid is losing because she doesn’t even know what it’s about. She can feel herself sinking, drowning in the woman's stare, limbs growing number by the second and she feels pleasantly light.

But Wednesday nods slowly, “that’s correct.”

There’s something stirring inside of her. Something innate, and she somehow knows. Knows that she’s meant to be here right now, that she’s meant to have taken this jump, to sit opposite this woman who looks like she’d rather be standing barefoot in the snow outside, rather than in a rowdy pub on a Saturday night. The most beautiful woman Enid’s ever seen and everyone and everything fades into a blur of nothingness around them. Never in her whole life had she been so sure about something before.

“So, what brings you to…Aviemore, Wednesday?” Enid says the name of the town slowly and unsurely, it clearly comes across because Wednesday rolls her eyes again.

“It’s Aviemore, and I’m here for work. Not pleasure unfortunately. I do enjoy the harshness of the Cairngorms in the winter, though I have had little chance to explore and play the role of tourist during my time here.”

“Oh!” Enid perks up, “I’m here for work too! I’m a model, or trying to be you know? It’s like a super competitive industry and I’m not as tall as some of the other girls, but I’ve been told that I could really go far if I try. But it’s also about knowing the right people, which is hard when you’re new to the industry, but my mom’s pushing me pretty hard and I think she could disown me if I actually fail at this,” she laughs weakly and grimaces a little when she sees Wednesday stare at her with raised eyebrows.

“What are you doing here though? There isn’t much I presume in that line of work unless plan to model ski jackets.”

“So it is a ski town? I haven’t even seen a ski resort or anything.”

“It’s up in the mountains, where people would typically go to ski,” Wednesday says slowly as if she was talking to a child and Enid blushes, wishing she’d taken her drink over with her or bought another one.

She swallows deeply and rolls her shoulders back, “well I’ve been a little distracted since coming here.” It’s a soft murmur as she looks up at Wednesday through her eyelashes and hopes that she’s conveying at least a little portion of what she’s trying to say, without having to say it. “A lot of pretty…things here that’ve caught my attention.”

Her hands are on the table now too. The surface of which is a little bit sticky and small, small enough that Wednesday’s hands are mere inches away from her own. It wouldn’t take much to reach out and brush their hands together. But that seems weird. They’ve only just met and Wednesday seems rather averse to other people, at least from what Enid’s observed so far. But people get picked up at bars all of the time. Her friends have done it, she’s never tried. Never been able to be bold enough to pick someone up on a night out.

Hook up culture is popular among people her age. She doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it of course, she’s just never really participated in it. The thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth because the attention she attracts isn’t wanted and the attention that she actually wants to attract, doesn’t seem all that interested.

Which sucks, to be completely honest.

The pressure to conform is hard when all she wants to do is be comfortable in her own skin. Why do people gloss over her, why is she never the one to stand out in a room. Does she…not look gay enough? Is that even a thing? Or maybe subconsciously she doesn’t even try to attract women. Truth is she’s nervous, she’s never really approached them herself back home.

But she feels brave here, in a new country where nobody knows her. She feels invincible, especially when Wednesday is staring intently at her lips.

She clears her throat and leans forward over the table slightly, noticing Wednesday’s pupils enlarge as she does so, and she drops her voice low. Euphoric, dangerous confidence running through her veins that feels like liquid fire.

Or maybe it was the shot of whisky from earlier.

“I know this is forward but can I-”

“Um Enid? Enid Sinclair, right?”

The fire is extinguished and replaced by ice. A chill runs down her back as she turns in the direction of the timid voice. The soft Scottish accent, which she isn’t really able to differentiate from the others-all she knows is that some are loud, and some are not; sounds unsure. But when Enid turns, the girls eyes light up. They can’t be more than a year apart in age.

“Oh it is you! I follow you on um TikTok and-” Enid finds herself smiling and nodding along, when all she can hear is roaring in her ears. “-picture please?”

Enid stares at her dumbfounded for a moment before wrenching her hands off of the table and away from Wednesday. Standing on shaky legs and enthusiastically taking the girls phone from her hands for a picture. Panic hidden behind a forced smile.

She’s got a decent following. Like 100k currently on TikTok and about 40k on Instagram. Basically, posting about her everyday life, get ready with me’s, or posting about her experience as a beginner in the modelling industry. It turns out that she forgot that those numbers on her phone are real people.

Real people who recognize her.

She stares at the phone in the girl’s hand, a cold sweat on the back of her neck. Did she get a photo or video with her and Wednesday? No she wouldn’t, Enid’s a pretty small creator, why would she?

“Thank you so much! Have a nice night!”

“Yeah, bye,” Enid says faintly, watching her go and suddenly feeling both all too sober and all too drunk to deal with this right now. Her cheeks are pink, no longer flushed with alcohol, but shame. Like an ice bucket of water was just chucked down her back. Why does she feel so embarrassed? She swallows and it’s like she hasn’t drank anything in days because her throat is so dry that it hurts.

Enid turns back to the table and sees Wednesday watching her curiously, head tilted slightly.

“Enid?”

The sound of her name curled around Wednesday’s tongue, can’t be properly appreciated when it feels like her head is being held underwater. Whatever garbles slip past Wednesday’s crimson lips, are lost on Enid. The roaring of imaginary waves somehow manages to drown out the rowdy bar too. She offers an apologetic smile to Wednesday and witnesses more emotion on the girl’s face in these few seconds, than she had during their previous conversation. Worst of all she sees understanding in the girl’s eyes and it makes her feel a little sick.

“I’ve got to go, sorry I-work in the morning,” she laughs weakly, running a shaky hand through short hair. She doesn’t work until the second of January. “Sorry you’re-y’know and shit um, I really have to go now.” She pushes her way through the crowd, ignoring Wednesday’s voice behind her.

She stretches her arm out, pushing the door open and gulping in the fresh night air. Her shoes sink into the snow as she stumbles out onto the pavement. A cold gust of air and spritz of grit hit her body as a truck races past on the road before her. A shuddering breath escapes her as she shakily steps forward, shuffling across the car park, deaf to boisterous shouts coming from the bar behind her.

Arms cross over her chest, teeth chattering from the cold and her mind replaying the last two minutes at 2x speed. Overanalyzing every word, every look, yet it feels like she’s pulling the memories through molasses, sluggishly thinking it all over as the alcohol buzzes beneath her skin.

Enid finds a nearby bush and empties her stomach, clueless to the fireworks erupting in the sky, clueless to the celebratory cheers emanating from the cozy bar behind her and clueless to the woman curiously watching her from a foggy, smeary window in the bar. The brown, white slush will seep into her shoes and the tips of her fingers will grow whiter whilst her nose glows pinker. The taxi she will hail, will laugh at the way she stumbles in, and the driver will offer her a fag. Enid will take great offense until she sees the cigarette waved in her direction, and politely declines, before throwing up again.

And the night will end when she returns to her hotel room and passes out on the bed, barely remembering the night and barely remembering the woman that had Enid grinning like a fool.

But it’s probably for the best that she forgets.

At least she won’t be seeing her again.

xXx

Six years later.

“Oh my god Enid you better not be dead.” The sound of Yoko’s obnoxious voice ringing through her apartment, wasn’t a welcome one first thing in the morning. Especially with a raging headache, no doubt caused by her inevitable hangover. “Why does it smell like-bitch did you have someone over?” Yoko drops her voice to a whisper, “are they still here?”

“Nooo,” Enid groans into her pillow, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as Yoko wrenches her curtains open, letting the stupid sunlight into her bedroom. She frowns when she feels Yoko’s body bounce and sink into the bed next to her, nudging at Enid’s knees under the duvet to make room for her to sit.

“Were you…careful? Did someone see, because I can’t-”

“Nobody saw and I tipped George twice as much as usual.”

George, the buildings doorman.

Yoko sighs and pats Enid’s butt through the duvet and Enid scrunches her nose up at the sensation, looking over her shoulder at her very rude friend who was very rudely barged into her apartment. She’ll admit, the room is a mess. Clothing strewn everywhere, empty bottles laying around, a distinct…smell in the air. Yeah, it’s not her best morning.

Her friend stands and begins picking up Enid’s discarded clothing, tossing it onto the vacant side of the bed and she trips up over a shoe.

“A fucking Louboutin just kicked lazily under your bed? Oh I hate your ass.”

“You wanna pay rise?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Yoko whistles lowly and Enid watches blearily as her best friend shakes her head. “I forgot how bitchy you get when you’re hungover. What do you need, coffee, something greasy?”

Enid just grumbles and stretches a hand out from under the duvet and makes a grabbing motion with it. Yoko seems to understand because she rakes through Enid’s drawers before throwing sweatpants and a t-shirt at Enid’s head. She turns her back to Enid, letting her have her privacy. Its not an issue really, within Enid’s job she’s kind of used to people seeing her body in various states of dress. For Enid, showing off her bare torso is the equivalent to a banker handling a calculator. She doesn’t think twice about it, even if she can still hear her mother’s voice echoing in her ear, preaching unhealthy thoughts to Enid early on in her adolescence. She likes her body, or rather, she knows that she has an appealing one.

One that has earnt her the apartment she lives in, and the Louboutin’s she carelessly kicks under the bed in.

Enid combs her wild hair with her hand as she stumbles past Yoko, out her bedroom and into the main living area, hissing at the sunlight shining in through her stupid floor to ceiling windows. She hears Yoko’s hurried walk behind her, heels clacking on the wooden flooring of her apartment, she rushes past Enid and yanks open her fridge.

A sound of disappointment escapes her as she scans the contents of the fridge and pulls out two eggs. She quickly begins punching in the buttons on Enid’s far too complicated and expensive coffee machine, before beginning to fry up the eggs.

“Y’know I’m allowed to be concerned, I’m your best friend, and your agent. Only one of which I’m paid for, so I’m allowed to be hyper concerned about your wellbeing at least 50% of the time.”

Enid sits at one of the barstools and grabs her phone that was laying abandoned on the counter. “So what, when you’re off the clock and only my best friend-”

“I’ll give you like semi-good advice, wanna save the good stuff for when I’m working. Hoping to get a pay rise you know?”

“You should take that up with your boss.”

“I would but she’s a real bitch when she’s hungover.”

Enid rolls her eyes and checks her notifications, her behind the scenes post from her collab with Calvin Klein has racked up three million likes.

Yoko will be pleased.

She massages her temple and jumps when a mug of coffee is dumped before her and a plate of poorly scrambled (not that she can do much better) eggs are slid towards her hunched body. Along with a thick pile of stapled paper.

Obviously she grabs the coffee first, but she keeps her eyes on the paper. Still blinking the foggy morning hue away, she nods towards it.

“What’s that?”

Yoko taps Enid’s plate with her fork.

“Eat and I’ll tell you.”

The eggs are bland and a little watery. The coffee doesn’t have nearly enough milk or sugar and Enid needs to take something for the headache currently raging behind her eyes. But she forces it all down and watches Yoko curiously. The woman seems nervous almost, not just that but fidgety. Her eyes bouncing between the paper and Enid like a yo-yo and her teeth biting into her bottom lip.

Oh, she’s not nervous. She’s excited.

“It’s good Enid, really good,” she begins after Enid’s swallowed her last mouthful of eggs. “But I need you to hear me out ok?”

Enid nods sleepily and takes a large sip of her coffee.

“So its for the lead role in a movie-”

She chokes on the coffee.

“-In a major horror movie franchise-”

Enid thumps her chest.

“-It’s the final movie in the trilogy and-”

Enid gulps in a deep breath, and loudly clears her throat, finally getting rid of the coffee back there and she clumsily sets the mug back down. Yoko pauses her speech and looks at Enid over the rims of her black circled glasses, looking bored and impatient, waiting for Enid to stop dying so that she can continue.

“The Chilling investigations of Viper de la Muerto, or as the movie franchise shortened it to, Viper de la Muerto, is huge. We’re talking multimillion dollar budget and profit. They’re filming the third movie for the trilogy, the third book only came out a few years ago anyway. The main plot point is that Viper was killed off in the beginning of this movie-”

“Spoiler!” Enid complains, and Yoko, though she can’t see it from behind the lenses, rolls her eyes at her.

“Enid the books have been out for years, anyway, the third book had a new protagonist who essentially gets thrown into this world against her will and ends up continuing Vipers work, whilst trying to figure out what happened to her etc etc.” Yoko pauses to take a sip of Enid’s coffee, ignoring her protests. “It’s revealed at the end however that Viper was alive the whole time, she faked her death to go deep undercover as she realized that she needed help to solve the case from someone on the outside, which was big character development by the way. Throughout the book Edin receives letters of aid from an anonymous source, Viper, and kinda falls for the person writing them, and the end of the book hints at a romance between the two. It’s a weird parasocial, borderline obsessive, almost killing eve-esque vibe, but cuter.”

Yoko finishes with a dramatic sigh and lightly smacks her palms against the marble countertop, staring in Enid’s direction for her input. She also drinks more of Enid’s coffee.

“Edin, really?”

Her best friend scoffs and tips her head forward, letting her glasses slide down the bridge of her nose a little, before fixing Enid with a piercing stare. “I didn’t fucking write it ok? You wanted something different and-”

“I meant a small cameo in a show or a movie, not the lead in a multimillion dollar franchise!”

“Trust me ok, read the script, do the audition. They won’t hire you if you’re awful,” Yoko reasons with her, condescendingly tapping the script that sits on the counter, purely to taunt Enid.

She slides off of her barstool and sinks her fingers into her hair. The wooden flooring of her apartment had been one of the selling points for her, its gorgeous, its also fucking cold on her bare feet when she’s just woken up. Enid scrunches her eyes shut and wonders if she squeezes them tight enough that she’ll be able to clock out and go back to sleep.

The New York skyline was also a pretty big selling point. It looks unbelievable with the morning sky behind it. Soft oranges dissolving into happy blues. It’s usually something calming to look at, a reminder that she’s one small person in this massive city. Unsurprisingly, it’s not working this morning.

Enid whips around to look at Yoko, who once again is sporting a look that tells Enid that she’s tired of her shit. “How did you even land a script for this,” she murmurs staring at the title and the company logo along the bottom. “I thought this company was like super tight with what got let out?”

“Well Divina-”

“Your lover.”

“Working on it-she mentioned you for me, to the director, Larissa Weems and she was pretty eager for you to audition.”

Enid rubs at her temple and exhales out through her nose. “Weems, she’s-she’s the one with all the thriller movies, right?”

Yoko nods and places Enid’s mug in the dishwasher. “Plus, one superhero movie that predated the MCU, and looks like a college movie made on a $1000 dollar budget, so nobody acknowledges it. But yeah we’re talking two time Oscar nominee-”

“For the other Viper films?”

“No, they’ve never been nominated for the Oscars, despite being box office hits, extremely popular with both critics and the audience. The movies have pushed the horror and thriller genre into a whole new kind of light, but like always; they’re overlooked when it comes to the awards.”

“Like most horror movies,” Enid nods, frantically searching up Larissa Weems on her phone and trying to keep her eyebrows from soaring past her hairline when her eyes land on the impressive woman.

Yoko hums and taps the script again, itching for Enid to read it.

“When the book came out it was praised for the risks that Addams took, but they’re worried that the movie won’t hold up. With the wider audience, it means that movie fans are far more critical and influential than the og book fans, so they’re being very picky about who plays Edin.” Yoko snatches the script off the counter and waltzes over to where Enid stands in the middle of the apartment, she thrusts it into her hands and then grabs Enid’s shoulders, shaking her a little. “As your friend, I am begging you to give this a shot, because its like this character was fucking made for you Enid. I know you were an avid theatre kid in school-”

“But as my agent?”

Yoko frowns and looks down at her.

“What?”

Enid straightens her back and levels Yoko with her best don’t you fucking dare lie to me because we still have those friendship bracelets from fourth grade, look and repeats her question. “As my agent, what is your opinion.”

There’s a short moment of silence as Yoko contemplates it. Knowing that Enid is asking for her honest and professional opinion.

“If it goes well, best outcome is that by the end of next year you’re an Oscar nominee and your career has been secured for life,” she smiles and squeezes Enid’s shoulders. “If it flops, your acting career is finished before it even started, you’ll have a true crime obsessed fandom coming for your neck and you go back to the toxic fashion shows because you need the work. This will make or break your career.”

Enid gulps.

“Great.”

xXx

The audition happened and it was honestly one of the strangest moments of Enid’s life.

First of all, she was given the location. It was some strange warehouse in Chicago, and Enid had called Yoko out of fear that she was about to be murdered. Yoko told her to stop being dramatic and march her whiney ass in there. Which of course Enid did, after writing in her notes app that Yoko was being excluded from her will, effective immediately, in the instance that someone finds her body and phone dumped in a ditch.

As soon as she walked through the large door with a black cardboard sign on it that said, “Anaconda’s Demise,” (which sounds like a shitty Nicholas Cage movie), she was greeted with a hoard of blonde women sat on metal foldaway chairs, each clutching their own scripts and murmuring to themselves. Enid signed it at a desk by the entryway and was given a slip with her name and a serial number on it, then instructed to sit and wait until she was called.

She gets weird looks, which isn’t unexpected, her face is splashed across billboards in Times Square and in fashion catalogues that collect dust on your mom’s coffee table. Because auditions are so tight, everyone here is preapproved, meaning they were offered a small script and had to send in a tape, if they did well enough, they were given this location and date. Apparently, Enid was one of them.

Drama was something she always loved in school. Drama club was where she really came out of her shell. Romeo and Juliet, Grease, A Midsummers Night Dream, The Wizard of Oz (her role as the cowardly lion was career defining), were all projects that she truly put everything into. But her mother insisted modeling was the way to go. When you’ve got it, flaunt it, that’s what her mother said. Which is odd because if Enid “had it” why was she never pretty enough for her mother’s satisfaction.

Edin was meant to be pretty, not in a movie star way. At first glance she’s a little bit of a girl next door, shorter shabby hair, a bit like Enid’s. Small, almost timid in nature, initially. Enid seemed to fit the description pretty well, Yoko said.

The casting director seemed to think so too.

She messed up a bunch of lines in the audition, the woman reading for Viper took her time to match Vipers speech pattern, which seemed eerily familiar, and Enid spoke over her. She rushed her due to the woman’s long pause and said her line before she needed to.

It was mortifying.

So naturally, Enid had panicked and awkwardly finished the line she had started, laughing weakly as she did so. Somehow, that’s what convinced them that she was right for the part. The call was made one random evening when herself and Yoko were in a Taco Bell parking lot at 2am, obviously against her agency’s wishes, but screw it. She can have a nice body and eat junk food (even though Taco Bell is probably one of the healthier junk food options).

“Your phone’s ringing,” Yoko says through a mouthful of food and Enid swears quietly, fumbling for it and dropping it due to her greasy fingers.

It’s a private number.

“Uh hello?” She says uncertainly into the phone, and she barely gets a chance to breathe before the voice on the other line informs her that she’s got the role. Her heart drops to her stomach and she mumbles, “I’ve what? Oh ok cool, great thank you,” and she hangs up.

Yoko licks her fingers before rustling around looking for a napkin, “who was that?”

“I got it.”

“Hm?”

“The Viper movie, I got the part,” she breathes out and lets her phone drop to her lap. The audition was months ago, and she thought she’d flunked it. Honestly it was a relief that it was over, but she got the part? She actually has to do it. “I got the-holy shit Yoko what do I do?”

Yoko reaches forward to turn down the radio, Party in the USA didn’t really suit the mood. She for one, seemed elated and shakes Enid’s shoulders.

“Dude this is awesome?” Her smile drops when she looks at Enid’s face though, “why do you look like you’re about piss yourself?”

“I don’t know how to act in a horror movie.”

“Well apparently you do, because they cast you. Word is on the street that Florence Pugh auditioned.”

“She’s too old for the character.”

“Literally three years older than you, but ok. Point is, they chose you.”

xXx

Everything after that is a whirlwind.

Phone call after phone call. Zoom call after zoom call. Countless meetings with countless NDA’s and honestly; she’s filming a movie, not being given information about Area 51. The announcement for her casting will be done either after the movie has been filmed or near the end of production, meaning that for the next few months she can’t let anything be leaked.

Apparently the fanbase is as deranged as the author, who Enid is yet to meet. W. Addams is elusive, and very private, not that Enid’s actually googled her. She’s going off what Yoko’s told her. Addams hadn’t been very involved at all during the previous two movies press tours. She doesn’t have social media (that’s one less PR nightmare Enid supposes) and is rarely photographed at events. Hell, Enid will be lucky if she even meets her. Rumor has it that she’s a bit of a diva. She has allotted writing time, no matter where she is. A room can’t be too hot or cold, if someone eats too loud they get reprimanded, if someone is too loud period, she’ll snap. She turns down interviews on major late night shows, invites to award ceremonies and fashion shows, she’s an enigma.

As for the books, it’s kind of expected that she reads them, so she does. They’re definitely…something. Well written, of course. No wonder the series has received numerous awards and is celebrated by the horror community. It’s just that, they’re pretty gory and Enid isn’t a huge fan of that. Oh and they weigh the same as like a bag of freaking sugar.

But she gets it.

The second Viper described to the man tied up in her basement, how she was going to kill him. How she would line his body with thin and precise slashes with her knife, never to strike a major artery, never to give him the quick and easy way out. How she would almost skin him raw, yet he’s still alive, still breathing. His heart still echoing annoyingly loudly in the stone room and his panting pathetic like a thirsty mutt. How Viper explained to him slowly like he was a child how he would survive for hours, maybe days, in agony before dying. How she took pleasure in dousing her blade with alcohol before drawing it slowly through his skin.

Or how drastically different Edin’s perspective is. How her thought process is less precise than Viper’s. It doesn’t hold back and lets multiple thoughts and emotions cloud her judgement. How Edin won’t jump to violence but instead tries to find a peaceful solution. How she spreads positivity instead of extinguishing it. But the usual darkness from the first two books still lingers, how else would Addams stay loyal to her fans? An example being Edin’s first kill, when a man had broken into her home at night to finish her off, because she was close to uncovering something meant to say hidden. How she stabbed him twenty-three times with a steak knife and methodically cleaned her apartment afterwards like nothing had happened.

And Enid finally gets it. The raving reviews, the passionate fans, the freaking movie adaptations. The way that it isn’t just cheap scenes of women getting brutally murdered for shock value with unnecessary amounts of gore, like many horror projects are. There’s an actual story behind it and it’s beautiful. Even if it made Enid a little bit queasy.

Not only however has it provided her with a greater respect for the role, but also a greater fear. The expectation for her to perform this new character, a new lead character, is overwhelming. She stays away from certain corners of the internet. Reddit forums, Twitter hashtags, even more so when she inevitably starts filming.

The culmination of all of this comes to head today though. On a random Thursday afternoon in New York. Spring is usually Enid’s favorite time of year, a rebirth, new beginnings as the flowers bloom and so do opportunities. Nevermore, a film and television production company founded in 2000 by Larissa Weems and her late father, has a building in the city. Or at least three floors of a building. Enid’s been in this meeting with them for three hours, signing more contracts and agreements with Yoko leaning over her shoulder every time she picks up a pen.

Yoko’s there for professional and legal support (she dropped out of law school one year in and completed a business degree instead), but she keeps making coy glances at Divinia across the table. Divinia, who is the personal assistant to one very impressive Larissa Weems and on the other side of her is Bianca Barcley. W. Addams publicist. Addams is nowhere to be seen, however.

Weems with her wide pearly grin, slides another sheet of paper towards Enid. Perfectly manicured nails painted a bright red to match her lips. Enid accepts it with a nervous smile and skims it, knowing that Yoko will be paying more attention to it than herself.

“Profit participation? What does that all entail exactly?”

There we go.

The director hums and nods at the page, “you’ll find in the third paragraph where it states that it for allows actors to receive a percentage of the film's profits, after production costs have been regained. However, a successful opening weekend on box office can do that quickly, ensuring that from there onward, actors receive the earnings they deserve.” Weems finishes with that pleasant smile again and the words blend together on Enid’s page.

Yoko taps the table with her dark purple nails and quirks an eyebrow, “so…royalties.”

“Not quite no, you’ll see that we’ve added the adequate information on your contract along with some possible estimates of numbers.”

Enid nudges Yoko when her friend whistles lowly under her breath at the column of figures at the bottom of the page. The pen they leant her, which probably costs more than her rent, hovers over the dotted line. Her breathing is shaky, to match the tremor in her hands and of course Yoko notices.

She flashes a smile at their company across from them and tilts her head in close towards Enid’s. “You know that you don’t actually have to do this right? Say the word and we leave right now; I’ll even buy you one of those ridiculous croissants that are like the size of your head.” Her voice is low in Enid’s ear, her hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

Enid thinks of the slump she’s been in for months. Painfully uninspired and bored, doing her job for a paycheck that she probably doesn’t even need.

Thinks of the ball of excitement at the back of her throat when she entered the audition room and just let herself go or when she sent in the self-audition tape. How it all came back to her so quickly and easily.

Thinks of her mother’s message she received this morning. Apparently, she noticed that Enid’s cheeks looked a little fuller in last night’s family facetime call and wondered if Enid was watching her diet. If Enid was “looking after herself.” If Enid was eating responsibly. If Enid was still the same size in jeans as she was when she last saw her mother. If Enid could send her mother a picture of her scales so she could just have an idea of how much-

Yoko’s sharp inhale is somehow quieter than Enid’s signature across the dotted line, which is quick and a little squiggly, but it gets the job done. She smiles brightly at Weems and slides the sheet back over to her, nerves vanquished and confidence oozing through her veins.

Because she’s excited. She’s found that spark again and nothing can bring her down from it.

Weems is reaching over the table, a happy, “we’re so excited to have you on the team, honestly its like you were made for this part-” falling from her lips as the door to the meeting room is pushed open.

A young man, with a headset and a lanyard and enough bags under his eyes for Enid to know that he’s an underpaid intern or assistant, looks at them all apologetically.

“Oh, um sorry it’s just, Ms. Addams is here now and insisting she came in and-”

Weems’ eye twitches and she laughs falsely, waving him off, “its fine Adam-”

“I’m Derek.”

“Just let her in,” she turns back to Enid and softly rolls her eyes, “sorry about that, Ms. Addams likes to pretend that appointments don’t apply to her.”

Enid smiles back weakly and stands with everyone else in the room, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans and eyeing the copious bottles of Smart Water on the table, because her throat is insanely dry. She’s about to meet the author, the creator of the character that she’ll be playing. Who wouldn’t be nervous-

“Ah Wednesday, so happy that you’ve decided to join us.”

Long, dark braided pigtails is the first thing Enid sees, then she takes in the pale skin, the freckles, the grown-out fringe, the tiny stature, the glare. The beautiful woman who she hasn’t thought about in years. The woman who she forgot even existed. Who up until now was a blurry memory that a hungover Enid tried to remember after waking up on New year’s day.

Their eyes meet and Enid’s world spirals. So does her stomach.

“So, Enid, this is Wednesday Addams, Wednesday this is Enid Sinclair,” Weems says politely before dropping her voice and whispering through gritted teeth in Wednesday’s direction. “Be nice.”

Those dark eyes haven’t strayed from Enid’s, their intensity making her dizzy. Enid licks her lips and watches the eyes track the movement. Her heart feels like it may erupt out her chest with how fast it’s racing.

“Hi.”

Six years ago

Enid wakes up half naked in her hotel room to five missed calls from her mother and several messages from her friends, including Yoko. As soon as she sits upright an overwhelming wave of nausea washes over her and she trips up over discarded clothes on the way to the en-suite bathroom. She spends the next fifteen minutes hugging the toilet bowl before she can stand on shaky legs and clutch the bathroom sink as she looks in the mirror.

Jesus Christ.

She weakly grabs her toothbrush and probes around her mouth with it, every so often accidentally brushing too far back and her gag reflex has her hunched over the sink with a white knuckled grip on the shiny white porcelain.

Not her proudest moment.

The toothbrush is lazily tossed to the side and Enid is heavily, heavily contemplating going back to bed, when her ringtone suddenly starts playing her favorite Seventeen song at full blast.

“Holy shit,” she breathes out, stumbling back into the bedroom and raking through her twisted sheets looking for the device so she can switch it off because her head is pounding. “Where is it. Where the fuck is it, I swear to God,” she picks it up and swipes her thumb across the screen, “Yoko, what the hell?”

She wretches the phone away from her ear as Yoko yells down the line.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR.”

“Oh my God why are you even awake right now, I’m literally five hours ahead of you.”

Yoko laughs and Enid frowns when she hears a bunch of voices in the background. “Yeah, pulling an all nighter, I’m at some guy’s penthouse. There’s a horse.”

“That’s-that’s great Yoko-”

“So…get up to anything fun. You know they don’t wear anything under their kilts in Scotland-”

Enid blearily looks at the time on her phone and sighs. She really needs to get herself sorted and presentable if she wants to be ok for her show tomorrow. “There were no guys.”

Yoko’s voice is quiet on the other end of the line and Enid hears her careful question of, “girls?”

And something inside of Enid freezes. Her eyebrows pull tightly together, and she replays last night, or what she remembers at least. A woman, a very pretty woman, god what was her name? It’s all very blurry, whether its because of the alcohol or Enid subconsciously choosing to block it out, she isn’t too sure right now.

“No, nobody.”

xXx

Now.

“Everyone leave, I would like to speak with Ms. Sinclair.”

Oh God that voice.

Bianca rolls her eyes but gathers up some loose documents and snaps her binder closed. Weems stands up, towering over them all and if Enid wasn’t intimidated by the powerful woman before, she sure is now. She smiles her wide smile, lips stretched almost painfully across her Hollywood white teeth, and Enid notices some of her cherry red lipstick stained across her two of her top teeth. She can only imagine how Weems would fret once she saw it in the mirror. The woman gives Enid the impression that she needs to appear perfectly put together, to be seen as any less than perfect would tarnish the polished reputation she’s made for herself.

It only puts more pressure on Enid to get this role right.

Bianca’s eyes pass over Enid and a crocodile smile is thrown in her direction. Truthfully there’s no real malice behind it, but there’s something there. Something that’s almost competitive, egging her on. She also mouths “good luck,” before turning to Wednesday Addams, her smile dropping and instead replaced by the eyeroll of an exasperated friend. “Don’t be rude, she was one of the only competent actors auditioning who also wasn’t an obnoxious W. Addams meatrider.”

Yoko snorts loudly from where she now stands behind Enid, and clasps her gently on the shoulder, squeezing twice before following everyone out the room. Enid watches her shyly bump shoulders with Divina.

Then the door shuts and Enid can’t breathe.

She’s just as beautiful as she was six years ago. Enid never fully understood referring to a human as ‘hauntingly beautiful’, that is, until she laid her eyes on Wednesday Addams. Any baby fat that used to be around her cheeks is now gone, her face more angular, jawline sharp enough to cut glass and cheekbones highly defined. Dark eyes, emphasized by the minimal use of mascara, stare at Enid up through thick eyelashes and Enid feels frozen in her spot.

She still has those matching braids and curtain bangs, still has that scowl and murderous glare.

And if they were strangers in a bar again, Enid would walk up to her and ask her the exact same thing as before.

In a moment of sudden realization like, she has to actually move and say something, she rolls her chair back almost aggressively and jumps out of it, knees banging against the table and a couple of glasses shake. She sidesteps out so that the table is no longer between them and sticks her hand out enthusiastically.

“Hi, Enid Sinclair.”

Wednesday looks from her face to her hand and then back up to her face.

“We’ve met.”

Enid feigns confusion for a second and taps her chin, “uh nope, no siree, I do not recall-”

“If this is the best of your acting abilities then we may need to reconsider a few things regarding the movie,” Wednesday says dryly and she watches as Enid’s hand weakly falls back down to her side. “I am of course, willing to ignore our previous introductions if you’d rather, for the sake of professionality and to avoid an uncomfortable phone call from human resources.”

“Ok,” Enid breathes out shakily, she nods her head and smiles weakly. “Yeah, that’d be super. I am so grateful for this opportunity and would like to apologize for you know, that and-and running off like that, you must’ve felt so confused and I-”

“Please do not flatter yourself, I haven’t thought about you for years,” Wednesday mutters, moving to sit in one of the chairs opposite the vacant one Enid sat in not too long ago. “In fact, I’d be more than happy to pretend that this is our first meeting.”

What the fuck is happening.

Enid lowers herself into her chair opposite Wednesday and nods slowly.

“Ok, but absolutely nobody can know, not Weems, not Bianca, not Divina, not Derek-”

“Who the hell is Derek?”

“I’m closeted ok!” Enid says louder than she should have done, considering how big of a secret this is. She immediately winces the second the words leave her mouth and Wednesday’s eyes widen slightly at her random outburst. “I’m, closeted, I’m not out.”

 “Out of what?”

“The closet...?”

Wednesday rolls her eyes, “Sinclair, you’re not making any sense.”

This woman.

Enid squeezes her eyes shut and buries her head in her hands, sighing into them and then sliding her hands through her hair. “People don’t know that I like women, Wednesday, that I’m a- y’know, lesbian.” She mutters, and the word feels weird in her mouth, it’s one she rarely says out loud.

She doesn’t need to look up to see Wednesday’s annoyed face.

“And that…matters?”

Enid’s head snaps up from where she’s had it in buried in her arms, “yes!”

“It’s 2024.”

She splutters out a laugh in disbelief and shakes her head. The woman opposite her is notorious for her secrecy, for her lack of media presence. It wouldn’t be a complete surprise to find out that Wednesday Addams didn’t even own a phone, didn’t even use email. She’s very obviously chronically offline, so much so that she doesn’t realize how big of a deal this is.

“And? I literally attended this fashion event last year that promoted queer models and designers and the comments on Instagram- you’d think this was the 1950’s. I know the good usually outweighs the bad but it’s terrifying, and I’m a public figure so once it’s out, it’s out. My mom doesn’t even know, I can’t even think of how she’d react-”

“I’ll respect your privacy then, though catering to the mob and ignoring your own comfort and freedom can never end well.”

That’s-she’s probably right. Everything comes out eventually, the difference is whether or not Enid has any say in it.

She nods and clears her throat, “and, the thing with you-it’s, I’m over it ok. It was a long time ago and we can forget about it, I was young…and drunk. Water under the bridge.”

There’s a mutual understanding between them. The past is the past, not that there was much that happened anyway, but enough that one slip up, one rumor after the next leads to tabloids claiming that Enid landed her role by sleeping with the author. But nobody else knows, and nobody else ever will. She’s booked, she’s landed this role of the lifetime, she’s comfortable (financially), she’s an influencer adored by millions. Life is good.

So why doesn’t she feel good.

Her eyes meet dark ones, black onyx eyes which reveal no emotions clueing her into what’s going on in Wednesday’s head.

Life is good.

But her stomach feels heavy and achy, and her heart is racing so fast that she thinks Wednesday can hear it.

Her hands squeeze the edge of the table until her knuckles are white and she exhales what feels like unknowingly trapped air. Wednesday’s head tilts slightly, watching her curiously and Enid smiles back in response.

Because everything is fine and it’s all behind them.

Until it’s not.