𝕎𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣 𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤

Not So Fragile

The signs were small at first.
Enid snapping at harmless jokes. Her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Sleepless nights where her leg bounced endlessly beneath the blankets. Claws that grew back faster than usual, sharper.

Wednesday noticed. Of course she noticed.

It all came to a head one late night in their dorm. Enid sat hunched on her bed, knuckles white as she clutched a pillow like it was the only thing keeping her from unraveling.

"Enid," Wednesday said quietly, tone sharper than a blade but softer than a whisper. "Enough. Tell me what you're feeling."

Enid's jaw clenched. "I can't."

"You will."

Enid's eyes blazed with something dangerous, something raw. "I'm angry!" she snapped, fists trembling. "I'm angry and I'm in pain, and I don't know what to do with it! If I let it out, Wends, I'll break things. I'll break you."

Wednesday stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "Then break me."

Enid's breath hitched. "W-What?"

Wednesday's voice was low, steady, absolute. "I am an Addams. My body was built to endure, my heart conditioned to suffer. If you must rage, rage at me. If you must break, break me. I can take it. Better me than watching you rot from the inside out."

The dam burst.

Enid shoved her. Hard. Wednesday barely moved, black braids swaying with the impact. Enid hit her again, pounding fists against her chest, tears streaming down her face. "It's not fair! They were supposed to love me! They were supposed to want me! And they just—just threw me away like I was nothing!"

Each strike cracked Enid's voice further, breaking into sobs. Wednesday didn't flinch. She stood there, an anchor in the storm, absorbing every hit like penance.

"I hate them! I hate myself for still caring! And I hate—" Enid's voice shattered. Her fists weakened. "I hate that I don't know what to do with all of this."

Her body gave out, collapsing against Wednesday.

Wednesday caught her instantly, wrapping her arms around the trembling girl. She held her tight, firm, unyielding. "Good. Let it out. Every drop. I will not shatter, Enid. But you will if you keep this poison bottled."

Enid sobbed into her shoulder, her claws digging harmlessly into Wednesday's back. "What if I hurt you?"

"You already have," Wednesday murmured against her hair. "Every time you suffer in silence. And yet I remain."

Enid clung tighter, trembling like a child. Wednesday rested her chin on Enid's head, her voice low and steady.

"You are not fragile, Enid. You are a wolf. But even wolves need to howl, to rage, to bleed it out. So rage at me. Cry on me. Break against me. I will not leave."

For the first time in months, Enid let it all out — anger, grief, shame — until she was nothing but tears and exhaustion. And Wednesday held her through it, black dress soaked, chest aching, but not once did she let go.

Because if Enid had to break, she would break in the arms of someone who loved her enough to never let her pieces scatter.