Chapter 16

Lenore’s throat screamed with dryness, and her breathing was shallow—she laid there, apathetically, on the hospital bed, stinking of chemicals, scrunched up ply roll laid beneath her. Her head lolled against her folded arms, and she glanced up at the flickering, buzzing florescent light above her, then back around the small room.

It had shiny, linoleum floors, speckled walls, covered with posters filled with cartoons, medical information, phone numbers, and notices about vaccine’s, and the flu. The bed was firm beneath her, her vest ruined, cleanly cut through the back, and a nurse pressed clean towels against her back, slowing the bleeding. Her shoulder had swollen, too, and she couldn’t move it—it had the familiar ache of dislocation.

Her nurse was a young, kind woman, who had a few grey hairs, likely from stress; she kept glancing over at Lenore, meeting her glassy eyes. Her mouth opened to say something, but she swiftly closed it. She looked over at the nurse, who finally spoke up, “the doctor should be here soon. Do you have anyone you would like to call?”

“There’s a girl who came in, Wednesday Addams; she was unconscious, and would’ve been brought in by ambulance. Is she okay?” Lenore asked. The nurse pursed her lips.

“She’s a minor, I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about her.” She answered. Lenore only nodded. It was silent for a minute or two, she didn’t know how long it was really, time didn’t seem to move in this tiny, blank room. If she weren’t teetering on passing out, she would’ve panicked at how familiar a room like this was to her. “Wednesday Addams, yes?” The nurse finally said.

“Yeah,” Lenore replied.

The nurse hesitated, and said, “how do you know each other?”

“We go to school together, and she’s the reason I look like this.” She gestured to herself sluggishly with her free hand.

“She’s okay, from what I’ve heard, in a coma, but it’s hopeful.”

“Thank you,” Lenore gave her lopsided, appreciative smile. Then, she reached down, and fished through her pocket, bringing out her phone, slightly crusted with blood; she typed in her password, and went into her contacts.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling a friend, I need a ride home.” She answering, swiping onto Avery’s profile—they were least likely to yell at her, and the most to let her explain—she called them, and the phone rang out. It didn’t take long for them to pick up.

“Lenore,” they greeted.

“Hey, Ave, I’m at the hospital.” She said.

“What happened?”

“Shredded my back on a broken window, and dislocated my arm, along other fun, fun things.”

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah, it’s really fucking bad. Not just for me either, Tyler escaped, Wednesday’s in a coma, and I even saw Laurel Gates.” She explained.

Avery was quiet for a moment, and she could practically hear them mulling it over, “I heard about the escape on the TV. They’re blurry on the details, is there anything else you can learn?”

“Probably, I’ll see if I can ask Fester what happened.” Lenore said.

“Okay… is Matty’s car at Willow Hill?” They asked.

“Yeah.”

“You rode there in an ambulance, then.” It didn’t need an answer, simply an observation, “I’ll inform Mat and Lorelai about what happened, and we’ll pick you up.” They said.

“Thanks, Avery.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Lenore.” Avery hung up, and Lenore let her arm drop down, phone still clutched in her grasp. She held it tight, and looked down at the lockscreen, at her and Lorelai, who was clung onto her back, wide grin plastered across her face. Her eyes stung with exhaustion.

Only a few minutes later, the door was thrown open, and the Doctor walked in, clipboard in hand, hair cinched back in a ponytail, an oddly charming smile plastered on her lips; once, their eyes met, Lenore realised why, her eyes were an uncanny shade of blue—she was a siren. She watched her quietly as she approached.

“Ms Yuson, yes?”

“Yeah,” Lenore answered.

“Show me the damage.” She said to the nurse, who slowly pulled back the towel, which stuck to Lenore’s skin, blood tacky, revealed the smeared mess of blood, jagged, deep cuts, and the glittering of glass shards embedded in the cavernous injuries.

Lenore knew it was bad when the doctor winced loudly, and muttered, “oh, wow.” She flinched when she felt the doctors hand pull at the cuts edges, inspecting them carefully, and then, she pressed her fingers into Lenore’s shoulder, making her jolt, and muffle a shout. “You dislocated your shoulder, too. You really did a number of yourself, didn’t you, hun?”

She pulled a pair of sterile gloves on, and began the task of removing the glass from her back, from the tiny pieces to the large; they would have to all come out before they could clean, and stitch her up.

The hospital seemed to live with noise, chaos, a loudness more than simply sound—heartbeats ricocheted through chest cavity’s, pulses thumped through the air, cleaner hung thickly, footsteps echoed around halls. It was an attack on her senses. Lenore’s pain had only slightly subsided, and she was only relieved by the fact she wasn’t actively bleeding out.

Her mind had fogged over, and she shruggled think coherently, much less remember where she had come from earlier, or where she needed to go. The overwhelming scent of cleaner sent her for a loop, and she couldn’t use her senses to lead her forward; she wandered through the walls, moving her jacket’s zip tighter, it was all she had to cover the dressings over her back. She felt lingering, concerned eyes on her, and only then realised why—her shorts, they were damp with blood.

Her head throbbed—she needed to get to the entrance. Her steps shook through her body, and she shifted her arm in the sling, pulling at the fabric until it laid flat, devoid of wrinkles. Her palm slammed into a keypad, pressing floor one of an elevator; it opened moments later, and she stumbled in. She braced herself on the wall. Her face paled, and clammy sweats covered her.

The doors shut softly, it groaned unsettlingly, and began to descend—music crackled through the half broken speakers; voices, alarms, the rolling of wheels grew louder, and faded as she passed by floors. Lenore could gear the grinding of gears, whining of the pully system, and the groan of metal scraping against metal. She prayed for this ride to end soon.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long, and moments later, it slowed, lurched, throwing her forward, and stopped; the doors peeled open, and people walked inside, glancing at Lenore, with a mixture of terror and concern. She ignored them, and stepped out into the waiting room. It was hectic, doctors, and nurses rushed about, patients sat down, waiting for admittance, while family and friends anxiously waited for news.

She didn’t move for a moment, just watching the scene roll out before her; her family didn’t know she was here, Bruno didn’t—it was only her fault, how could they know? It didn’t spoil the ache in her chest, though. She forced herself forward, towards the exit, which was dark, and the waiting room reflected in the glass.

“Lenore,” Morticia called, and Lenore turned around, finding the woman stood up, staring at her with an anxious expression plastered across her sharp features. She approached them.

“Hey,” she said.

“Fester told me what happened.” Morticia informed her. Lenore’s brow furrowed, and she turned to face Fester, who smiled up at her, still dressed in his Willow Hill uniform.

“What?” She asked harshly.

“Yeah, I don’t know what you did, but I saw the flesh gored out your back.” He answered cheerily, and she just stared him, mouth subtly agape. Her teeth collided audibly when she closed it. “I saw you catch her, impressive, even by my standards.”

Lenore massaged her forehead, and brushed her hand through her hair, pushing back the curls. “Yeah…” she muttered. Morticia stepped closer to her, looking at her sling, she grabbed her free hand.

“Thank you, Lenore, I heard what you did.” She said.

“It was nothing.”

“It really wasn’t,” Gomez chined in.

She shook her head, “if I stopped her from getting hurt, that would’ve been something to thank me for.” She shook off Morticia’s hand.

“Oh, so this is the infamous Lenore Wednesday has told me about. I must say, I expected someone more…” Wednesday’s grandmother trailed off, and Lenore’s scalding gaze turned to her; the woman smiled, “that’s more like it.”

Lenore breathed roughly through her teeth, and it echoed in her chest, “I assure you,” she said slowly—purposefully, “you don’t want to see me angry.”

“Oh, don’t I?” She mocked.

“No, you don’t. Especially, when I feel like this; I have very little patience, considering the stunt your granddaughter just pulled. I want nothing to do with her after this, it was beyond reckless.”

“You said you would look after her?” Morticia said, searching her eyes for compassion, but it wasn’t there, instead replaced by something seething.

“Yes, I did, but that was before she did this. Her own awful curiosity set a Hyde loose, freed dozens of patients, and put people at risk. Not just myself, but Enid, Agnes, Doctor Fairburn, and Ms Capri. Weems was right, she is a trouble magnet.” She bit. Lenore turned on her heel, but didn’t get far.

“Do you know why she did it?” It was Fester; he stood up, and faced her.

“Some Outcast patients caught her attention. Sometimes, often in fact, it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. She should consider it.” She said dismissively.

“You know Lois?” He asked.

“Yeah.

“It isn’t a person; it stands for Long-term Outcast Intergration Study.” It hit her then, like a freight train, and she felt bile rise in her throat. Her hand curled into a fist, and she met his eye.

“What were they doing?” It didn’t take long for her to break—her curiosity getting better than her.

“Experimenting on them, trying to extract their powers, to take them away.” He explained. It made her feel ill at first, a surge of anger filling her, warming her limbs, and making her flush. Then, she considered it—it wasn’t fair to take an Outcasts abilities, to steal them, but perhaps if they wanted it…

“You can do that?” She muttered.

“Yeah.” He said, “do you understand now?”

“Yes, I understand, and understood before perfectly, but I’ve hurt myself helping Wednesday more than once, and she’s crossed the line this time. Prank Day wasn’t her fault, this was.” Lenore’s resolve wavered at the look Morticia gave her, but she tore her eyes away, and refused to give in—not this time.

“Lee.” Lorelai shouted, fraught with relief, desperation, and worry—she dodged people, gurney’s, and wheelchairs, sprinting towards Lenore; she skidded to a stop inches before her. She looked her over, stared at her, striken with emotion; it quickly dissolved into anger. “What were you thinking, you idiot?”

“Lorelai—”

“—No, don’t Lorelai me, you could’ve gotten yourself killed, Lenore. Tyler, that zombie, would’ve killed you without hesitation, and then Avery tells me Laurel Gates was there. You told me about that psychopath. Is that where you got your black eye from?”

“It is.” Lenore whispered.

“You shouldn’t have gone after that girl. She’s gotten you into trouble, risked your life without a second thought, and you just run into danger because you have this stupid idea you need to repent.” Lorelai snapped, her siren song shaking the air around them, though, it had affect no Lenore, it wasn’t meant to—she simply couldn’t control it. Her attention snapped to the Addams family. “Oh, and you,” she seethed, “what is wrong your daughter? She is selfish, and thoughtless, and invested in everyone’s business but her own. If she goes near Lenore again, there will be consequences.”

Lenore simply watched, jaw slack, eyes wide, transfixed at the siren’s anger; she hadn’t seen this for years, not like this. She gripped Lorelai’s hand, cutting her rant short. “Hey, please stop.” She said, “I’m not going near her again, okay.”

“Okay,” Lorelai breathed out, and carefully, slowly, she wrapped her arms around Lenore, and laid her head on her chest. Her heartbeat echoed into Lenore, “you don’t know how worried I was.” She murmured.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise, let’s just get you back, okay?” Lorelai pulled away. “Mateo and Avery are waiting in the car.”

Lenore sighed contently, nuzzling her head into her pillow, and shifted her free arm, so it wasn’t crushed beneath her body. The position she lay in her wasn’t entirely comfortable, but she couldn’t lie on her back, or stomach—thanks to her sling—instead, she faced the room. It twinkled gently with the delicate glow of fairy lights.

Lorelai’s bed lay empty, covers messy, half her blankets, pillows, and covers from stolen from Lenore, who didn’t care—the siren seemed to be constantly freezing, and it stopped her from crawling into bed with Lenore, inevitably waking her up.

Once, they managed to get a shirt on Lenore, after five minutes of awkward shimmying—Lorelai left, to steal food from the kitchen, and grab whatever Mateo had stolen from work, or been given by his mother for Lenore.

It was an old, baggy band shirt—not shredded up, or covered in blood, but soft, and warm; she wore it alongside a pair of Muay Thai shorts, and they weren’t tacky with blood, either. It was a relief to get out of those clothes; she cringed with every movement she had made when the damp denim rubbed against her.

She struggle to type on her phone, but her attention shifted when a quick, rhythmic knock resounded from the door; with a grunt, and a little pain, she sat up, and made her way towards the door. “Lorelai, I’ve told you about forgetting your key—” it wasn’t Lorelai, instead, it was Miss Capri, who stood there, spinning her rings nervously. She looked relieved to see Lenore.

“You’re okay,” she said. Lenore nodded, and looked around the darkened hallway; she stepped aside, allowing the teacher entrance. It would look questionable if anyone saw them. She locked the door behind her. Lenore stood awkwardly in her room, watching as Ms Capri looked around, taking in her dorm.

It was split down the middle, mostly, at least, Lenore’s collection of plants covered the entire windowsill, Lorelai’s string lights trailed the room, however, Lenore’s side was neat, organised, with a bookshelf sorted alphabetically. On the other hand, Lorelai’s side was messy, homey, with books, sheet music, make-up, random scribbles peppering the floor. Over her bed, she had pictures strung up, of her and Lenore in their younger days, her travels, pictures of Nevermore, and a new addition of Lenore, Mateo, Avery and her.

“What happened to your arm?” Miss Capri asked, leaning against Lenore’s desk.

“My shoulder got dislocated when I caught Wednesday.” She responded. Ms Capri pursed her lips, like she wanted to say something, Lenore held her hand up, and stopped her before she could start.

“Listen, I’ve gotten enough reprimand today. Lorelai tore me a new one, and I don’t need to hear it again.”

“Okay,” she said, “can I see them?”

“Yeah, just lift up the back, it took Lorelai and I long enough to get it on.” Lenore didn’t miss the flicker of emotion on Miss Capri’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. She rolled up Lenore’s shirt, revealing the rippling muscle, partially covered by clean dressings, spanning the length of her back. A warm hand traced her skin, and she shivered. It didn’t last, and her shirt was pulled back down.

Her hand rested on Lenore’s shoulder, gently, where it was previously dislocated, “you had me worried sick.” She said. “I’m… glad you’re okay.”

“You know, when I saw your car in the car park, I just… ran towards Willow Hill; I didn’t think.” Lenore said softly—quietly. Ms Capri didn’t speak, and allowed her to continue, “I need to say that I lied, when I said you meant nothing to me, it even hurt to say.”

Neither spoke for a long moment, it dragged out, and thickened the air between them. “I know.” That was all Miss Capri said.

“You stayed, with me, at Willow Hill, and you…” she trailed off, “I appreciate it.” She managed to get out, “I shouldn’t have reacted like I did at the Weathervane, it’s just a—”

“—Sore spot?”

“Yeah.”

“The last thing I think you are is violent, Lenore. You showed that today, and I never meant to make you feel like I did.” She intertwined their fingers, and they stood there, in silence, illuminated by the soft glow of fairy lights. She brushed her thumb along her hand. Ms Capri’s sweet, rich perfume, like roses and dark chocolate, filled the air. She seemed to lean forward, if only for a moment, before she shook her head, more to herself. She released Lenore’s hand.

“What’s this?” She cleared her throat, and changed the topic. Lenore basked in the moment a few seconds longer, before stretching her hand over the manuscript on her desk.

“My manuscript.” She said. “Maybe, I’ll let you read it soon.”

Miss Capri smiled softly at her, “I would like that.” She walked along, standing before Lenore’s bookshelf, scanning along the shelves, “how are these sorted?” She asked.

“Um,” Lenore stood beside her, and her fingers brushed the wood, “by genre, and then alphabetically. Classics on the bottom, then non-fiction, sheetmusic, plays, poetry, crime, fantasy, horror, historical fiction, dystopian, romance, then manga and comics, and finally, books that I don’t have enough to have an entire row for.” She explained.

“You read romance?” It was asked with a teasing lilt.

“Yeah, as Lorelai would say, I’m a real bleeding heart.” She said. Ms Capri smiled again, and gently pulled a book out—romance—she flicked through it.

“Oh, look it’s even annotated.” She said, and Lenore’s cheeks warmed. She snatched the book, and slipped it back in.

“Yeah, I think that’s enough,” she muttered. Their eyes met, and they broke out into soft, mingling laughter. “Really, though, feel free to borrow any if you’re interested.”

Lenore sat on her desk, watching as Miss Capri bent over, browsing through her selection, staring at the sheetmusic, and lightly discussing it with her, occasionally making appreciative sounds at her taste—Chopin, Debussy, Vivaldi, Beethoven. Then, she moved further up, to poetry, and beyond.

“You’ve annotated most of these,” she said as she flipped through a poetry book.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at the book Ms Capri read.

“What’s your favourite type of poetry?”

“Conflict poetry, mostly stuff centred around the world wars.”

Miss Capri put the book back onto the shelf, “anything you recommend?” She asked.

“Just generally?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she scanned the shelves, and pulled out a historical fiction book, “this is a good one. I apologise in advance for the annotations, my handwriting isn’t great.” She offered her the book, and their fingers brushed as she took it, a spark jolting up Lenore’s skin.

“Oh, I’m sure it isn’t that bad.”

“It is, it looks like a pissed spider dipped in ink, or so I’ve been told.” She answered, earning a genuine, soft laugh from Ms Capri.

With a click, they heard the door unlock, and creak open. It was Lorelai, who held reuseable bags strung along her arms, digging into her skin. She kicked the door closed behind her. “Okay, so I stole some stuff from the kitchens, but don’t worry, I avoided the mystery meat, although I’m sure you would eat almost anything. Mateo dropped off chinese food and some, no prawns, like you want, and his mother packed us homemade cookies. That woman is an icon.” Lorelai explained. She stopped suddenly upon noticing Ms Capri, looking between them with subtle suspicion.

“Oh, hi, professor.” She said.

“Hello, Miss Ali,” she stepped away from Lenore, and folded the book under her arm. “I should get going. Make sure you take it easy, Lenore, and if you need anything… come and find me.” She said.

“Goodnight, I hope you enjoy the book.” Lenore said.

Ms Capri left, closing the door behind her.

Lorelai gave her a look, “so, Lenore, huh?” She teased.

“Do shut up.” Lenore said playfully. 

– 

Happy New Year; I hope this year has treated you well, and the next will. See you next year. 

Also, how Lenore describes her handwriting is, verbatim, how mine has been described. There is a reason I purely write on laptop. 

First chapter of Bloodborn is out, too.