when you love it pt.5
Summary: Constance is going to ruin your life. Not that you're sure you want to keep living it anyway.
Word Count: 4.7k Warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of scars, mentions of past trauma Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (Enid x Reader focused this chapter) (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)
“So that’s your new family?”
Dishes clinked and scratched against each other in the sink. Your hands stung and ached, blistered by the scalding water that you couldn’t bother allowing to cool. It didn’t hurt, but you could recognise the fact that it should have. An unusual sensation. It was better than the strange, slightly itchy feeling crawling over your skin.
“Close friends.”
Constance hummed, the sound drowned out by the liquid in her mug. It had only been a few weeks, but her eyes had regained their dull glow. Her pallid skin had returned to appearing warm and inviting. Some would consider it her best quality; unaware of the danger hidden behind her appealing, humanoid appearance. You were no fool.
And apparently, neither was Wednesday nor Enid.
“They seem nice.” Your eyes were focused on the small fibers left behind from the drying towel. “The children appear a little wild, but nice.”
“We don’t have to be friends, ‘Nance,” you said, turning around and resting against the sink counter.
She froze, dark eyes glued to yours.
“You can stay as long as you need, but we don’t need to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This,” you gestured around to the empty apartment where, by some unusual choice, Constance was sitting as close to you as possible. “We don’t need to make small talk, or reminisce, or say nice things about the people I associate with.”
“We’re siblings, cher,” Constance said softly. “I just want to catch up on the things I’ve missed.”
No. No, you didn’t need her to catch up on things. If it had been up to you, you never would’ve let her stay in the first place. Wednesday’s unusually warm heart had softened you up to the idea at your apartment, and now you couldn’t go back on it. That didn’t mean you were going to let Constance know every bit of your life. Quite frankly, it was none of her business.
“They’re family,” you conceded quietly.
Constance smiled. “But not like us, right?” Her shoulders raised in a shrug. “Ain’t nothin’ stronger than blood.”
The breath exhaled through your nose like a nearly-silent jet stream. The small saying brought visions of the past, of running through the parish alongside Constance and Bas, looking for trouble wherever it found you. No one in the whole wide world gave you a second glance, and you were happy that way because it meant no one could tear your family apart. The three of you against the world.
"Ain’t nothin’ stronger,” you repeated.
Living with Constance again was something you hadn’t ever planned on doing. You had taken your separate paths, happy to diverge from the trail in a direction that had nothing to do with the other. You weren’t similar. As you got older, you hadn’t even really liked each other. She was too reckless, you acted far too superior. Or so she claimed.
The living room and kitchen remained spotless, but the guest room had turned into a rightful vampire den. Blood-stained bottles and kitchenware lay scattered around the room, littering every inch of furniture and floor. If the old hostel hadn’t been enough to scare you away, the mess of your guest room certainly had.
“Are the Addamses coming over anytime soon?” Constance asked.
“No,” you said far too quickly, turning around to take a sip of your tea before continuing the dishes.
“Really?”
“Why do you care?”
“I wanted to get to know them,” she said. “I need to know the one who gave you those scars.”
Hm. That was exactly the reason you wouldn’t invite the Addamses over. It was bad enough that Bas knew about Enid, but Constance? She was a loose canon even under the best of circumstances, you couldn’t imagine if she found out who had (in her mind) tried to kill her big sibling. Constance was feral when sober, but you couldn’t guarantee her sobriety forever.
She wouldn’t lay a finger on Enid.
Getting used to living with Constance again wasn’t the worst situation in the world. She was a phenomenal cook, and it was rather nice having actual food to take in for lunch. Janice eased up on her teasing when you had real lunch. You never admitted it was due to your unwelcome guest.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Constance asked a few hours later.
She leaned against the doorway to your office, looking like some lost puppy. You didn’t have time for her antics. If she wanted to watch a movie, she could do it on her own. There were three cases you were preparing for, and none of them could afford slacking off. It was your livelihood on the line, you couldn’t just abandon it because your sister wanted to watch a movie.
“Start it without me,” you mumbled. The words on the desktop screen jumbled together. You couldn’t stop.
“You work this hard when your little wolf is here?”
The cold blood boiled in your veins. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Oooh, so sensitive,” she huffed, “Bas didn’t tell me you were so possessive.”
“Constance.” Your fingers paused on the keys. “That’s enough.”
“He did say you got grumpy.”
“Why are you talking about me behind my back?”
“Well it ain’t like we can do it in front of your face, cher, you’re never home.”
You exhaled harshly through your nose. Argumentative as always. You were the lawyer, but even you knew it was a losing fight. Bas would play nice and could convince someone to do anything. All he had to do was smile. You had your quirks, and you couldn’t win every time, but you could get your way if you wanted.
But Constance, oh, she could argue until you gave in simply to shut her up.
The logical part of your brain told you to keep your mouth shut. She couldn’t argue if you didn’t feed into her behaviour. That wasn’t how you stamped a bad habit, you had to starve it. But the other part of your brain, the much louder part, nagged you to keep arguing. She couldn’t win, she didn’t deserve to win.
“Someone’s at your door,” Constance said, and both parts of your brain fell silent.
A gentle knock quickly followed her words. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, slowly morphing into a large, Cheshire cat smile. A lethal look that pulled countless men into her grasp. She inched backward, eyes locked with yours in a wordless battle of self-control.
Her hand grasped your wrist as you pushed past her in the doorway. Frozen fingers brushed against the sensitive scars. Jolts of electricity raced through your dry veins, growls echoing in your mind. You raced Constance to the door. You didn’t hear the sounds through the door; didn’t hear the hushed whispers on the other side of the wood until you opened the door and the silence enveloped your apartment.
The men in burgundy always smelled sickeningly sweet, like hot honey slowly dripped over rotten meat. Impeccably dressed as always, their long black hair was slicked back, each individual hair held in place by its own overabundance of grease. Suit jackets were suspicious as best, but on the men-in-black wannabes, they looked like nothing more than children wearing their father’s clothing.
Terror seized your every muscle.
“Can I help you?” You asked, your voice staying calm and neutral, betraying every ounce of fear underneath your skin.
“Fine evening to you,” the shorter man on the left said with dead eyes and a monotone voice. “We happen to be looking for a friend of ours,” he said with a tilt of his head, “would you be able to help us find her?”
"I’m not sure who you’re looking for,” you said.
“My apologies. She goes by the name Constance.”
All movement behind you halted. Constance exhaled; loudly to your ears, but inaudible to the Hunters’. You hoped she could feel the resentment spewing from your pores. Not once had you ever been on a Hunter’s list, and now they were knocking on your door? Peering into your apartment, trying to catch you in a lie?
“I’m not really one to give information without a subpoena.”
“A subpoena?” The taller one asked in a voice like nails on a chalkboard. “We’re hardly of any authority to issue those.”
“Then you’re hardly of any authority to expect an answer,” you said with finality. “I wish you luck in your search.
You pushed the front door closed, eager to be rid of the haunting omens. The door bounced off a well-polished shoe sticking in your doorway. Your eyes glued themselves to the shoe. Just three centimeters into your apartment. Too much. They hadn’t asked permission to enter.
“I trust,” the one in the doorway started in a low tone, “that you know not to get in our way.”
“You’ve evaded our list thus far,” the other continued, looking deep into your eyes. They wrapped around your chest with greasy fingers and squeezed. “It would be wise to remain that way.”
Chills ran down your spine. You had remained off their list your entire life; a personal goal you had made it a point to maintain. A sense of pride, even, to know you were one of the few to remain on the Hunters’ good side. The fact they were knocking on your door in the first place had your hands shaking where they rested.
“Have a good evening, Counselor,” one of them said. Quickly, the foot in your doorway disappeared, and you held eye contact until the door closed.
Soft footsteps thumped against the carpet outside your apartment, heading away from your door. You could barely discern the stairway door opening and slowly clicking shut, blocking out the sound of steps down the concrete stairs. A few seconds passed, and you finally heard two car doors shut, the engine turn over, and the foreign car drive down the street.
“That was close,” Constance whispered. “I thought we were goners.”
We?
Your fingers curled around the car keys and you slammed the door behind you, following in the footsteps of the Hunters.
———
Walking when the weather was just starting to warm up was a welcome distraction. No Constance, no Hunters, nothing to cause unnecessary stress within the delicate ecosystem that was your nervous system. It was best with the moon high in the sky. A half moon so as not to burn your unshielded eyes.
The city was silent as you traversed the well-known streets. You briefly wondered if Constance was safe; if the Hunters had come back to the house. But the immediate kink in your stomach concluded you didn’t care. She was the reason these situations were arising in the first place.
The bells tolled at the old chapel down the street. A quaint little church with no more than 20 congregates, your feet always attempted to pull you nearer and nearer, desperate to walk amongst the hallowed halls bathed in aged stained glass. Most nights you rejected the idea, refusing to accept the ache that settled deep within your bones.
Tonight was worthy of the sacrifice.
Father was rarely in on a Thursday night which was perfect. He couldn’t sit beside you and ask you to bare your soulless sins. The pews were nearly empty, the candles at the altar were lit, and you could hear the faintest rumblings of the bells as they eased back into their relaxed state.
As someone’s whispered prayers were uttered to the empty halls, you sat yourself down in the middle of the rows. Not too close to the front where you felt naked and vulnerable to the world, but not the back where you felt the call of outside pulling at your spine. The direct middle left you content, almost exhausted.
There were occasions you had sat in the pew until the sun shone through the glass, leaving coloured pictures painting the floor. Images of angels worshiping on their knees, praying to a God that would never hear them. They suffered so beautifully and received nothing but suffering in return. Those angels loved and worshiped and sacrificed for something they could never have again.
Endless suffering looks beautiful on them.
“I didn’t know you went to church.”
Your hands remained clasped, held together by the nails that anchored themselves in your skin. No words left your lips; no prayers, no pleas for repentance or forgiveness. The large wooden cross at the front of the church loomed over you, covering your body in a shadow surrounded by moonlight.
Familiar footsteps echoed through the empty room, getting closer and closer to your position. The invisible pull toward the cross shifted, instead pulling you to your right, urging you to move and greet whoever was coming to your side. Your dead heart filled with pressure until you felt your chest would explode, leaving yourself bare in front of God.
“Aspen said they saw you here,” the voice continued softly. “And mentioned something about a hunter.”
Even if you hadn’t recognised the voice, felt the pull of her words, you would have known her. Warmth radiated from her from halfway across the chapel. When she knelt beside you and her shoulder brushed against yours, your skin seared like a burn from the sun. If you remained still for too long, you swore the flesh would have peeled in thin, translucent layers.
“Did they see Constance?” The words seared up your throat, leaving it raw and parched.
“I don’t know,” she said, and you could practically hear the way she shook her head. “They didn’t say.”
Your nails untethered themselves from your skin, leaving small red crescents between each knuckle and at the base of each thumb. The wounds were perfectly pierced, they would barely leave a scar. Your eyes were tired, but they couldn’t resist opening and looking upon her face in awe.
Enid.
“Wednesday would have come too,” she gave a tired chuckle, “but you know how she is with churches.”
“I’m sure she would have combusted,” you teased.
The glow of the moon illuminated both of your scars. Matching imperfections to connect you for life. Enid was truly beautiful. Her hair was currently a dark blonde that accentuated the features of her face. Your knuckles ached to caress her skin, to feel her warmth on your cold fingertips.
“You’re getting harder to contact,” Enid said softly. She smiled and shook her head. “Wednesday said you didn’t want to be found but I think that’s ridiculous.”
Enid’s optimism could have made you sick. Tugging tightly at the knot in your stomach, squeezing your lungs until no air was left. And yet the sickness wracking your soul wasn’t enough to refute her claim.
She was right. You had been ignoring their calls, desperate to be left alone. No part of you would allow them to include themselves with Constance around. She brought Hunters, and Hunters brought death. You wouldn’t dare risk their lives so carelessly. So you evaded their attempts, deleting each missed call in a piss poor attempt to hide your shame.
“You wouldn’t leave us again, right?”
You would. You would leave them again in a heartbeat if it kept them safe. Your very presence was dangerous enough, but a Hunter would kill them. They would kill them for pure enjoyment, and you couldn’t stand by and let it happen. So you would keep them to their own lives, blissfully unaware of the dangers that creeped in their periphery.
“How has it been?”
Your head tilted.
“Living with Constance.”
Oh. That.
“Not as horrible as one would believe,” you admitted purely out of desperation to end the topic as quickly as possible. The last thing you wanted to talk about was Constance. She was the whole reason you had left the apartment in the first place.
“Wednesday said she seemed genuine,” Enid continued. “That’s a big compliment.”
“Wednesday saw her after a drug-induced binge.” Enid flinched. “Genuinely insane might have been the better observation.”
“She didn’t tell me that part,” she admitted.
Of course she wouldn’t. The look on Wednesday’s face had been enough to tell you everything. To throw her back that night, blood coating every inch of the apartment and everything all of you owned. What had she envisioned when Constance was invited into the apartment? Had she pictured you with tired eyes and blood falling from your lips?
You had.
“She’s your family,” Enid said softly. “We don’t want to shun her.”
“Constance is a plague,” you said quickly. “All of you will stay far away from her.” Enid locked eyes with you. “Do you understand?”
Footsteps softly bounced off the stone walls. You sat there looking into Enid’s eyes, waiting patiently for the sound to fade into the background. The doors to the church clicked shut, and the last remaining patron disappeared to leave you both alone in front of God.
Enid’s hands rested on top of yours. She twisted your hands around, exposing the small, jagged scars crossing your skin. Each one melding into the next in an eternal cycle of pain and remembrance. Regret. All the things you kept locked in your head every time you saw your loves, aching to tell them but your tongue was unable to do so.
Her thumb rubbed gently over one of the more prominent stretches of pallid skin.
“Aspen said we match,” she said. Her sleeves were pulled high, showcasing her own familiar, painful looking scars.
They were different. Your Little Bane said they matched because they didn’t know any better. But you did. Where yours crossed over your thumb as she swiped you away, hers circled her wrist, a perfect set of teeth marks. Yours were thick from her claws, hers were thin from your nails. It was nowhere similar, and you wished yours had been worse.
“I’m sure Wednesday told you this already,” Enid mumbled, “but you’re too hard on yourself.”
“I won’t talk of this again, Enid,” you said quickly, attempting to pull your hands back into your lap.
Her grip tightened, holding you in place. A slight sting lazily climbed its way up your arm to settle in your elbow. The sting turned into a prick as her claws crept out, slowly digging into the single space of untouched flesh on your wrists. Another scar in the making. Another reminder of your inadequacies.
“You never talk about it,” Enid said, “but I’m tired of acting like it didn’t happen just so you stay put.”
“I will not willingly relive that night-“
“-Wednesday and I relive it every moment of every day.”
Her claws dug deeper into your wrists, piercing the skin between the tendons. Enid’s eyes refused to leave yours, anchoring you to the spot. A heavy weight pushed down on your chest, the breath struggling to leave your lungs. The cross at the front of the chapel left a distorted shadow over your pew.
“You run away every time.” The claws dug so deep they were stopped by Enid’s bare fingers against your skin. “You’re not running this time.”
The thought crossed your mind to pull your arms away, letting the embedded claws rip through flesh and bone. To leave Enid there, alone and safe. Perhaps you could run away again, never to see them again and to finally allow them some closure to continue their lives. To live without the constant hope that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they used to be.
But you didn’t want to leave. Not again. You didn’t think your soul could take it.
“Wednesday and I have talked about it extensively.” Enid’s grip remained strong. Your strong girl. “We’ve accepted what happened. It’s time you did too.”
The words caught in your throat, but still you persevered.
“I cannot live with the guilt,” you confessed in front of Enid and God. “I accept it until I see your faces.” The scars on Enid’s jaw were faint at best, but you saw them like neon lights. “I cannot live with myself and the irreparable damage I have caused.”
“Damage can be fixed,” she huffed. “It can be healed.”
“Can it?” You asked. Her head tilted like a dog. “I can smell your fear when I lift a hand toward you.” Her cheeks flushed. “Wednesday flinches when I get near.” Eyes finally abandoned yours. “How can my actions be forgotten when neither of you can comfortably stand to be near my presence?”
You could hear her heart race now. Fear laced her blood; it always smelled pungent, like burnt meat. She had smelled the same on that night. Of fear and anger and desperation. An intoxicating smell to most of your kind, they craved the concoction that turned the blood sweet and thick. Constance would have gone insane over it.
It made you sick to your stomach.
“I wish for nothing more than simple repentance,” you said. “I wish to fix what I broke.” Her scars burned themselves into your mind’s eye. “But I can’t live with the damage I’ve caused.”
”That’s selfish,” Enid said simply. You looked up to study her face. “You want to run away because of your guilt?” She almost looked angry. “How do you think we feel?”
”I don’t-“
”-No you don’t, you don’t know how we feel.”
Enid wasn’t the angry type. Or, at least, she never used to be. But this Enid was grown, and had gone through more than your typical wolf. She had faced grief and loss and pain. So much pain. She was damaged, and angry.
”Wednesday could have gotten you killed,” Enid said quietly. “I could have killed you. And we would have had to live with that.” A beat. “We do have to live with that.”
You… hadn’t thought of that. They had survived together, and as far as you were aware, that was all that mattered. They had survived with their scars and trauma and without the threat of you looming over them. It hadn’t occurred to you that they might also have regrets of that night.
”Why did you give up on us so easily?” Enid asked in a shaky, whispered voice.
What could you say to that? What would be suitable to answer that wouldn’t break her heart? You had given up on them. You had given up on the chance to live with them, to love them, to even be around them. No part of you had wanted to put them at risk, and on a deeper level, you hadn’t wanted the temptation. The chance that you would go after Wednesday again and be forced into submission by Enid.
Nothing you could ever say would make it sound any better than it was, and you both knew it.
”We match,” she said, pulling your arms closer to her again. Her claws gently slipped themselves out of your skin, leaving a bloody well in their place.
You both looked down to see what she saw. No, it didn’t match in the sense of “identical.” The wounds were different in every sense of the word. But they carried the same hurt, the same regret, the same desperation for what once had carried comfort and peace.
The scars were different, but you matched.
”Wednesday would tell you the same thing and you know it,” Enid continued. “We’ll, maybe not quite the same, but it would have the same intention.”
Your eyes were stuck on the holes in your wrists. You were reminded of where you were and the holy son himself staring down at you, showing you an understanding you hadn’t seen in decades. He pitied you; you matched.
“I can give you space if you want it.” She didn’t sound convincing. “Although if it were up to me, I’d stay.”
Enid’s eyes were a beautiful shiny red. Tears welled up on her eyelids, threatening to spill over. Nothing pressed on your chest like Enid crying. She was always far more emotional than either you or Wednesday, but not overly so. Always for a good cause, she claimed. You believed her to be right, but it didn’t make the sight any easier to behold.
Something wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing until you couldn’t breathe. That was your Enid. She was there, really there, telling you she wanted to be with you. Wanted to be around you even after everything. After watching you drain half the life of her love. After scarring her perfect skin for life in such a way she would never fully recover.
It would be stupid and reckless and would only lead to disaster. You did it anyway.
Your nails sank into Enid’s forearms as you pulled her forward, letting gravity guide her into your lap. She was heavier than one would think - a werewolf thing, you supposed - and you loved the grounding weight. Her hands instinctively rested on your hips and the look in her eyes was enough to drive you insane.
She leaned forward first, pressing her lips against yours harshly. Teeth clacked against each other and you didn’t care. As your nails extracted themselves from her arms, her claws extended, ripping through the cloth of your shirt to reach familiar skin.
Something flooded your veins; arousal, excitement, fear, anger, you couldn’t tell. The same thing flooded Enid’s, and you could smell it on her. But she was eager, and her lips were soft, and you kept your fangs at bay by the sharp sting in your hips.
You wanted to bite, to nip her lip just enough to taste her. She was no Wednesday, you could control yourself, you were sure of it. Just one little taste, that’s all it would be.
Her claws dug deeper when you couldn’t keep your fangs hidden.
Your hands wandered, sliding up underneath her shirt. The scars were more prominent there underneath her clothing. You wanted to see them. With as much restraint as you could manage, you pulled her shirt over her head, pulling away only for a fraction of a second to fully remove it before moving back, revelling in the feel of her lips on yours.
Rough fingers trailed gently over Enid’s hips, waist, sides, anything they could reach. Memorizing each scar so you could kiss them later. Each hitch in her breath left you feeling ravenous, desperate. You wanted her. You wanted your Enid. You kissed your way across her jaw and down her neck, inhaling deeply at her pulse. All it would take was one little nip. Just one.
”Wait.”
You huffed and pressed your forehead firmly into the crook of her neck. She couldn’t do that to you, not when she smelled so beautiful and enticing. You took one more breath and pulled back, looking deeply into her blown pupils.
”Not without Wednesday.”
A hiss snuck past your lips as you readjusted your jaw, slotting your fangs back into a position that would hurt the least. You flinched when Enid retracted her claws, pulling them from your hips and leaving a warm liquid in its place. It didn’t really hurt; not when her hands cupped your jaw and pulled you in.
”Come home with me and we’ll talk.”
You wanted to. You wanted to go home with her so horrifically badly. To go and spend time with her and Wednesday, genuine time that wouldn’t be marred by guilt or some desperate hope for repentance. It would be the best night you’ve had since college.
But some twisted, unwanted sense of duty pulled your heart in another direction.
”I can’t leave Constance,” you mumbled.
Enid sighed, devolving into a lone, humourless chuckle.
”Maybe when she leaves?” She offered.
”Not a moment later,” you said quickly.
Her nails scratched lightly against the back of your jaw as she pulled you in for a single lingering kiss.
”We’ll be waiting for it,” she said softly against your lips.
Perhaps it was the motivation you needed to get Constance back home and out of your apartment.
