Chapter 4
After the dust had settled and the faculty determined the school and dorms were safe to re-enter, with most of the damage being confined to the courtyard, Enid and Wednesday were whisked away to the infirmary along with the rest of the injured. Fortunately, aside from some scrapes and bruises and minor burns, no one else was seriously hurt which put Enid and Wednesday at the front of the line.
Enid was first in the triage, at Wednesday's quiet insistence. The nurse wanted to tend to Wednesday first, commenting that Wednesday looked like Death already paid her a visit, which made Enid bark out a frantic laugh, but Wednesday backed up and urged Enid forward.
"Blood's not mine," Wednesday lied, figuring it was easier to lie than to try and explain what happened back at the crypt, "Enid fought a literal monster. She's first."
Not having time to argue, as it was only her and an assistant who was busy organizing the small crowd, the nurse nodded and motioned them to each take a bed and then closed the privacy curtains around them. Wednesday listened as the nurse tended to Enid, and the moment she heard that her injuries looked worse than they actually were, Wednesday relaxed. Enid was going to be sore for a few days, but she was going to be OK. Werewolves tended to heal quickly.
With that comforting news, Wednesday quietly left the infirmary, helping herself to a few first aid supplies on the way out. She could take care of her own injuries once she got back to her – Enid's room. It wasn't her room anymore. She may have saved the school but she was still expelled. However, there was no rush to figure out what she was going to do now. That could wait. In the meantime, she may as well crash in the room she's been staying in for the past couple of months. She had nowhere else to go.
She ignored the few looks she got from the other injured students, who were helping each other with their minor wounds. Under the fluorescent light of the infirmary, it was much easier to see the blood on her black and grey uniform, and even she was shocked by how much there was. But she couldn’t dwell on that, she had to focus all her energy on putting one foot in front of the other lest she stumbled like she was inebriated.
While death wasn't something she had been afraid of, it was starting to hit her just how close she had come to dying. And though the danger had passed and therefore wasn't something she should be concerned about, the reality of what had happened pressed on her mind and she still wasn't sure how she felt about it. Especially since living came with a price, one she had yet to understand.
As she left the infirmary, she saw Thing perched on the cooler outside. "Look after Enid, OK?"
Thing gestured to her a question and she sighed.
"Back to the dorm, I'm exhausted. I just want to get cleaned up and sleep."
She watched Thing respond.
"I'm fine," she held up her bleeding hand, "it's just a cut from the broken sword I used to stab Crackstone with. Nothing major. I doubt it even needs stitches."
Thing signed a few more choice words.
"Don't you start with me," she snapped, "you saw it yourself, I'm healed." As though to prove it, she held up her other hand, the one Thornhill sliced open to break the blood curse that sealed Crackstone in his tomb. There was still dried blood caked on her palm, but the wound itself was gone. "This," she waved the hand she injured with the broken sword, "is nothing. The school nurse is busy enough as it is and I'm no longer a student here anyway" Her expression softened slightly, "Now go, watch over Enid. She can use a friend right now."
Thing pointed at her.
Wednesday looked away, "What I need is to be alone and to sleep. I'm fine. I'll see you later." She didn't wait for him to respond, instead, she headed out the door, knowing that despite his concern for her, he was going to honour her wishes to look out for Enid.
It took a lot of energy to maintain her balance as she headed for the room, her head was still spinning and by the time she reached her room her whole body was shivering, her skin coated in a light sheen of cold sweat. Tapping into whatever reserve strength she had left, she focused all her willpower to not pass out on the way there, reveling in the sharp sting from the hole in her shoulder as it allowed her to remain alert enough to get cleaned up and take care of her injuries. Once that was taken care of, then she could get some much-needed rest.
When she got to the room she unpacked her blanket and pillow and haphazardly tossed them on her former bed and unpacked a change of clothes, forcing herself to resist the temptation to collapse on the bed and sleep for a week. Instead, she went to the showers to wash away the dried blood caked on her body and in her hair and the fresh blood still seeping from her more recent wounds.
The hot water was soothing on the deep bruises on her back and if she wasn't shaking from the strain of trying to remain upright she would've lingered until the water turned cold. Besides, against the gash on her hand and shoulder, the water felt like tiny needles piercing her skin, although she did find herself enjoying the sensation – it hurt but it also felt good and helped keep her awake.
Once she was done she wrapped her hair in a towel and put on her black silk pajama pants and a black camisole for easy access to her shoulder and sat down at her desk with a mirror, bandages from the infirmary and her suture kit and began the arduous task of dressing her wounds. She wrapped her hand in gauze and then got to work on stitching her shoulder. It was proving to be quite difficult however with one hand injured, and she couldn't exactly position her other hand in the right angle to do it properly, especially since every movement tugged at the wound. Plus, her vision was wavering and her hands couldn't stop shaking.
She should've gotten Thing to assist, but she really didn't want anyone around for this. Especially Enid and Thing.
It was foolish, she knew that. But they had been there when she was at her most vulnerable, when she was about to die. And despite pushing them away, despite there being more important matters at hand, despite her believing that she was better off to die alone, they chose to stay with her, and offer her comfort in what should have been her last moments. It was…nice. But she didn’t know what to do with that, it wasn't something she was used to. She couldn't figure out why, but it made her feel strange. Embarrassed even.
And it wasn't just that. Even though she hadn't been a good friend to them or anyone, for some reason they still loved her. So, she knew exactly how they must've felt seeing her in that state. The pain of almost losing Thing was still raw, and not even seeing him back to his old self in such a short time was enough to make it completely go away.
She needed them to see that she was OK, and now that everything was over, nothing had changed. She was just as strong, independent and capable as always.
Or maybe she needed to prove it to herself. She didn't know.
The last few days had taken a bigger toll on her than she thought and she wasn't used to the feelings that were swirling around inside. They seemed so foreign she couldn't even fully identify what she was feeling, but her faith in her abilities had been shaken. She was wrong about so many things when she had been so confident about being right. She put her trust in the wrong person, she got the wrong person arrested and despite her skills with combat and with the sword, she was in over her head in her battle against Crackstone. The fact he had a magic staff of all things was no excuse.
Because of her, Eugene got hurt. Enid got hurt. Thing almost died. She almost died - she should've died. The way she had been stabbed, realistically, there was no coming back from that. And the implications of the price she had to pay to live were creeping in, and deep down, it scared her. Wednesday didn't do fear, but it still gnawed at her.
She tried to shake away the intrusive thoughts and doubts and keep working. While the stitches were sloppy and it took longer than it should have, she still somehow managed to get the job done. She usually demanded more perfection from herself, but considering how she was feeling, it was good enough. At least it would leave an interesting scar this way. She covered the wound with gauze and gingerly put on her silk, button-down black sleepshirt over the camisole.
All that was left was braiding her hair, then she could sleep. She took the towel out of her hair, letting her long black hair fall freely down her back. She had placed the bag with her comb by her bed so she gingerly rose to her feet to get it. But she was so dizzy that by the time she took those few steps to her bed, her knees gave out and she finally collapsed from the pain, blood loss and exhaustion. Completely spent, she was unconscious before her head even hit the pillow.