Eighteen year old Wednesday Addams was completely grief-stricken. The funeral was not held at the Addams home, although she argued that it should have been. No, instead it was held in some God-forsaken cememtary that nobody had ever heard of, not too far from the city. Wednesday hated the idea of his body, being burried near a city. He hated cities.
Pouring rain fell hard on the shiny black coffin. It was half-open and the precipitation soaked his hair, and ran down his face, like the tears he had cried, shortly before death seised him. Or rather, before he had seised himself.
Peels of thunder from miles away could be heard on the somber day of pain, regret and terrible woe.
They tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, that it could have happened to anyone, that she had done nothing wrong. But how could that be true? Guilt was a serious emotion, and it hit Wednesday like a semi-truck. And today, her face was expressionless except for the silent tears that streamed from her wet, glossy eyes like the falling rain. Even in the heat of April, it seemed so cold... without him.
She wore a short, black, long-sleeved dress and black high heels. She had on a small, black hat-headpeice with a black fishnet veil covering her teary eyes. Her raven hair had been cut down to a little bit past her shoulders ever since she was fourteen. She placed a white lily, his favorite of all flowers, on his coffin. What a contrast that shiny deathbox had with her pale skin... the pale skin he had longed to touch, to kiss, to love. He loved all of her, and now he could never feel that again.
She had given a wonderful speech, but it was a speech full of shit. Wednesday had written a speech that made her weep worse than a willow tree just to even think about, but it was a speech that set her tormented soul free. It was a speech that might've set his free, too. But his mother hadn't wanted that one. She called it depressing, and said she wished not to hear what death was, she only wished to hear about her son. She had told Wednesday if she could not accept that, she would not be permitted to pen a speech in his name, at all. Thus, his mother ended up writing one for Wednesday to present. It may have been acceptable, but it was birthed in lies.
She kneeled down by his coffin, as the rest of his family had now despersed, except for his mother. Wednesday placed a gloved hand on the coffin, and bowed her head. She stayed like that, weeping. She didn't know how a five foot three, one hundred twenty pound teenager like herself could cry so much, could cry about ten times their weight. Although, a lot of the tears had formed in her head, but most of them had formed in her aching heart.
Then, two people placed a hand on her shoulders. Two people Wednesday had not failed, could never fail.
"Oh, my poor darling." A thirty eight year Morticia kneeled down beside her, tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Wednesday. I can't pretend to know how you feel, but I know how much you loved him." Morticia then held her daughter as she cried, as they both cried.
Gomez then wrapped his arms around both of his darlings, the two women he loved and cherished more than any other women in the world. He did not cry, because he wanted to be strong for his daughter, and for Morticia right now. But he was a pool of tears on the inside.
And with all due respect, Wednesday decided, her mother did not know how much she had loved him. Her mother had only known a fraction of her daughter's feelings. The grief and pain was just the surface. Underlying, were the taunts of regret, and guilt. Oh, the guilt. It was consuming her, and all she could do was let the rain pour and let her feelings consume her some more.
After their long, painful embrace they stood. Wednesday, leaning on both her parents, felt like a child again, even if just for a breif moment. Oh, how she longed to go back to all that. How she wished she could go back to being a solemn, rambunctious, homicidal ten year old. How she wished she could have not a care in the world. How she missed having her biggest concern be her beloved Marie Antionette doll, which was now collecting dust in the Addams' attic. But, despite Wednesday's soul's efforts, she could never go back to that. Because all that was the past, and all of this was the painful present.
Before they began to walk away, his mother walked up to the coffin. She not only looked just as greif-stricken as Wednesday, she looked up at her son's former lover, and there was something in her eyes. Wednesday's parents took it as pain, but Wednesday had given and received versions of that look too many times for it to be. No, Wednesday knew that it was a look of anger, and maybe even hate.
Ever since the suicide, little to no words were exhanged between Wednesday -or anyone else in the Addams family for that matter- and his mother. And if Wednesday thought she was a bit cold before, well now she was complete ice. Of course, she had lost her husband a month after her son's birth, and now she had lost her son. And Wednesday could not say that she would even begin to understand, the feelings of losing the last living person she cared about. She lost one. She could only imagine losing everyone.
Wednesday walked away from the coffin with her parents. "Where are Pugsley and Pubert?" She managed to ask.
Morticia couldn't bare to look at her devistated little girl, but she knew she had to. "They're waiting by the car, darling."
Wednesday merely nodded. She missed him... she missed him more than she could ever have the guts to say aloud. As she walked to the car with her family, she remembered a few of their times together, good, bad, ugly and beautiful.
Flashbacks:
She remembered the good.
Wednesday was estatic. She couldn't believe Blake had done this for her. Here she was, thinking nobody had remembered her sixteenth birthday, come to find her lover had organized a suprise party. Wednesday almost always hated suprises, but she liked this one.
She walked into her house, miserable and went into the living room. Her entire family, and Blake were there. Black streamers and macbre decor decorated the house, minus the entrance.
"You really rembered!" Wednesday shouted.
"Of course, Wednesday, darling." Morticia said and hugged her eldest child.
"How could we forget?" Gomez asked.
"To be completely honest, I forgot." Pugsley stated, which earned him an annoyed nudge from Pubert.
Four year old Pubert pointed to Blake. "But ypu can thank your boyfriend. He organized the whole thing!"
Blake smiled proudly.
"The whole thing?" Wednesday approached him.
"Well, most of it." Blake confessed.
Morticia smiled. "Your father and I did quite a bit of the deocorating, and Máma made the cake."
Wednesday smiled, too. This was extremely rare for her, even more so than her mother's smiles. "I don't know what to say."
Máma cackled. "Well, we do."
Then the whole family shouted, "Happy Birthday!"
The family had walked into the kitchen to cut the cake, but Wednesday stayed behind with Blake for a bit.
"Thank you, darling." Wednesday wrapped her arms around his neck, and he wrapped his around her waist.
"I remember when I turned sixteen. Nothing special happened, really. My mother was working and brought home a single cupcake with a candle in it. We couldn't even throw a party, noone would have come anyway." Blake told her. "My love, I wanted only the best for you on your birthday."
"Well, I can only think of one thing that can make it better." Wednesday said.
At this, Blake kissed her, and before he could do it any more passionatley, Morticia and Gomez stood in the doorway, happy for their daughter.
"Come on, you two. It's time for cake." Morticia beckoned them over.
And her birthday couldn't have been better, thanks to him.
And the bad.
Fifteen year old Wednesday was rather upset. It was the couple's first disagreement, and they had only been dating three months. She had no idea how to handle it. He had said he'd vote for Quimby, a man who had no political background whatsoever, and wanted to "drain the swamp" for govenor. He thought he was a good candidate. Wednesday dissagreed, and they had a small argument over it. Wednesday immideatley hung up the phone and marched right upstairs to her room.
Morticia soon knocked on her daughter's door. "Wednesday, dear? May I come in?"
"Mother, I'm fine." Wednesday lied.
"You don't sound fine." Morticia sighed. "But, if you don't want my help, I understand."
Looking back, Wednesday now knew it was a trick to get her to open up. Morticia lightly stomped her feet to make it sound like she was slowly walking away.
"Mother, wait." Wednesday gave in. "Come in."
"Alright, dear." Morticia walked into her daughter's bedroom and locked the door behind her. "What's the matter?"
"Sit." Wednesday told her, and sat up.
"Ah-ah. What do we say?" Morticia asked.
"Now." Wednesday had commanded.
Her mother smiled. "That's better." Morticia sat on the bed next to Wednesday. "Now, then, what's the matter?"
"Mother... Blake and I had our first... dissagreement." Wednesday confessed.
"Ah, so that's what this is all about." Morticia said.
"Yea. And, I... I've always said that I want a guy who's got his own opinions, and I think that's good. But this time, it's not. Because this time, his opinion is wrong."
"I see."
"Look, I know you and father are rather... involved with eachother, and I know how much you love and adore eachother, and I know..." Wednesday sighed. "more than I should. But, you have to disagree on some things, right? Doesn't everyone?"
Morticia gave a small, barely audible laugh. "Yes, darling. It's natural. A dissagreement doesn't have to be dramatic if you respect eachother's opinion." She paused. "Even if the other's opinion is wrong."
"Okay, but what happens if it turns into an argument? I mean, I don't really think I did anything wrong. I stated my opinion. He was the one who blew it out of proportion."
"Darling, about a month ago, your father and I had a bit of a dissagreement like that. It was over something trivial. Morticia began. "But I had said that I thought books in schools were more improtant than sports. He disagreed, I said it was merely because fencing happened to be a sport in the particular school we were discussing. He read me an article that said the people on the school board ith higher IQ's were picking sports. I assumed he was implying something and grew a tad offended."
"First of all, books, duh. And second, what happened then?"
"Well, I told him he offended my sensibilities and I walked away. About a half an hour later, he came up to our bedroom, and tried to explain. He appologized and we..." Morticia tried to appropriatley end the story. "made up."
"Oh. And do you think that's what he'll do? Appologize?" Wednesday asked.
"Yes, but you may also have to throw in an 'I'm sorry' too."
"But he was wrong."
"And to him, you were." Morticia got up. "If he's the kind of man your father and I think he is, give it an hour, tops." She then walked out. "Goodnight, darling." She said, and she closed the door.
And sure enough, he called back within the hour and appologized, and they made up. And she could finally get to sleep that night, thanks to him.
And she remembered the ugly.
It was two weeks after the day she turned seventeen. Wednesday stormed out of his house, tears streaming down her face. She walked right into a rainstorm and didn't even care. She couldn't believe what he had said to her. He'd said that he had a bad feeling about one of her only friends, Alison. When she said he had nothing to worry about, he fought with her about it. He even called her naive. How dare someone call the deadly Wednesday Adams naive!
She got into her car, which was parked infront of his house and began to drive. She lived merely twenty minutes away. She didn't care if he wanted to talk, or if he wanted to make amends, because she wasn't having any of it. She was miserable and mad as hell.
Speeding, she drove down the street, the fight playing in her mind over and over again. She was going to be the only one home until 11:00 A.M. tomorrow. Her family was camping, and Wednesday wanted to stay behind with Blake. She regretted it right now. She pulled into her driveway and began to walk to her porchsteps in the freezing rain when a hand grabbed her shoulder.
Insinctively, she elbowed the person behind her. She turned to find Blake, doubled over.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Blake asked.
"Reflex. I figured you knew me well enough not to do that."
Blake sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. Can I do anything to make it up to you?"
"Make what up to me?"
"Eveything. I was such an idiot back there. I said things I didn't mean, and I regret them. It's just I've been through a lot in my life, and I don't want you to be hurt by anyone... ever." Blake explained.
Wedneday scoffed. "You hurt me."
"I know, and I didn't mean it. I promise, I never meant to hurt you, Wednesday. You have to believe me, I love you." He said.
Before she could respond, lightening struck a tree branch and it nearly crushed her. But Blake pushed her out of the way, and jumped out of the way of the branch. They both fell onto the cold, wet porch. And they laughed.
"Thanks." Wednesday managed to say.
"Hey, I love you."
Wednesday kissed him. "I love you, too... and thank you, I mean it. I'm petite, I could've been crushed by that tree."
"Hey, what else am I for?" Blake asked, not expecting an answer.
"This." Wednesday's voice had an edge to it as she kissed him, biting his lip. She ran her fingers through his hair and he brought her into the house.
She got out of the lightening storm, and into dryness... thanks to him.
That moment led into her favorite memory, the beautiful.
He carried her up to her room and Wednesday locked the door.
"Wednesday?" He asked.
"Yes?" Wednesday asked as she took off her jewelry and shoes.
"Are you sure you wanna do this? I mean, am I really the person you wanna-"
Wednesday didn't let him finish, and she quickly pushed him onto the bed, and let him take a very precious peice of her that day. A peice of her she promised herself she'd reserve for someone she really loved with all her heart, and for someone who really loved her.
As she pulled off his shirt, she saw something on his arm that is still vivid in her mind. Her name was tattooed on it, in black. She traced it with her finger.
"Does your mother know?" She asked.
"Not yet. But when she finds out, nothing will really be done about it. I mean, I love her to death but I'm almost nineteen. I don't need her consent to get a tattoo."
"You are a bad boy."
"Yea, but I won't ever be to you." He said and kissed her once again.
And the morning after, she awoke... next to him.
End flashbacks.
But that was all over now. Wednesday, face expressionless, got into the car. She sat in the mid-section of the car, her brothers next to her. Gomez and Morticia sat in the back, heart-broken and extremely worried for their once beautifully homicidal, beloved child of woe.