Thirst

NAIVE FAIRYTALE

The silence of Juanita’s single dorm room didn’t last long. By late Tuesday morning as she was re-reading wuthering heights, the door to the shared living area flew open with a dramatic thud, followed by the rolling clatter of heavy suitcases.

"Oh my god, I am literally dead. Six hours on a flight and my legs feel like actual jelly," a vibrant voice complained, echoing through the suite.

Juanita stepped out of her bedroom to find a girl standing in the center of the room, surrounded by pastel-colored designer luggage. She was a Black girl with striking, platinum-blonde braids that fell past her waist, wearing a bright oversized neon sweater and chunky sneakers.

The girl paused, her dark eyes lighting up the moment she saw Juanita.

"Hi! Oh, thank god, you're cute. I was terrified my suitemate was going to be a weird goblin who hoards milk cartons." She dropped her handbag and held out her arms. "I'm Cherry!"

"Juanita," she laughed, stepping forward to accept the enthusiastic hug, genuinely delighted by Cherry's enthusiasm. "Nice to meet you."

Within an hour, Juanita discovered that Cherry was a force of nature. Like Juanita, Cherry came from immense wealth—her father was an international hotel magnate—but her upbringing had been the exact opposite of Juanita’s countryside isolation. Cherry had lived in Paris, Tokyo, and New York, treating the globe like her personal playground.

"Wait, let me get this straight," Cherry said, sitting cross-legged on the plush rug of their living area while unpacking a mountain of skincare products. "You were homeschooled? In Surrey? Like, a literal Rapunzel situation?"

"Pretty much," Juanita admitted, leaning against the counter. "My dad is super protective. He thinks the world is full of monsters."

"Honey, the only monsters out here are guys who use two-in-one shampoo," Cherry scoffed, tossing her blonde braids over her shoulder. "We are fixing this immediately. You are at King's Imperial now. You need the full, unfiltered college experience. No more velvet cage. And I will be your spirit guide, because while I'm here, I'm making every goddamn second count and I will expose you to every fun vice there is and take you so deep into hedonism with me, trust me."

True to her word, Cherry dragged Juanita out into the city. By nightfall, Juanita found herself sitting in a trendy, dimly lit piercing parlor in Soho, gripping Cherry’s hand as a sterile needle punched through her cartilage. She gasped at the sharp sting, but looking in the mirror at the delicate silver stud now gleaming on her ear, a rush of pure, intoxicating rebellion flooded her veins. She got two more on one nostril and then three more on each ear. She was in pain and laugh-crying after them all, but she felt pure adrenaline in her blood and it felt so good.

"What do you say? One more? Matching smileys?" Cherry suggested with a mischievous grin.

“More?" Juanita barked out a laugh, wiping her tears. “Hell no, I am not insane!"

“You sure?" Cherry still had that catty grin on her face.

They got matching smiley piercings.

From the parlor, they hit a crowded, pulsing pub near campus. The air was thick with the scent of spilled cider and sweat, a loud indie-rock band wailing from the small stage.

Under the dim neon lights, Cherry bought them drinks, and for the first time in her life, Juanita let go. She drank, her head growing delightfully dizzy, and danced with Cherry in the middle of the packed crowd. For twenty-one years, she had been a protected observer of life. Tonight, she was living it.

As they stumbled back to their dorm past midnight, giggling and holding each other up, Juanita looked up at the foggy London sky, her heart full. This, she thought, is the best day of my life.

The next afternoon, the hangover was gone, replaced by the mundane reality of her Classic Literature seminar.

“Ugh, I can't. Between my flight, lack of sleep and my hangover I'm not going anywhere, I need my beauty sleep," Cherry groaned as Juanita was getting ready for the seminar. "Bio 101 can wait. Must you go?”

"Yes, Cher, I'm afraid I have to. Classic lit can't wait. I'll see you after class, don't miss me too much."

“I'll be asleep, baby, no chance of that. You're running late so get your cute ass out of here.”

Juanita laughed and picked up her bag before blowing Cherry a kiss and leaving.

At the large lecturer hall, Juanita sat in her row, adjusting her notebooks. The room was noisy, but suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. A familiar, distinct chill swept through the stuffy classroom.

She felt him before she saw him.

A shadow fell over her desk, and Samil D’Amadeo slid into the seat beside her. He was dressed in a dark, high-collared jacket, his pale features perfectly composed, carrying that same heavy, compelling aura that had dazed her on the steps the day before.

Juanita's mouth went slightly dry. "Hi," she said softly.

Samil turned his dark, obsidian eyes toward her. Up close, the intensity of his gaze was almost suffocating.

He didn't answer immediately, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on the several new, silver piercings on her ear and nose.

"You look very different today, Miss Dawson, certainly a far cry from how you looked yesterday" he murmured, his voice a low, rich baritone that vibrated straight to her core. "Less like a portrait in a gallery... almost too good to be true."

Juanita felt a blush creep up her neck. "I'm just trying new things and you know it's college so if I can't all make bad decisions and experience the real world here, when can I?"

He let out a low hum that made her insides feel funny

"The real world has a habit of breaking things that are kept too soft," he said smoothly, turning his gaze to the front of the room as the professor walked in.

"But don't worry, I like the new look,” he winked at her. “It suits you."

She couldn't speak, just staring at him, her brain shortcircuiting. Who was this man and what the hell was he doing to her?

She was broken out of her daze as the professor addressed the class. The lecture began, shifting today into a comparative analysis of classical romantic literature. The professor, a dry man with thick spectacles, tapped his podium.

"Today, we examine the fine line between passion and destruction. Let us look at Wuthering Heights. Mr. Earnshaw—Heathcliff. A character often romanticized. Who can give me an analysis of his dynamic with Catherine?"

Juanita, passionate about classical romance, raised her hand. When called upon, she spoke with a confident, articulate rhythm. "I think Heathcliff’s love is pure, despite his flaws. He and Catherine are two halves of the same soul. When he says, 'I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!', it’s a testament to a love that transcends societal boundaries and even death itself. It's tragic, but it's the ultimate romance."

Beside her, a low, distinctly condescending scoff cut through her words.

Juanita paused, snapping her head toward Samil. He was leaning back in his chair, his fingers casually locked over his chest, a look of profound amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

"You disagree, Mr. D’Amadeo?" the professor asked, intrigued.

"Entirely," Samil said, his voice dripping with smooth arrogance. "Miss Dawson is confusing a fatal obsession with romance. Heathcliff is not a romantic hero; he is a toxic, destructive parasite. He doesn't love Catherine; he wishes to possess her. His obsession doesn't transcend boundaries—it ruins lives, breeds generational trauma, and destroys everyone in his orbit because he lacks the maturity to accept loss. It's a cautionary tale of a weak man masquerading as a passionate one. And do I have to bring in the misogynistic elements?"

Juanita felt a sudden, hot burst of anger flare in her chest. She turned fully in her seat to face him. "Oh you do not need to tell me about misogyny in classic literature. And it’s easy to call it toxic when you look at it through a clinical, sterile lens. But Brontë wrote them as forces of nature. You can’t apply polite, modern morality to a cosmic bond. Heathcliff’s rage comes from being torn apart from his other half. It's painful, not weak."

"A cosmic bond?" Samil countered, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, mocking light as he leaned in closer to her. "If a bond requires the systematic emotional torture of an entire household just because one’s feelings are hurt, it isn't cosmic, Miss Dawson. It’s pathetic. You view the world through a beautifully naive fairytale, but raw destruction is just that—destruction. There is no poetry in it."

"Perhaps you just lack the capacity to understand a passion that deep," Juanita snapped, her amber-brown eyes flashing with a heat that surprised even herself.

Samil’s smile faded, his gaze locking onto hers with a sudden, freezing intensity that made her breath hitch. For a second, the air between them felt tight enough to snap.

"Alright, alright," the professor interrupted, chuckling at the tension. "An exceptional debate, you two. But let's move on before we have a duel in the lecture hall."

Juanita pulled back, her chest heaving with indignation. For the rest of the class, she stared straight ahead, completely incensed. He was arrogant. He was condescending. He was a certified, beautiful jerk.

And he irritated her.

"You truly believe Heathcliff loved Catherine?" Samil cornered her after the lecture ended.

She looked up at him, jaw hardening.

"Yes," she simply said. "I do."

"Then I hope you never encounter a Heathcliff, Ms. Dawson."

With that, he walked away.