Disclaimer: I don't own anything, though I REALLY wish I did.

This is going to be a series of inter-connecting one-shots based on Wuthering Heights—and maybe an occasional Oscar Wilde—quotes. I might make it into a full story eventually, with more of a plot, but I'm writing a few other stories now, so I'll see how it turns out.

So here's the first one-shot... please R&R!


"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."

~Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte~


I can't stand it anymore.

I don't know what brought me to this point, but I suppose it doesn't really matter now. I'm broken, and the damage is done, I'm irreparable.

My sanity has left me, it only took a moment... just one second... and everything collapsed, my world shattering beneath my feet. It was a moment of weakness, but it's something I can't take back, no matter how many prayers I concoct—and I've made many, laced with foolish words and requests for time machines.

None of them were of any help.

And now... now I'm sitting on my bed, listening to Jill prattle on about romance and joy while she brushes my hair, barely able to contain her excitement.

"You're going to have such a great time, Sydney!"

I'm not sure Jill and I share the same definition of the word great, but I nod and agree with her anyway. "I think so, too."

"What made you change your mind?" she sounds genuinely curious, and I feel terrible for not telling her the truth.

"You guys are always telling me to loosen up, and I guess I just decided to follow your advice... that's all."

She runs the brush through my hair one last time, sets it beside her, and looks at me. At my reflection. I bite my lip, trying to hold her gaze through the mirror, but her eyes feel like lasers. It feels as if she is looking inside of me, as if she sees my deception and is blatantly choosing to ignore it. I cast my eyes downward, I can't even deal with a simple lie. How on earth am I going to get through the entire night?

"Finally!" Jill exclaims, still with that pressure-inducing enthusiasm. "I was starting to think that you actually enjoyed studying on Friday nights!"

"I do love studying—especially on Friday nights."

"And Saturdays and Sundays and..."

Before I can say anything in defense of myself, there is a knock on the door.

"Hold on!" she inspects my appearance, running her fingers through my hair, messing it up when my bangs don't fall over my face the right way. Earrings are put up to my ears and examined, just to make sure they match the blue shade of my dress. "There! Wear these!"

She throws the jewelry at me and runs to answer the door.

I can't peer over her shoulder to see who it is, but I can't miss the note of disappointment in her tone.

"Oh, it's you."

"I missed you, too, Jailbait."

He comes in the room, and sits down on the couch—pretending that his presence doesn't bother Jill in the least.

Jill rolls her eyes at him. "I told you not to come over here! Sydney hasn't even left yet!"

For the first time since The Incident We Must Never Speak Of, he acknowledges me. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes flicker over to me for a fraction of a second, returning to Jill the moment he finds me. Like it never even happened.

"I know." he says, flashing that brilliant smile of his. "That's the point."

I can feel my cheeks turning red, the blush crawling over my skin like a disease. The last thing I want is for him to be here, not tonight, or tomorrow, or even years from now. He wasn't invited and he has no reason for sitting on that couch right now, other than the fact that this is his apartment...

"Why?" Jill asks, hands on her hips.

"You should know, Jailbait. Haven't you been inside my head lately?"

"No, I've gotten better at blocking the stuff that involves half-naked girls on the hoods of cars." I'm surprised. While there's still some affection in her voice, Jill seems irritated. And Adrian is usually the last person she gets frustrated with.

A somewhat relieved expression crosses his face, but one look at Jill tells me that she hasn't been fully honest with him. It figures. Rose's accounts of the Spirit-bond reminds me that her statement can't be entirely true. Jill gets sucked into his head whenever his emotions are strong... but she doesn't seem like she knows... I blink a few times, realizing what that means.

It really didn't matter.

This hurts more than I think it should, even though it should be no big deal.

He's right to ignore this—ignore me.

"That still leaves about one sixteenth of my thoughts open, you know." And that smile is still there.

"I know..." she relents, going to sit down next to him. "How does Sydney look?"

"Since when does she need to get dressed up to go to the library?" he asks Jill. "Not that I've ever been to one, but I was under the impression that they were causal with their dress code."

"Too bad I'm not actually going to the library." I mutter, reminiscing on the time I spent there, looking up new equations and brushing up on my Russian. It's so much easier to forget things when I'm reading, concentrating on other things. In the long run, this "date" might not even be necessary. Not really. The only person it's making happy is Jill, but she'd honestly be happy if I just decided to get pizza with her.

I hope... maybe it's not too late to change plans.

"Hey Jill—"

But she's not listening, she's too busy telling Adrian about how magical this night will be for me. "... and it was so cute. He just walked up to her and asked her out! Just like that!"

He gets up and walks over to the fridge, grabbing a beer, weird, because he only drinks things like imported wine. He always whines about Bud Light being for people with no taste. "Aw, how sweet."

I can't tell if he really means it or not.

"I know," Jill says, and it sounds like she knows what he's trying to tell her. "That's why you can't mess it up. This is Sydney's first-ever date, and it'd be nice if she had someone to take to my next fashion show."

"You got Castile to agree to another show? I thought that was off-limits." No mention of Sage, I see.

"Well, the print-ads are, but I eventually got them to agree to it."

He laughs, but only after downing half of the can in one sip. "Nice Jailbait—"

Another knock at the door stops him from saying anything else.

Jill jumps at least ten feet in the air, and she moves faster than I've ever seen her move before. Her hand is on the door knob before I can tell her not to let him in. And now she's opening it and I still want to change my mind. This was a terrible idea, I never should have let her talk me into this. I should be reading passages about archaic chemistry now, not waiting for a guy to come pick me up. Chemical compounds help me with suppressing terrible, God-awful mistakes, dating will only dredge up the memories.

"Hi Trey."

Jill didn't greet him, someone else beat her to it.

"Hey... Adrian, right?"

"No," he says with mock offense. "My name is Jet, Jet S—"

"He's kidding," says Jill quickly, before he could ruin everything with a stupid joke. "It's Adrian."

"Okay... well, are you ready to go Sydney?" Trey asks.

Jet clears his throat. "She will be after we set a few ground rules, Trey." He says it in the same way he might say "Clarence's House." or "Rose," to be completely honest. "As her older brother, I feel that it's my duty to tell you that her curfew it ten 'o clock, not ten-thirty or ten 'o one. Ten. Furthermore, I expect you to return her with every single article of clothing she leaves here with. You know what they say, no glove, no love."

"Shut up!" I don't point out that he contradicted himself. I don't tell him that his little maxim means safe sex, not abstinence, as he probably thinks. He doesn't even deserve the shut up I gave him but I couldn't help myself. I'll remind him that he can't control what—or who, as he would undoubtedly say—do later on. "Let's go, Trey."

"Alright," he says, wary.

I don't know what's come over me, but I suddenly feel brave enough to take his hand and pull him out the door.

I decide that I'm not myself when I say, rather loudly, "Do you think I'll get to see that elusive tattoo tonight?"

It's not really a question I want him to answer—and I'll definitely be apologizing for it profusely in a few seconds from now—but I know the message I sent was received when the door slams shut behind us.