Heathcliff's Escape

I won't hear it. I will not hear it. The maddening presentiments of foul diction amongst the secretive whispers were structured in such ways that made it impossible to see any future eventualities for myself within the residence. Her fiendish words drove a fictitious dagger through the remnants of our bond. I doubted not that my role was none other than a mere natural impediment towards her. With slight noiseless movement I stole from the room. No more words could unravel the torment now bestowed upon me. She was to marry Linton... What use was my bereaved soul if she had taken and extinguished it? Each fragment of hell seemed to turn to ice at that precise time. To live in a frozen hellish place, where not one alliance was ever to last was a fruitless existence. An existence in which I was unwilling to partake in.

          I fancied myself nought but a beggarly interloper from the earliest of days.  A mere burden for the establishment and its residents to struggle to uphold begrudgingly by the wish of the late Mr. Earnshaw. Impressed with wholesome fear of abandonment, I had refrained from fleeing sooner. I guided my restless thoughts from the Heights, up upon the heath. The heath in which our childhood memories lay. Savage winds tore through the trees as the storm patrolled over the Heights. The rain fell hard, and within less than a few moments of bolting into the storm I concluded myself dismal as a drowned whelp. I felt as if I were bent on catching my death, yet as the grief-stricken calling from Miss Cathy grew nearer to my presence, I became occupied with the urge of escaping her cries.

          The thunder grew, as did the rain; drowning the tears from my cheek. With fists clenched tight, I had begun to lose feeling. As the sensation had left my frozen hands it occurred to me how such numbness affected my heart also. With the raw fingers of ice came a distinct lack of feeling, a lack of love; but with it, a lack of pain.

          The breath grew short in my chest, compelling me to curb my pace. The Grange was now within sight, why my feet had guided me on such a path, I was unaware. I stationed myself outside the drawing room window, the light came from thence; the curtains only half closed. The last I had stood at this point was when Cathy had been at my side, how we had laughed in jest as the Linton's shrieked as if the very devil himself were upon them. The crimson walled room with every finery lay empty now, how I wished the crimson upon the walls were painted with the blood of Linton. My thief; who had stolen the heart and mind of Cathy, he had blinded her into an agreement into which I was sure she must have been unwilling.

          I considered the thought of an untimely death; although by now it was not my own which I allowed myself to contemplate. With no Linton to steal her from me, the issue of my devise would be dissolved. Whilst meditating upon my thoughts in a damp, frozen solitude, it became clear that destroying an impediment such as Linton would win me no favours. Perhaps it could be mustered that Linton was not holding such blame. I was aware from the words I had previously overheard that Cathy had been the one to accept him; she had chosen her situation and decided my fate. The fault lay upon her for betraying my heart; her own heart.