Chapter Text
In the dead of night, footsteps creak across the second floor of Wuthering Heights manor. Heathcliff was trying his hardest not to make any noise as he snuck downstairs, the constant rain and thunder helping to conceal the sound. Despite the manor being somewhat of a maze of a building, Catherine made sure Heathcliff knew where every important room was. He made his way into the kitchen and grabbed a sleeve of crackers from the pantry. He eats a few, ocasionally looking behind him to make sure he hadn't woken anyone up.
As he finished the last few crackers, a hand came out of the dark and grabbed his arm. Heathcliff spun around and shoved the arm off of him, glaring at the person that came from the dark. His expression quickly changed as he looked up at Josephine towering over him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Josephine was uniquely quiet, usually loud and ranting. Heathcliff was rebelious and quick to anger and start fights, but he always listened to the staff at Wuthering Heights. He felt like he owed it to Mr. Earnshaw for taking him in to be somewhat respectful to him and his staff. He didn't really have an answer for her. He wasn't even particularly hungry, but he was struggling to sleep and was just eating to satiate his boredom in some way.
"You could've woken up Mr. Earnshaw and his mistriss with all this noise! Besides, look at you! You don't need all these carbs." Josephine started a raise her voice more. She grabbed Heathcliff's arm and dragged him away from the kitchen. He began to struggle to get out of her grip, before she quickly smacked him on the cheek. Heathcliff instantly pulled away from her harder, as she dug her nails into his skin. A few drops of blood leaked from his arm as he was dragged from the kitchen all the way into his room. Josephine practically shoved him inside, his body falling to her far superior strength and landing on the floor with a loud thud. He gripped his arm in pain, and Josephine slammed the door in his face, muttering about disrespect under her breath. Heathcliff stood up slowly, shambling to the mirror. He looked at the forming bruise on his cheek and tiny bleeding scars in his hand with a scowel. Then he pulled up his shirt and stared at his stomach. He wasn't all that overweight. He was stronger than most kids his age if anything, but her comment kind of got to him.
At breakfast the next day, despite Catherine's reassurance, he picked at his food, eating noticably less than the rest of his 'family'. His brain was conflicted, one side concerned about the validity of her comment about him 'not needing the carbs', and the other was sure she was just overreacting according to her duty as a butler.
Despite the memory being pushed down over the years, the seed of insecurity slowly planted itself in Heathcliff's brain, flourishing even into his adulthood.