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What a joyous day it had been thus far!—despite the sickness that had overtaken me, the company of Mr. Heathcliff had brought me solace enough; and what's more, I'd managed to convince him to stay at my bedside a few hours longer than—I'm sure—he'd intended.
I was greatly disappointed at his informing me that he must go, for it was getting to be quite late, and he'd rather not lose his way on the moors, and die from the chilling cold.
Though I tried, with all my logic, to stay at a distance, and only bid him farewell, when he should walk out the door, my desperate heart would not allow it, and, just as he was about to take his leave, I spoke:
“Mr. Heathcliff,”
Heathcliff turned, an expectant look on his countenance.
“Would you-”
Here, I paused; I was about to say 'would you be so kind as to give me a hug before you go?', when I realized how foolish the question was; how strange and unusual.
“Nevermind,” I said instead, “Travel safely,” and at that, I expected him to do just that, and leave the Grange without another word (from my end or his).
To my dismay, Heathcliff didn't make a single move towards the door.
"What is it?" He demanded, taking a slow step nearer to my bedside.
“It's of little importance, I assure you—”
“If it's of such little importance, then why not tell me?” Heathcliff cut me off, “What would be the harm?”
A feeling similar to irritation (but not quite) began to rise in my chest; a sort of frustration at Mr. Heathcliff's insistence over such trivial matters.
Yet, I couldn't help but feel.. No, I cannot put my finger on it—gratitude, perhaps? Something akin to relief that he didn't simply walk out at my dismissal.
"Well?" Heathcliff probed, barely masking his underlying impatience.
"A hug," I blurted out, suddenly and more aggressively than I'd intended.
Heathcliff blinked, seemingly taken aback at both the request, and the harsh manner in which it was asked.
Feeling a bit embarrassed at my outburst, I added, “Please,” More quietly this time.
Heathcliff stared hard at me, his gaze so intense it made me want to shrink back, like a snail into its shell.
I shifted uncomfortably.
Finally, his features softened slightly, into an expression I could only describe as pity (though I hope still that I was wrong in that assumption), and he started towards the side of the bed, where I laid in anticipation.
Heathcliff gestured for me to sit up, to which I obeyed at once, all too eager to embrace him (something I had mind to feel shame for).
He, almost hesitantly, wrapped his arms around me; as horrible a thing it is to admit, I couldn't help myself; I melted into his touch.
A faint sigh of contentment left me before I could think to stop it.
How safe I felt in his arms!—and how calm I was; more relaxed than I think I ever have been in my lifetime.
I swore I could feel a hand tread ever so lightly down my back, before it ceased, and Heathcliff pulled away entirely.
He met my gaze and—No, I shan't speak of it long, for it is such an improper thing to think of another man; but his eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown I had ever had the pleasure of beholding.
“You should get some rest,” He said. “I shall stop by next week, same time as today,”
“Of course,” I agreed, offering a small nod.
Heathcliff made his way back to the door, grabbing the handle.
“Good day, Mr. Lockwood,”
"Good night!" I yelled after him, as he left the room, and shut the door behind him, bringing our interaction to its conclusion.