Jehan slumped against one of the dark walls of the Parisian streets. The distant sounds of traffic fading into a low drone.
That day everything seemed to have gone wrong.
Enjolras and Grantaire had had another fight; the meeting had been awful. Both men were refusing to apologise, Jehan didn't know what had happened to cause said argument, but it must have been bad. Really bad; if Grantaire, who worshipped Enjolras, who supported him throughout everything, and who never thought that the leader was wrong about anything was refusing to back down on whatever argument had taken place. It must have been a really bad argument...
That was just the root of the problems. Because of their leaders foul mood, the entire of the Amis had been on edge, and aggressive. Saying and doing hurtful things that they probably wouldn't usually consider okay to say.
And then Grantaire had gotten drunk (or at least drunker). And Jehan had thought things couldn't have gotten any worse...
Most of the Amis had left as soon as Grantaire had finished his drunken rant, and been guided back to his flat by Bahorel and Joly (who had wanted to make sure he was okay, after all, when Enjolras punches someone, he does it hard enough to hurt... Even for Grantaire).
And that is how it ended up that Courfeyrac and Jehan had walked home together in an uncomfortable silence.
It had just been one of those days; he and Courfeyrac had then had a fight. Jehan let out a small whimper, at the memory. It wasn't as is he and his boyfriend never had fights, of course they argued. But not like this; it had always been something silly. Not like this. They'd always be sorry afterwards, kiss and laugh about it... Not like this.
The look on Courfeyrac's face...
Why had he done it? Jehan asked himself. Why? He'd been so angry he'd wanted to hurt the curly haired man that had just crushed his heart, and he'd known exactly how to do that.
A desperate sob, bubbled up the poets throat against his will.
Courfeyracs' words to him had been painful, enough to make Jehan flee to the street. But deep down the poet knew he was to blame; Courfeyrac would have never said anything of the sort to Jehan if he hadn't pushed him to it. Jehan could never remember feeling so ashamed of himself, he could recall the pain and shock he had felt reflected in his lovers eyes... Or was he now Jehans ex-lover?
The poet really didn't know right now.
Another sob wracked the young mans body, as he curled up into a ball, his pale blonde hair falling out of the braid he had spent so much tome on earlier in the day. He had needed to leave the apartment, and he hadn't wanted to be a burden to his friends, so he'd just wandered through the streets until he hadn't been able to walk anymore. The problem was that if he'd gone to stay with one of his other friends, he'd have had to explain what had happened, and that was out of the question. It might be selfish but Jehan didn't want his friends to think badly of him...
So absorbed in self-hatred was Jehan, that he didn't notice the person nearby until they spoke.
"Well, well, what have we got here."
Straining his neck to luck up at the man, Jehan sniffed trying not to sound as pathetic as he felt. Sickening dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
The stranger was much taller than him, in the darkness a distant street light illuminated only half of his face. His hair was dark, he had a pale face with high cheek bones, Jehan might have considered him handsome were it not for the sadistic gleam in his dark eyes.
The man knelt down so that he was at the poets level. Jehan felt an arm come to rest on his shoulder "I suggest you keep still," a voice hissed in his ear making the poet cringe away in fear. The hand on his shoulder tightened, pulling him upwards so he was pressed against the wall. Ignoring the strangers warning, Jehan started to struggle, desperate to escape, and was rewarded with a hard slap. In the moment Jehan was frozen with shock the stranger had ripped open Jehans shirt. At this the poet opened his mouth to scream, his attacker merely smirked, punching as hard as he could into the smaller mans side, relishing in the scream of pain from his victim.
The smaller man struggled harder sheer panic rising in his chest as the man pushed him harder into the wall. Jehan felt the attackers lips smash against his own silencing him. The mans tongue forced his mouth open, Jehan felt hot breathe in his throat as the stranger violated every inch of his mouth. Then finally pulling away, he clamped his mouth onto Jehans neck, biting as hard as he could, marking the poet as his possession.
Jehan began a scream of pain only to be cut off halfway by something cold pressing against his throat. "Shhhh" the man breathed into his ear sending tremors through the smaller mans body, his tone mocking. He trailed the knife across his captors heaving chest, so lightly it almost tickled, before making a swift, clean cut. It may have only been shallow but to Jehan it felt as if it were on fire. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, trying to think of something, anything but the hellish reality before him.
Courfeyracs voice, his eyes. The way he holds me so tenderly. The poet thought desperately, but if anything this made the tears grow faster.
Jehan hadn't realised that his attacker had moved his hand until he felt his jeans and underwear being pushed down from his thin waist.
Unbridled terror flooded through his chest, his struggles increased, he pushed away his attacker for half a second and began to stagger towards a larger road. But his hopes of escape were dashed when an iron like fist closed around his forearm, hard enough to bruise. Jehan was swung back around hitting the wall with a thud, his arms forced painfully behind his back, he front now pressed to the wall with the stranger now behind him, easily able to do whatever he liked with the poet.
"Please... Leave me alone." Jehan half sobbed, his faced forced against the hard surface, only to be punched again on his side. Wincing, Jehan tried his hardest to twist away from the strangers grip, but it was no use; he was trapped between his attacker and the wall.
He felt the man press into him. Agony shot up his spine, as Jehan let out a scream of pain. The knife pressed against the back of his neck again, forcing him to be silent once more. Again and again the man thrust into him, quickly finding a rhythm. Jehan squeezed his eyes shut, silently pleading for this torture to be over, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stop himself whimpering in pain.
Courfeyrac had never hurt him like this, he'd always been so kind and gentle... But Courfeyrac probably won't have me anymore, he'll be repulsed by me! The poet thought, grief at the mere thought of living without Couf sent his tears over the edge, streaming down his pale cheeks.
The hands on Jehans arms tightened, nails digging into his flesh, the mans thrusts quickened. Jehan was unable to withhold a gasp of pain as he felt hot liquid blossom deep inside of him.
Finally satisfied the man stepped back, letting the poet slump to the ground, every inch of his body aching. But the man clearly wasn't done using the younger. As Jehan took a shaky breath, a foot kicked him hard in the chest, the poet was sure, as the fiery pain licked higher, that he heard his rib break, a hand slapped him hard across his already bruised face, causing Jehan to fall sideways, only to be dragged up again for more pain.
Amother punch, another kick, the pain went on and on. Jehan was beaten, until he could no longer make a sound or even flinch away. Then, without warning it stopped.
A hand grabbed him roughly by the hair, dragging him to his feet, and forcing Jehan to look at his attackers wicked smile.
"Don't worry," the stranger whisper, his voice barely audible "I'll find you again. You belong to me now," he pushed his face forward, kissing Jehan roughly, biting down on his already bleeding lip, a fresh gush of blood trickling into both of their mouths. The stranger smirked once more, before throwing the smaller man to the ground. Jehans already broken body protested at the impact with the hard stones, but there was nothing he could do.
But with a small surge of relief he realised that the man was gone.
Painfully slowly, Jehan pulled his jeans higher. The effort making black spots pop in front of him.
'My friends were right. I am useless' Jehan thought before he slipped into the blackness.