A/N: I bet you never saw this one coming. /sarcasm Yeah, I realize this is the only Les Mis pairing that I write. But this is certainly one of my more sadistic ones. And my shortest one. Yeah, and it's in first person, present tense. ZOUNDS!
With the sound of his slowed breathing, a shudder of relief shakes me; he is asleep. Yet even this small motion heightens the pain already coursing over my body, and I muffle a cry. I bring a bloodied knuckle to my mouth to cease the flow of blood, and see that a deep purple splotch on my wrist is beginning to show through the near-translucent skin. One of many that I can feel forming up and down my limbs. The acrid smell of liquor still soaks the sheets, mingled with sweat and blood; I cup my hands around my mouth and nose to filter the putrid air, but I still feel my stomach churn, threatening to purge. I hear him mutter in his sleep and I flinch. The sound of his voice, only a few moments ago blending threats with endearments, still makes me quiver. Even the feel of his arm draped over my waist is horrible. He is the butcher, cradling the slaughtered lamb. I shake again. Small incisions in my flesh begin to heal, tingling and stinging. Each was meticulously carved with his knife -the sound of steel against skin was still ringing in my ears- deep enough to draw blood, at which he grinned and lapped the blood from the wound, cackling when I jolted at the touch of his tongue against the freshly made cut, hitting me when I choked out pleas for him to stop. But he sleeps now, and I am permitted to suffer.
The stench of absinthe still hangs in the air; I like to think that the vile liquid is the only reason for my pain this night, but I know he needs little encouragement to be so cruel. And I can do nothing. Especially now, as the snow begins to fall and icy air leaks through the windows, when little can be done for warmth and the heat of another body is a tempting thought. He knows it. He knows he may do whatever he pleases, for how can I tell him to leave? Yet now as I wretch in silence, I find myself praying that morning comes soon and I will be free.
"Mmn...'Ponine?"
I freeze at the sound of his voice, feigning sleep. He is silent for a moment, waiting for a response, before settling back down and pulling me in closer. Trying to soothe the awful soreness in my throat, I swallow a bit, quelling the almost automatic sigh that has arisen as I attempt in vain to drift to sleep. A warm embrace at night comes at much too high a cost.
