For as long as Grantare could remember, he had been at war with himself. His pessimism created a wall that confided him from any source of proper human contact or joy. The only thing he let join him was his precious alcohol but in doing so, it alienated him from the rest of society even more. While he wasn't particularly happy with his, he had accepted it for years. In the last eight months however, it started to become exceptionally hard. His nights were filled with either the inability to sleep or nightmares that plagued his mind; both were as horrific as the other. Whenever food was placed in front of him the aroma would leave him in a nauseous state, crippling his appetite. The voices caused by the alcohol grew louder and louder, drowning any other forms of thought. Grantaire was rich, he was meant to be happy.
It started when he left his family and moved into the lodge to go to school. He was forced to meet others but decided not to, so he was left alone with his mind an awful lot. This was a dangerous thing. No one ever asked him if he was alright, no one cared. By 1830, he was just a lifeless body that roamed the streets of Paris for no reason apart from sharing his hate to those who would listen. Finally, it became too tiresome for it. While it had been on his mind since he turned 14, the decision to do something became more prominent in his mind. His alcohol wasn't going to take his life anytime soon, it was up to him.
Suicide was a common thing for the poor. It was a way for them to not only take themselves out of the misery that is life, but to allow the burden of their family to minimise as there was one less mouth to feed. Grantaire wasn't poor, but he felt like there was no other choice. On March the 3rd, it was official. By the end of the night, Grantaire would be dining with the devil.
There are many ways someone can kill themselves. They could turn some rope into a noose and hang themselves like a common criminal; they could attack their arteries until their life force left with the blood or they could end it in a second with a single bullet. Grantaire decided against all of these. He was a jumper.
In all of Paris, there was one river that was notorious for the amounts of people who ended their lives there; the River Seine. This would have been a deterrent for Grantaire in any other circumstance but for the first time, didn't care.
The sun was setting in Paris, giving the city a romantic glow. It was a genuinely beautiful night for most of the citizens. Grantaire on the other hand didn't care much for it. At least, he told himself not to. Suicide was a complicated thing; he would have his mind made up but one little thing would easily stop him. His plan was to go to the Seine and jump but as we all know, things very rarely go as planned.
He was making his way to the river, trying to ignore the sounds of fellow students and the stench of the homeless. His head remained down, focusing on the dirt road but Grantaire didn't think this tactic though. Somehow, he had accidentally walked into a crowd. He bumped one person, then another. It took him a few seconds to realise something was wrong. Somehow, he had accidentally walked into one of those pitiful ABC rallies.
The 'friends of the ABC' was a new group in the campus, only consisting of a few students who would meet and plan to start a new Revolution. It would have been cute if it wasn't so pathetic. Grantaire had heard of these rallies and how some people enjoy going to them, especially the women. Apparently the leader was rather attractive and as we all know, people will listen to anything someone says if he has perfect cheekbones and a nicely formed arse. Grantaire didn't remember the name of this man. Next thing he heard was a deep, passionate voice.
"You may not care about your fate, but what about the fate of your brothers? Your friends? Your children? Why must they suffer while the rich do nothing but get fat?"
Grantaire finally looked up at the platform. Standing on stage was a young man, no, not a young man, a young angel. While this was a cliché and Grantaire would otherwise cringe at how the majestic nature of the blonde man appeared as an angel to his sick mind, it was true. It wasn't just the beauty that attracted Grantaire to the man, there was something else radiating from him, hope and courage. Grantaire became mesmerised. He had never seen anything like this before. He was unable to move. All he could do was stand there and listen.
"I see all of you as my family and our mother; France. She is a majestic being who has been taken over by tyrants. We cannot just sit back and let it happen. I wish I could free you all by myself but alas, I am no Hercules. We need your help to reclaim the once glorious country. Be scared no more. Join the ABC in our conquest and go down in history. Your children's children will be told of this story. It is true, it may lead to your death but would you rather die in hunger and fear or by standing up for what you believe in?"
There was applause from the audience as they slowly dispersed. Grantaire on the other hand remained still. The blonde seemed to notice this. He smiled slightly; he actually had quite a beautiful smile, and walked over the edge of the platform. Grantaire continued to look up at the Angel. "Interested?"
Grantaire was in loss of words. The creature he had been studying had just asked him a question and from the look of it, expected a response. There was no point lying to him. It wasn't as if they were ever going to see each other again.
"In you, perhaps. Your intentions, not so much." The blonde continued to smile as he jumped off the platform, landing right in front of Grantaire. Perhaps he enjoyed the refreshing taste of honesty. "But don't stress, I'm sure the simple-minded would have thoroughly enjoyed it."
"And what exactly seemed to put you off?" Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "Any critique would be very much appreciated. That why I know how what will work in the future." With a small smirk, Grantaire crossed his arms. He was just told to do what he loved to the most; complain.
"While your passion was commendable, it seemed all you were saying was 'you're either with us or against us' and that's always a put off. It means if we don't believe the same things as you believe and we don't fight back, then we're useless creatures who don't care about anything." The man frowned at that statement. "Plus, I can imagine someone saying the same speech fifty years ago."
"You don't believe anything's going to change, do you?" the man asked. On his face was a mixture of curiosity, fear and simple amusement.
"If history and the human condition have taught me anything, it's that nothing's ever going to change. No matter how much the lower class fights, they will always be beaten with those with power. You'll be a fool to think otherwise."
"Or an optimist."
"What's the difference?" The man chuckled lightly. His laugh was quite endearing, like a father laughing at his child.
"The difference between the two is rather small, I must admit it, but it's still there. You see, I have proof that it can change. Think of America. Yes, we may have failed but that doesn't mean we shouldn't continue to try and make a difference. It's never over if there's still hope in our hearts and people willing to change, even if it's just me." The way he spoke was similar to earlier. There was no self-doubt in him, just hope and determination. Suddenly, for the first time in months, Grantaire smiled. He felt strange, like a little sun was beginning created in his blood.
"And how do you continue believing that when everything and everyone continues to prove you wrong?"
"Because, those who believe I'm wrong have just given up. There's always a way to improve your life, they're just too blinded by misery to see it." Each word he said sparked something in Grantaire. Happiness? No, it couldn't be that.
"Perhaps you're right, I just don't thing change will come from a group of students, and it's definitely not going to happen in my lifetime." The man raised an eyebrow, causing Grantaire to realise what he said. Idiot. "I'm sorry, I need to go." He was about to walk but his wrist was grabbed by the man, pulling him back. Grantaire looked back at the man.
"Listen, how about you come by the Cafe Musain next week? I'll buy you a drink and I'll continue to convince you to join the rebellion."
"Sounds like a plan," he lied. It was able to fool the man.
"Good, ask for Enjolras. You'll be a nice addition to our group." He let go of the hand. Grantaire nodded but didn't say anything else. Instead, he started to walk in the direction of the river that was still waiting for him. 'Enjolras' he muttered to himself. What an angelic name and a glorious way to spend the last few minutes of his life. In just ten minutes, he reached the bridge.
While others were living their foul excuse for a life, Grantaire stood at the edge of the bridge, staring down at the aggressive waves. One small step and the world was free of him.
He didn't cry, Grantaire didn't know how to cry anymore. He hadn't felt sadness or anger in so long. His body had become nothing but a vessel and it was desperate to be destroyed. Just step forward. Then, it's going to be over. Don't be such a coward. Great, you can't even do this right.
All of a sudden, there was another voice. It was familiar; he had only just heard the voice eleven minutes earlier.
"There's always a way to improve your life, they're just too blinded by misery to see it." Maybe Grantaire was missing something, maybe there was another way he could get out of his mind.
What he felt when he was talking to Enjolras, what if it was happiness? It would be a devastating story if he killed himself the moment he felt normal. Should he pursue the relationship with him or was it just a waste in both of their time? Why did he have to go to the stupid rally? It was so much simpler before. If he didn't, there wouldn't be a Grantaire standing there questioning whether or not he made the right decision. He never liked and hated someone so much before; it was always hated.
Grantaire didn't know how long he stood there for. It must have ranged from five minutes to an hour. The sun continued to set. He must have tried to set ten times but there was always something that stopped him. Finally, he made a decision.
The seine would be there in the future, there was no harm in surviving another day. Besides, he needed that drink he was promised.