A Bit Too Far, Perhaps

by patrick vaughn stump

Grantaire feels as if Enjolras has forgotten what it is like to love, with the oncoming war taking most of his attention. But does Enjolras truly love France more than Grantaire?

1. Memories

I

"MEMORIES"

He was beautiful. The way his golden hair shined in the sunlight, his eyes lighting up with wonder and delight. And, for a while that seemed far too short, he was mine. But he was forced to grow up, and the light left his eyes as he started to love the flag more than he could ever love me.

I slammed my bottle down on my bedside table, cursing under my breath. The alcohol splashed over my sleeve like blood on a flag of surrender. I had hoped the liquid would numb my never ending pain, but no such luck.

Enjolras was always my biggest weakness. He talked of war, of revolution, of sacrificing everything for France. I, for one, had no interest in war whatsoever, yet I joined the group of foolish young students who followed him. I needed to make sure he got out of this alive, and if he died, I would be at his side. He was the only thing worth fighting for in this godforsaken world I knew. Letting go of him would be worse than death.

There was a time before the revolution, a time I missed so dearly. Summer nights spent in old cabins, staring up at the countless stars in the dark sky, his head on my chest as I ran my hands through his locks of spun gold. We would wake tangled together, our fingers entwined. His skin was warm against mine, his lips soft and comforting. I would have done anything, anything at all, to touch him again, to feel his heart beating underneath my fingertips.

Enjolras later learned of the rebellion, and he took it upon himself to lead the movement. We grew apart further still, him forgetting of the times we had shared, me remembering them even more vividly than before. I began to drink to numb the pain, and I made myself responsible for Gavroche. He needed a father, and I needed someone to care for. The pain was still unbearable; simply looking at Enjolras would shoot daggers through my heart.

I collapsed on the small bed, my eyes beginning to water. I glanced at the empty space beside me, imagining his face staring longingly back at mine. I reached out, yet I found I could not touch him. He was only in my mind, after all. I let my arm fall to the mattress, letting the tears fall onto the sheets. I slowly drifted to sleep, my dreams clouded with images of him.