I'd like to thank Darci the Thespian and stagepageandscreen for giving me the idea for this one.
He was running. He had to get away. He had to. He would get the police to find his mother. He couldn't do that. Anything but that. He couldn't do this anymore.
"Someone please! Somebody please help me! Murder! Murder! Please, somebody!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. Somebody had to hear him, to help him.
"Rene!" His father shouted, close behind him.
"Somebody please!" He realized he was crying. Tears were streaming down his face. "Anybody!"
"Rene, get back here!" His father yelled.
No one was coming. He heard no doors opening, no one stopping his father. No one would ever come. That was it. He was well and truly alone. He truly couldn't do it anymore.
"Rene, get away from the bridge!" His father's voice had turned slightly panicky.
The bridge over the river was weak. He pulled himself up the stone handrails and stood. The river was dark and cold and... inviting. It gave him the answer to his problems. He could see his mother again. He would like that. Better, he would be away from his father. He might be sent to Hell though... but it would still be an escape. The best kind. Hell couldn't be as bad as what he was living. No, he was already living in Hell.
"Oh God, please Rene, get away from there!" His father was close. If he was going to do it, he had to do it now.
He extended one foot, ready.
Then something crashed into him and they went flying. His father had saved him. Damn God! Or whoever made the decision to spare him. He didn't deserve to be spared. He wanted it to end, to finally be over.
"Rene, you are- ugh- coming home with me now!" His father grabbed him by the arms, pinned them back, and lifted his seventeen-year-old body off the ground. His father dragged him to the house, hitting him back harder as he kicked and screamed. When they got home, his father threw him onto the couch and threw the table against the door, effectively trapping them both inside. His father beat him until blood flowed freely from every crevice of his body. His father sneered and left. His father came back with a bottle of absinthe.
"Drink." His father ordered.
He shook his head as defiantly as he could.
"I said, drink!" His father forced his mouth open and shoved the absinthe down his throat. He gagged and choked but he was forced to swallow some of it. His father kept at it until the bottle was drained. And the next bottle... And the next... And the next... The next... The...
"Listen to me you worthless drunk of a boy. I will hold up my end of the bargain and you will never remember it. I burned your mother's body. Even her bones. I spread her out in your pillow. That's why you sleep so well, mon précieux." His father sneered as the world turned to black, blue, purple and green.
"Grantaire? Awaken." An angels' voice said softly, causing the world to shake.
The world was swirling colors and one started to shine. White.
"Grantaire. Please, wake." The angel insisted.
The white burned at his eyelids, blinding and strong in its passion, and forced him to rejoin the waking world.
So Grantaire opened his eyes to see Enjolras kneeling next to him, looking concerned. The Musain was empty, all except for those two. Enjolras's work was spread out on the table, completely abandoned as Enjolras's attention was focused elsewhere. His admittedly gorgeous blue eyes stared at him, raging between emotions. Grantaire knew Enjolras could tell Grantaire needed something but he couldn't tell what it was. Grantaire wasn't even sure he knew.
"What's wrong?" Enjolras asked softly.
"I know what he did to my mother." Grantaire confessed.
"You said he never told you." Enjolras said, confused.
"He did. He just thought I was too drunk to remember. He called me mon précieux. My mother called me that. Oh God." Grantaire moaned, bursting into heart-wrenching sobs.
For a minute, Enjolras did nothing. Grantaire, feeling horribly self-conscious, wiped at his eyes and tried to pull himself together, for Apollo. He couldn't do it. It was just too hard. Enjolras sighed and put his arm around Grantaire, as he had done the first time he had caught Grantaire in such a state. Once more, Grantaire sobbed into Enjolras's shoulder.
When he finally was able to pull himself together, much later than Grantaire wanted, he stood as sharply as he could but did not leave the Musain. He owed Enjolras that much. But he couldn't look at him. Not with what he was about to say.
"Please don't hate me. Now don't say anything. Let me finish. You once said there was more and I said I couldn't remember it. I did not lie to you. I didn't. I do now. I ran away from my father, screaming as loud as I could but once more no one came. No one came when I was screaming murder and running for my life. I knew I was alone. I was so alone. There was nothing left for me. There was an old bridge by my father's house. The river was deep. And cold. It was not big but I knew it could do what I wanted it to. I climbed onto the rails of the bridge and went to step forward. My father brought me home, beat me and got me drunk on absinthe. He told me what he did to my mother. He burned her corpse. But that wasn't the worst part. He put her ashes into my pillow. Again, as twisted as that is, it's not the worst. The worst was I shoved all the furniture in my room out of his house and, after making sure it was safe, I set it on fire. I tried to burn the memory away. It seems I did more than that. Now, I understand if you hate me. Having a suicidal drunkard for a friend is not exactly healthy. Just, if you do, please be quick about it."
Then something happened that confused Grantaire more than why his own father would hurt his mom and him. Enjolras spun Grantaire around, grasped his shoulders and looked him firmly in the eyes.
"I do not hate you. I have never hated you and I will never hate you as long as I live. Have I made that clear?" Enjolras declared passionately, although his voice was soft.
Unable to speak, Grantaire nodded as quickly as he could.
Then Enjolras pulled him into a fierce hug and held him tight. With unspeakable shock, Grantaire realized Enjolras was shaking. Whether from tears or fear, Grantaire wasn't sure but he knew he didn't like it. His Apollo was marble. If it shook, it could crack. Grantaire could never crack Enjolras's marble. He would rather die.
"My friend, you must make me a promise." Enjolras said, trying to steady his shaky voice.
"Name it." Grantaire said, wanting to save his friend's façade and steady the shaking marble.
"Promise me you will never think of such things again. If you do, find me and let me help you. I cannot bear to lose you. Not now." If Enjolras was anyone else, Grantaire thought the pleading note in his voice was begging. As if Enjolras would beg for his life.
"You need everyone for the revolution." Grantaire said darkly, immediately regretting it.
"No. No. Damn the revolution!" Grantaire nearly fainted from the shock of those words. "It will be quite pointless without you by my side, drinking and laughing with the other Amis. We need you, I need you. I... I wish to go down into Hell and personally throttle your father, and each one of those goddamned people who left you to his hand. I have only felt this hate twice in my life. My own father and the king. I do not know how you are still alive, my friend. I thank a God I don't believe in every day for your life. For knowing I can see you every meeting without fail. Your constant presence in my life has been a godsend. You ground me when I am too far in the clouds; you give me reality when I find myself lost in an idea. If I lost you, I... I could not bear to live my life. I would not wish to."
There was silence after that. Grantaire simply stood there in Enjolras's arms, stupefied. Enjolras still had tremors across his body and they did not seem likely to stop.
"Say something, will you?" Enjolras asked, slight panic in his voice.
But still Grantaire's voice refused to work. He couldn't speak. So he did the next best thing. He pulled back from Enjolras, and looked him firmly in the eyes.
Then Grantaire kissed him.
After three heartbeats of no response, Grantaire pulled away with a look of pure horror. When he saw Enjolras's face frozen as if he were truly a statue, frozen in a look of pain, Grantaire turned and sprinted away from the Musain. He wasn't sure exactly where he was going but soon he found himself in earshot of the Seine.
Ooh. Cliffhanger. Or should I say 'bridge hanger?' (rim shot) Yeah I know I'm not funny. Oh well. Win some lose some. Remember, reviews make me write faster. Adieu, mes chers dévots.