Chapter 1: Of Sick Days and Secrets
Prouvaire woke up that morning with the feeling of dread that usually accompanies a sick day. For a few minutes he just ly there reveling in that powerful feeling, then tried to get up and go about his day. The moment he went to stand up though, he was forced down again by a feeling of great dizziness and nausea. Must of caught Coufeyrac's cold, he thought. He sniffled a little bit. He was sad to be missing the poetry workshop at the university. He had signed up months ago and the day had finally come and he had gotten sick! Well anyways he must find some way of letting someone know that he wouldn't make the workshop and meeting. When he got up he felt the same feelings as before but he fought them back and halfway walked, halfway stumbled down the stairs, not even bothering to put on respectable clothing. "I am not to be disturbed for the day unless it is a friend." He had invited his comrades over several times so she was familiar with their faces. She was also closely acquainted with Coufeyrac(*wink wink*). And out into the cold air he walked.
When he reached the backroom of the café he was about ready to collapse from exhaustion.
"Prouvaire, my good man. Are you ok?" Bahorel said amiably.
"Idiotic Coufeyrac, gave me your cold." Prouvaire made no sense because his nose was so stuffed up.
"What?" Bossuet asked.
"I said Coufeyrac gave me his cold." Prouvaire snapped.
"Mon dieu! Your not very nice when you're sick."
"Well would you be?"
"Boys! Lets not argue!" Combeferre shouted and everyone quieted down. "Now Jehan, what are you doing here in such a state?"
"Had to tell someone I wouldn't be able to make the meeting or that poetry workshop today." Prouvaire looked like a sad, abandoned puppy and instantly every Amis's heart went out to him.
"I will personally see to it that both Enjolras and the headmaster know of your health." Combeferre said. However, Prouvaire had collapsed into a chair and had fallen asleep once again. As Bahorel went to wake him, Combeferre whispered, "Leave him. He needs his rest. You go and meet at someones flat. I'll stay with here and watch him." Eventually the room was cleared and Combeferre sat in chair on the opposite side of the room, watching Jehan sleep. For awhile he slept peacefully, then started to murmur and toss around. It sounded something like
"No! No! Stop! Stop please!" Then he got louder and started crying. "Father please stop! Ow! Stop please!" and Combeferre couldn't watch it anymore. He ran to the other side of the room and went about waking him up.
"Jehan! Snap out of it! Wake up!" he still didn't wake, "Please!" Jehan's eyes flew open and he gasped as if he was in pain.
"Oh good it was just you." he breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his tears. "How much did you hear?" He appeared to be ashamed, but also scared, like he had told a deep dark secret.
"Enough. What happened to you?"
"I don't want to talk about it." he tried to get up but sneezed so hard he fell to the ground.
"You will talk," Combeferre helped him up, "but first lets get you home." They walked out the back to Prouvaire's flat. When they entered the building the landlady came scurrying over and asked,
"How are you feeling?"
"Not the best." Jehan was letting his irritation get the best of him, "may I please just go to my room."
"Of course." When they made it to his room, Jehan plopped on a chair in the corner.
"Now talk." Combeferre looked to all the world a therapist, sitting on the bed, fingers meshed.
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't! I can't tell you! Please don't push me." He walked into the other room. Combeferre wondered what could have possibly been done to him to make him react this way, and he whispered,
"Jehan, I'm sorry for whatever happened to you, just know that you can trust me not to tell anyone." There was no reply. Combeferre sighed and turned to leave when Jehan came out and said,
"When I was younger," Combeferre sat down, "My father," he paused to take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I have never told anyone this before and it is difficult. When I was younger, my father had some anger problems. He still does. When he had a bad day, which seemed to be most of the time, he would take his anger out on us. On better days he only yelled, on worse days he would hit," he was fully into the confession, "I hated it. I had wanted to tell, but my father threatened to hurt mother if I did. I love my mother more than anyone in all of France so I couldn't let him do anything more to her. Would you not do the same for your mother?" At this Combeferre flinched. Jehan didn't appear to notice, "He did this to us all the time. Even up until the day I left. I've no doubts he still does this to my mother. She is the only reason I keep going back. Have you never noticed the bruises when I come back?" He slowly rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a row of ugly bruises ranging from purple to green tinged. The purple ones were still fresh. Christmas break had ended just last week, and Jehan had gone home for the holiday. Combeferre stared in awe of the marks of cruelty left on the skin as unblemished as a babies. "It's an ongoing cycle. A vicious ongoing cycle." He stopped speaking. Combeferre would never forget the look in his eyes as though, in his mind, he was still under his fathers iron fist. He didn't know what to say. How could a father do this to his son? Especially one as sweet and full of life as Jehan. "He is why I am what I am today."
"You should have said something sooner. I'll go with you, this next holiday. He can't hurt you if I'm there. If he does I'll do something, anything! This, for lack of a better word, man must be brought down!" then a thought occurred, " Your mother must be a strong women to deal with this so often alone."
"She is the strongest women I know. Even stronger than Enjolras. My one desire is for her to not have to be strong." Combeferre reached out and felt Jehan's forehead.
"You feel warm. Perhaps you should get some rest. It's been a long hard day, and you must be tired. I swear I daren't tell a soul about what you have confided. Good evening." and he walked out the door. Jehan climbed into his bed, but before he drifted off to the land of dreams, he couldn't help but think it was nice to have someone who knew.