7/11/13
Thanks for the support but I do beg of you that if you like it then review, if you don't then review to tell me why. I love this fic but the motivation is lacking if no one else does.
Love, Ire and Song – Frank Turner
Chapter 7
Grantaire fell silent and his head drooped as it looked like he was examining the swirling patterns in the froth of his coffee. His thin loopy fringe slid over his hazel eyes, shielding them from the world. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," Enjolras apologised and after a short awkward pause, continued. "It's just no one knows anything about you," he attempted to justify his actions.
"No, you're right. I can't expect you to live with me if you know nothing about me," Grantaire nodded and took a deep breath to calm his speeding heart. No one knew all about his past; he was a live in the present sort of person. He never dredged the scars of the past and no one else seemed to care. But it felt right to tell Enjolras, he needed to get it all out and no one had ever cared enough to ask before. "What do you want to know?" Grantaire asked, sitting up straighter once he had taken a few moments to compose himself.
"I dunno … everything I guess," Enjolras smiled and Grantaire rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.
"We might be here for a while then," Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras just smiled and ordered two more coffees. "
We have plenty of time until the shop shuts," Enjolras replied and sipped his coffee.
"Well I was born on the nineteenth of August nineteen ninety seven in Middlesbrough, England," Grantaire began and Enjolras was already surprised.
"You're English?" he exclaimed and Grantaire chuckled.
"Don't sound like it, do I?" he smirked as his voice drifted back into his natural Northern English accent. Enjolras' eyebrows shot up.
"You are full of surprises, Nicolas Grantaire," Enjolras shook his head in disbelief.
"Anyway, my dad was a policeman and my mum worked in a bookshop so that she could be home to look after me and my little sister," he explained and shushed Enjolras when the prefect was about to interrupt again. "Yes I have a little sister. She is called Mai and she is nine. We lived happily, we weren't rich but we weren't poor … life was good," Grantaire mumbled and Enjolras knew what was coming next. It had to be something really bad for Grantaire to be scarred in this way. "My father was a dirty cop. He stole drugs from drugs busts and sold them back to dealers. He was caught and put away for ten years. I was nine at the time and Mai was two. Mother because reclusive and depressed; she was fired from her job and we had no money anymore. I stole and sold art to try and keep us all alive. We moved to Bordeaux as that was where my mother was from originally," Grantaire explained; Enjolras remained silent as Grantaire took a moment to calm himself and sipped at his black coffee.
"But one day I was caught, I was ten so the police counted it down to a childish fancy. However they had to tell my parents … no amount of convincing could get them to drop it and sooner than I wanted I found them on the doorstep," Grantaire whispered and Enjolras could easily sense this was a traumatic memory for the shorter man. Enjolras rested his hand on Grantaire's supportively. Usually at this point you would expect Enjolras to tell Grantaire that he didn't need to carry on; but Enjolras was selfish and at times had a heart of polished marble. "My mum wouldn't answer the door so the police made me unlock it. Inside was a mess, beer cans and takeaway wrappers covered every inch of floor space. Mum was sat with a can of beer staring at the TV screen while Mai was sat on the floor crying. She was wearing practically rags and the whole room smelt of urine and vomit. Needless to say, Mai and I were dragged to the nearest care home and my mother was deemed unfit to look after children," he choked and finally a tear dripped down his flushed red cheeks. Even with a marble heart, Enjolras' couldn't force him to continue. "Grantaire, you don't have to tell me," Enjolras whispered, really unsure of what he could do to comfort his roommate. Surprisingly, Grantaire shook his head and cleared his throat quietly. Turmoil was viable in his figure but through the tears in his eyes you could see determination. He lowered his head and wiped away the lone tear.
"I have to get this out, it was five years ago and still reduces me to this. I'm weak," he stated and looked composed once more. Enjolras attempted to try and persuade Grantaire he wasn't weak but was silenced by Grantaire continuing his tale of woe.
"Two weeks later, my mother killed herself in our apartment as she had nothing to live for now her children had been taken away," Grantaire explained with a deep breath to calm his trembling voice; his eyes dropped away from Enjolras' face and he started tracing indents in the wooden table. There was a reason he didn't talk about this; he saw the news articles, he was too old to have the news softened and be lie to. But yet too young to understand why. Enjolras was stunned to silence and the comforting words were stuck on his tongue. "Mai was adopted a few weeks later by a wonderful couple who adopted because they wanted a child and what was the point in giving birth when there were so many children that needed families," Grantaire stated while he blinked the tears out of his eyes. He seemed to recall this memory with a small smile. "Maddie and Clark are the best things I could wish for her and I even get to fly over and see her for her birthday," Grantaire smiled tenderly at Enjolras. "They live in Avignon as it is quite a way away but I enjoy the yearly trip," he added enthusiastically before the smile dropped from his face once again. "So I lived in a care home in Bordeaux but no one wanted a ten year old criminal. I struggled with school, I never have been good with academia but I could fake my way through. I stayed in that one place and that one school until about a year ago. I was fifteen and with exams I could no longer pretend to understand and keep up. I was bullied a lot and put into detentions for not working and so I fought back. I was expelled for breaking two of someone's ribs in a fist fight. He called me dumbo so I kicked him in the ribs," Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras was secretly impressed at Grantaire's determination to stand up for himself.
"I moved to a school in the town over and the same things happened. I was bullied for being stupid then I stood up for myself; the teachers took the side of the other student. It was at that point I started drinking and smoking. The smoke calmed me down so I wouldn't get into any fights but that then got me expelled … once again," he explained and at the thought Enjolras could see him itching for a cigarette. That was another thing he would have to add to the list of things he needed to stop Grantaire doing; it was going to be a long task, but he wanted to fix this broken teenager. "It was then I finally got fostered," Grantaire continued with his long tale. "Lucy and Matt appeared and they seemed perfect. They were new parents and wanted an older boy who would be able to help them out. I was happy to go but after three months and the social services backed off … they neglected me, took all the foster support money away and spent it on themselves. Every time I protested and tried to tell someone they just said I was rebelling because I missed my parents. After two months at my new school, school number three, I stopped trying. It wasn't worth it any more. I tried learn and get tutors but had no money. I was expelled for not completing a piece of work to an acceptable standard in three weeks," Grantaire explained and his attitude had slowly changed from depression to complete indifference. Without really thinking Enjolras made an offer.
"I can tutor you. I would be happy to help," he smiled as Grantaire gawped.
"Enjolras you are taking on much more than you think," Grantaire attempted to warn him off. Enjolras frowned and tilted his head slightly in confusion. Grantaire started ringing his hands and staring at the spindly digits. Then it hit him.
"You're dyslexic!" Enjolras exclaimed and Grantaire frowned slightly at him. It all fit together; how he reacted when the English teacher asked him to read, why he refused to write the essay, the reason he didn't write down his lyrics.
"What's that mean?" Grantaire frowned and Enjolras' thought froze.
"Has no one else noticed?" Enjolras asked, clearly shocked at Grantaire's admission. Grantaire slowly shook his head in confusion.
"Everyone always just said I was stupid," he stated without an emotion flickering across his face.
"Dyslexia is a very common developmental disorder which can cause learning difficulty in one or more of the areas of reading, writing, and maths," Enjolras explained and Grantaire nodded solemnly.
"That sounds about right," Grantaire sighed and rested his head in his hands. "Can you help?" his muffled voice asked through his hands.
"I'll try," Enjolras stated with a passionate determination; Enjolras lived to help people. A small smile twitched at his lips; maybe this was the turning point he needed to help Grantaire. "Carry on with your story," he encouraged and Grantaire head rose from his hands slightly.
"You still want to hear about me?" Grantaire asked in an almost childlike manner.
"Of course I do. You can't just stop in the middle of the story!" Enjolras exclaimed, trying to cheer Grantaire back up again. Grantaire nodded and took a few deep breaths to calm himself back down again.
"It was after school three I got my first scholarship. It was a music scholarship at a school in Nice. That was where I met Jean-Henri. He is a rich scholar-like boy … quite like you actually," Grantaire stated, his voice had filled with confidence when Jean-Henri entered into the conversation.
"He offered to start helping me with my school work. He was so kind and sweet and clever … I feel in love," Grantaire smiled softly at the memory. "I asked him to our end of year dance and he accepted. I spent all summer with him but when we got back to school we were caught kissing in his room and I was expelled for repeat offenses of breaking the school rules. School four," he stated and, for once when talking about his school life, looked actually remorseful at the memory. "School five was unmemorable and I was expelled for something or other. I was not at school for four weeks until the scholarship letter came through for here … and you know the rest," Grantaire sighed. His face looked lighter; it seemed getting his story off his chest had certainly helped the young rebel.
"That's enough about me!" Grantaire exclaimed spontaneously to break the silence that had fallen on them. "I finished the next song for our album," he stated and pulled out his guitar. "Do you want to hear? It was inspired by me and you," he smiled tenderly. Enjolras looked shocked but nodded fervently. "It's called Love, Ire and Song," Grantaire smiled and began playing and singing. The song was about someone losing passion in the good of human nature but being motivated by the people around him to go do some good again. It did really seem that Grantaire felt that in his heart; that he wasn't cynical through and through. That gave Enjolras and sliver of hope and his smile returned.
"That's wonderful Grantaire, I'll write the lyrics if you sing them to me," Enjolras grinned, determined to help Grantaire with his problem. Grantaire smiled weakly at Enjolras.
"Thanks," he murmured and stood up. "I'll see you back at school," he nodded and left with his bags. Enjolras sighed and ordered another coffee. Now he needed to work out how to tutor a stubborn dyslexic boy.
