THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SUICIDE ATTEMPT MOST LIKELY AND A HORRIBLE CLIFFHANGER.
SORRY.
I AM SO EVIL AND WRONG. I AM SORRY.
xxx
He somehow cleans up and leaves the bathroom without Combeferre thinking anything is wrong. Enjolras falls asleep at twenty two thirty, much to Combeferre's pleasant surprise. So he takes a picture of his best friend and saves it to his computer, where Enjolras will hopefully not find it.
The next morning is a Saturday, and it's raining. How could it be better? Okay, yes, there is a way... But Enjolras gets up and takes his medication while Combeferre pretends not to watch him. Takes his computer and works on an essay and then tailors Justice Project videos until noon. Combeferre emails back and forth with Courfeyrac, and Enjolras is relieved to discover that they are communicating in emoticons about gay rights.
He migrates to the armchair and opens a browser on current terrorism issues. Stills from the ISIS videos, comments by right wing media "whistle-blowers" and a discussion about national security. What national security?
Courfeyrac is now emailing Combeferre song mashups which Combeferre plays for about ten seconds each before turning them off, because Enjolras is glaring at him. The revolutionary then turns back to his work and updates a website post. "I'm getting spammed."
"Spammed?"
"The conservatives found me."
"So they're spamming you."
"You should see my inbox..."
He posts a screenshot of said inbox with the caption America! and proceeds to delete all of the ones titled GO BACK TO IRAQ YOU TRAITOR and BURN IN HELL.
"What do we have in the refrigerator?"
"I don't know. Not much."
"So, not much or you don't know?"
"Not much."
"Ugh, I guess it's my turn to go supermarket then."
"It is." This is the classic "happy face", the depressed person putting on a mask for their friends. And this is happy face to the maximum, because Enjolras is at that stage in Suicidal Intent where he actually has a plan. A plan for one hour later. A plan for the second Combeferre leaves.
Combeferre gets up and glances at his friend. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fi- okay."
"Well, um, text me if you need anything, right?"
"Okay." He looks up at Combeferre. Combeferre shrugs and smiles at him. He's gotten all the knives, so they should be fine (and the shoelaces).
"Bye."
"Goodbye, Combeferre."
Only thirty minutes later, in the supermarket, does the weight of that finally hit the medical student.
That's what they all say, don't they? Often a simple goodbye, and then poof. They're gone, no more, dead. I honestly would not hesitate to kill myself.
Combeferre sets the basket down and leaves the store. Just check on him. He taped the National Suicide Hotline number to the refrigerator, but would Enjolras use that? Of course not. And would he text Combeferre, say that he was basically in mortal danger? Of course not.
Oh god.
xxx
Enjolras is lying on the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood and the knife is next to him, from the little tin box he'd found while searching the flat. So that's where he kept them, that's where he hid them from me. He tried so hard, and there I go. It got me in the end, I'm now part of the fifteen percent of us who just can't keep going. Fifteen percent, fifteen percent of people with bipolar disorder are dead because of it.
He's losing consciousness fast. There's no note. There's no explanation, no reason. They'll be better off, there will be no more security cameras and bugs on the computers, and...
Combeferre is fumbling with the lock as Enjolras loses consciousness completely. He can't concentrate. Goodbye, Combeferre... "Enjolras?!"
No answer. So...
"ENJOLRAS!?"
He shoves the door in and glances around. Not there, not there... "ENJOLRAS!" Combeferre runs around opening doors until he flings open the bathroom door to find his best friend sprawled on the ground with innumerable slashes running up and down his wrists. "Oh, shit, Enjy..."
This was intentional.
Oh, dear god...
Combeferre kneels down and checks for a pulse, desperately, in four different places, while dialing 9-1-1 with the other hand (that's the American call number right?).
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"
He can't find a pulse.
"My friend slit his wrists, he's lost a lot of blood and I can't find a pulse, he's been suicidal for a long time and I tried to get him help but oh god I think he's dead, please come..." Combeferre rattles off his address and the fact that Enjolras has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder by a psychiatrist, which seems unnecessary but also good to say.
He's panicking. Goodbye, Combeferre. Please god let those not be his last words...
Still no pulse, but- wait, he's got to be alive, he's still bleeding... Somehow that makes sense, get here, get here, get here, please... Combeferre ties a towel around the worst of it, the left arm, and attempts to do whatever he can to stop it, stop his best friend bleeding out on the frozen tile of their bathroom floor.
And now the paramedics are here, and Combeferre has to get out of the way, and he's crying now, because Enjolras is still bleeding out onto that damn stretcher and they still can't find a pulse, and now everyone is in the ambulance, including Combeferre, who is allowed to come for some random reason.
And he's speaking fast to one of the medics, who is fixing an oxygen mask to Enjolras's face, when someone screams out that the revolutionary's heart has stopped and they need to revive him, fast, come on everyone...
And Combeferre leans against the wall and grips it, shaking.
He did it. Enjolras killed himself, and he was too late... and it's the second friend he's lost in a month, and oh god, why?
Why did this have to happen?
xxx
Whew. I told you there would be a cliffhanger. But the story will continue, so either Enjolras lives or we just have one more depressing grief chapter...?
