(I love you guys! You are all so kind to follow, review and favorite this story and it means so much to me! Here's the second part of Grantaire's confrontation with Enjolras and I hope you like it! Enjoy)

Grantaire's blood was boiling. He didn't recognize this Enjolras. This wasn't his Apollo; this wasn't his golden God he looked up to so badly. The way Enjolras was acting at this point was selfish, spoiled and downright infuriating.

He had just told his life story to Enjolras, the leader of the Amis; the one who was supposed to fight for les abaissees. He had told him the story he had been trying to drink away ever since he got out of it; the things he was most ashamed of, but was forced into. And Enjolras just waved it away like it was nothing. Noting more than the stupid decisions of a drunken man.

He had hoped that Enjolras would see a little reason after telling him about his past. He hoped that the blond would realize he wasn't alone in this and that there were actually more similarities between him and Grantaire than he would've ever thought. He hadn't expected the revolutionary to completely turn around and acknowledge his pain and fear, but he had hoped for a more understanding response.

I don't drink away my troubles. I have complete control over my actions. I don't need any help. How an intelligent man like Enjolras could be so completely blind when it came to his own being, was beyond Grantaire and it angered him in ways he had never thought possible.

He angrily slammed his fist on the bedside table and glared at Enjolras, who jumped visibly at the noise and Grantaire couldn't help but finding some satisfaction in that. At least the blond wasn't completely untouched by his emotions.

"You have complete control over your actions?" he all but growled, "are you kidding me right now? Are you honestly that blind?" He narrowed his eyes dangerously at Enjolras as he spat out that last sentence.

Enjolras glowered back at him; nowhere near ready to back down. Deep down he knew very well Grantaire was right. Hell, they were all right. He knew he was falling; he knew he was losing himself; but somehow he just couldn't admit that. Not to his friends and especially not to himself.

"You have no right to lecture me, Grantaire. You waste your life away in the bottle, you drink to forget what happened to you instead of dealing with it. You chose your own destructive path and you don't believe in anything. Did you even try to redeem yourself in any way?" – Grantaire flinched at that – "how dare you come and tell me what I should and should not do when you yourself are the perfect example of a complete failure?"

Enjolras couldn't believe what he was saying. Why was he doing this? He felt disgusted by his own words and he wished he could take them back, but instead he just kept talking.

"It's laughable you know that? That you of all people are trying to make me see reason. Where's your bottle Grantaire?"

Grantaire had thought hearing such words from his Apollo would break his heart, but they didn't. They didn't hold any worth to him, because they were spoken in a desperate attempt of defense. A defense that was visibly faltering by the minute. Grantaire could see it in Enjolras' facial expressions; in the way his arguments held no credibility at all and in the way his hand was hovering automatically over his bandaged arm; ready to inflict pain. He doesn't even realize he's doing it.

He offered the blond a disdainful smirk. "And how are you in any way different from all those things Apollo? You say I drink to forget what happened to me, that is true, I'll give you that. But you're doing the exact same thing, though you've chosen a different way to do it. A slightly more dramatic way if I may add. And you honestly think this is going to hold up your reputation? Cutting your own skin again and again until you feel the slightest bit like yourself, only to fall into a deeper hole afterwards?"

Grantaire noticed how Enjolras' eyes widened ever so slightly and for a moment he wondered if he should go a little more easy on the blond, but then he remembered Combeferre's breakdown and the words just kept flowing out of his mouth.

"Yeah, no you're the perfect example of a leader fighting for the people. You can't even hold yourself together Enjolras. You're drowning and no matter how much you try to hide it, it's visible for everyone to see. You are too stubborn to admit you're not fine, and for a reason that I don't even understand. Do you honestly think there is anyone out there who'd lay his trust in you? A stuck up child that is too arrogant to accept the help that your friends offer you."

"Shut up", Enjolras whispered.

"In your passionate speeches, you speak of the equality of men; you say that no one is above another and yet here you are, placing yourself above your own friends. Do you think so little of them? Do you not have any faith or trust in them? They'd lay down their life for you and you don't deem them worthy enough to seek help from. You'd rather cut your own skin." Grantaire huffed patronizingly and shook his head in disbelieve. "You don't deserve to be the symbol of the cause you care so much about."

Enjolras' eyes were filled with tears he refused to shed. He shot Grantaire a deadly look. "Hold your tongue, you winecask, you know nothing about me. You don't know what I'm going through and you know nothing about my feelings. You have no right to judge the choices I make. You come to scoff me every meeting and suddenly you think you have a right to lecture me. It doesn't work like that, Grantaire. Your words will never have any effect on me, because they're spoken by a drunken cynic who doesn't see faith or reason in anything."

Grantaire leaned forward closely and took hold of Enjolras' chin. He'd never thought himself to be in this position either, but every word Enjolras shot at him made him more determined to break through to his Apollo. It was hard to remember that only little more than a week ago, Enjolras had sought comfort with him in the café; had broken down in his arms. He almost cried at the memory. His Apollo was falling, but Grantaire was going to be the one to catch him. No matter how mean or low he had to get.

"Do you even hear yourself Apollo? Do you realize how hollow your words are?", he searched the younger ones face in the hope of seeing any sign of surrender, but there was none. Not yet. "I have every right to speak at you the way I do; every right to judge you and every right to lecture you. It may not have occurred to you, but I have the same friends as you do. And I see those friends breaking down because you reject them time and again. And I'm sick of it Enjolras. They don't deserve it and I'm starting to wonder if you even deserve them."

It was a low blow and the words hit Enjolras hard. He looked up shocked at Grantaire and the cynic wondered if that had been a step too far. The blond looked like a kicked puppy and it almost made Grantaire wish he had swallowed those last words. But he also knew he now had Enjolras right where he wanted him and so he kept his voice steady and his look hard.

"You are right when you tell me that I haven't dealt with my troubles at all. That is true, but our situations were completely different Enjolras. Not only have I got to deal with guilt that I'll never get rid of, I also did not have any friends when all this happened to me. I had no other choice than to deal with it myself and even I can admit that the way I've done that is far from ideal, but I've accepted it and that's just the way it is for me now."

Enjolras wringed his chin out of Grantaire's hold and opened his mouth to speak, but Grantaire was nowhere near finished.

"You on the other hand, Enjolras, have no guilt whatsoever. What happened to you was tragic and I understand how it makes you feel, I do, because I've been there myself, but it is all on Louis and Antoine. None of it can be blamed on you. None of it. And unlike myself back then, you do have friends. You have a whole group of them, ready to follow you wherever you go. They'd die for you in a second, you know that? And they'd never – never – look down on you for what happened. They'd never think lesser of you. How can you even believe that? They'd follow you to hell and back and this is how you repay them."

Grantaire knew he wasn't including himself when he spoke about their friends, because he wasn't sure if Enjolras saw him as such. But he did want his Apollo to know that he'd do all those things as well. He lowered his voice and spoke in a gentler tone this time. "And no matter how low you think of me, Enjolras, all those things go for me as well. I would never mock you for what happened and it certainly would not be a reason for me to think less of you as a leader."

Grantaire saw how a first, lone tear slid down Enjolras' face and how he wiped it away as fast as he could. He refused to look at Grantaire anymore, but his hand was now tightly pressed against his bandaged arm and Grantaire wondered if he should pull it away. Before he could decide on it however, Enjolras spoke so very softly, Grantaire almost missed it.

"I do have guilt."

"No, you don't", Grantaire said through gritted teeth. He immediately knew what Enjolras was talking about. "I told you that before. What happened there had nothing to do with you. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a biological reaction and it's nothing to be ashamed of."

Enjolras turned a bright shade of red and only frowned, clearly not convinced.

"You need to seriously think things over Enjolras, because you're losing everything at the rate you're going. Did you know Combeferre is out there crying his eyes out because he can't reach you? Have you any idea what you're doing to him? He's your best friend; you mean everything to him. You're practically brothers and you treat him like he isn't even worth a second of your time. Does that mean anything to you?"

Enjolras' head snapped up at that. His stomach turned into a tight knot and suddenly all he could see was Combeferre's broken expression. "Of course it does", he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and sorrow.

"Well, it doesn't look like it", Grantaire said as he stood up from the chair and walked to the door. He knew there was nothing more he could say to Enjolras. He hoped he had gotten through to him, it almost looked like he did, but this was Enjolras, and the blond could be as unpredictable as could be. "I used to place you on the highest pedestal, you know that Enjolras? You were the only thing I had faith in; the only thing I believed in, but I don't think I do anymore…not if you continue like this." And he closed the door behind him, leaving a shattered Enjolras behind.

Enjolras' mind was spinning. He felt sick and awful and dizzy with disgust. You're a disgrace. You don't deserve your friends. They're too good for you. You treat them like dirt, they should hate you. It's despicable. You're despicable. Tears were now freely running down his face and he was digging his fingers harder into the bandages around his injured arm. It wasn't enough. It didn't hurt enough. You're not worth anything.

Before he knew it, the bandages were off and he was clutching at the healing wounds desperately, sobs now wracking his body. He didn't hear the door open again and he only became aware of another presence in the room when he felt fingers pry away his hands from his injuries and two strong arms around him.

When he realized it was Combeferre who was holding him, the sobs only grew harsher and he buried his face in the medical student's chest. He hung on for dear life. Whispering apologies. And then finally – finally – he found the words he had been wanting to say for so long now. And he felt Combeferre's arms tighten around him as they spilled out of his mouth over and over again.

"Please help me."

TBC.

(Pheeew, glad I got that off my chest. This was an emotional chapter to write. I sincerely hope you liked it though and that it was believable. Please review and till next time!)