The Marble Man
Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Shocking
AN: Yes, finally, I know. I suck. Still trying to create a bit of a buffer, because after chapter seventeen, y'all might hate me. A lot. And that probably shouldn't go on for a month….
Thanks to Hihiyas for all the help with this chapter It would not have gotten done without you!
Chapter sixteen:
Everything hurts when she wakes up on Sunday morning. Her muscles were not protesting when she was actually tearing down walls and random pieces of house, but they sure are protesting now. And she actually kind of likes how it makes her feel accomplished – all of the drug houses are torn down, and the group made a nice day of it, ending with a barbeque at Cosette and Marius' place and an early bedtime for all.
They were all really exhausted by the time 8 PM came around.
So, now that it's Sunday, she has started on her last twenty-four hours. Sure, she might not have officially announced her decision, but it has become pretty clear to her that by staying she is only going to bring herself – and everyone else – pain. She is getting too close to these people – if she stays long enough, she might actually start calling them her friends, and that is where she must draw the line. She must remain the lone wolf – letting people in, that is always a bad idea. It will only lead to her getting hurt again. It is much healthier to just stay at a safe distance, emotionally.
A knock on her door sounds, and she already knows who it must be. She promised him this one day, and now she will have to deliver.
"Come in, Enjolras," she sighs, sitting up in bed.
"I was hoping you would be up already," his smile is the first thing she sees when he opens the door. "I wanted to thank you for your participation yesterday."
She is sure that he must have said this to everyone who helped out, so she waits for the other shoe to drop. Surely he must know that she is going to leave tonight? So why isn't he telling her his big plan to make her stay? What is his big plan to make her stay?
There is nothing in Musain that interests her so much that she would be willing to stay here on a more permanent basis – everything and everyone that she likes in here can be forgotten with time. She can forget about how Jehan and R took her in, and how Musichetta offered her a job with almost no questions asked. She can even forget about how the smartest guy she knows asked her for advice.
But never, even if she lives to a ripe old age, will she forget the time she worked in the Musain museum and a statue turned into a flesh and blood man. Never will she forget that this flesh and blood man was cursed to be this statue, and that her wish for him to be real was the only reason he came to life again.
How could she ever forget Enjolras?
"Of course," she says something just to avoid the silence and her own thoughts.
There is no way that she could ever forget him, and that is what annoys and scares her most of all. Not since her family has she allowed anyone to make a mark on her like that.
"Did you have a good time?" Enjolras sounds so damn casual.
"I worked with Jehan a lot," she responds with a shrug. "We work together well."
It's weird, being in her bed again with him at the door. Sure, she isn't crying this time, but the situation is still awkward, and she is still holding the sheet up against her body to keep herself covered. Since she has allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of him, it has almost been like he can see right through her.
Nothing terrifies her as much as that.
"We did a lot of good," Enjolras doesn't seem inclined to leave any time soon.
"Is that what this is about?" suddenly it all makes sense to her. "If you just show me that I'm doing good things here, I'll suddenly want to stay. Such a brilliant plan!"
The idea of it is ridiculous – she doesn't care for changing the world. She just wants to live her damn life, stay away from her father, and maybe create some nice things along the way. Above all, she wants to stay away from the messes, the entanglements, all of the things that could potentially rip her apart again.
"I just wanted to show you that you matter," Enjolras seems completely unfazed by her outburst. "And not just to me. You matter to all of the Amis. And you have a chance to matter to this town – to do something important. I just wanted you to know that."
Again with the grand speeches! Does he really think that some pretty words can just make her change her entire life? Her decision was made two days ago; she only gave him those forty-eight hours as a personal courtesy.
"Now I know," she rolls her eyes. "That is not going to change anything."
People caring about her? That is only going to make her more inclined to head out of town this very night. These attachments that are starting to form here in Musain, they're the worst kind of news that she could get – if only she could fully convince herself of that fact. Somehow, she still wants people to give a damn about her.
Do I contradict myself? Yes, she really does.
"Will you at least give me today to change your mind?" Enjolras is not going to stop trying. "And I beg you to keep an open mind."
Can she do that? She is pretty doubtful of it, since her mind is close to being made up – and it seems impossible for him to change it. Or is it? She did give him the two days even though she had already decided to leave. What will she do if he just asks for another week, or another month? Will she still be able to say no when she knows that she means so much to him? Really, what is another week in the scheme of things?
No! She cannot stay another week. Another week leads to another, and then to a month, and another, and before she knows it she will be stuck here for a year. Though, would he ask that of her? Could he ask her for an entire year? And would she grant it?
It's a hot mess.
"Just today," she tells herself.
"That's all I ask for," Enjolras holds out a hand for her. "Just one day."
She is actually considering accepting the hand being held out for her, and that is startling enough. This is way too meaningful of a gesture.
"Can I at least get dressed before you kidnap me for the day?" she quips. "I really don't want to get arrested for public indecency."
He blushes and stammers, and that is just what she needs to break the spell.
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She steps outside, scrunching up her face to avoid looking into the positively blinding rays of the summer sun. It is such a hot day that even her shorts feel too hot against her tan skin, and she wonders if there is some kind of pool nearby that would help her feel cooler. She is this close to asking one of the guys when she sees just what the hell is going on in the backyard.
Jehan and R are dressed in dark colors, dressed like professional mourners from the Shakespearean age. Musichetta is sitting with Combeferre on a pair of cheap folding chairs that certainly hadn't been there the day before.
It hits her like a lightning strike, and she is really to murder Enjolras. The asshole organized a damn wake for her mother, without even telling anyone what the fuck is going on. Damn him! She never wanted to be the center of attention in some elaborate farce. She didn't even want to be confronted with her grief again.
"What did you do?" she grabs Enjolras' arm in a tight grip.
Yanking him back inside to keep from being overheard, he is the first thing she sees when her eyes regain focus yet again. And while he is trying to look like the picture of innocence, she can see right through that bullshit.
"I merely expressed a wish to grieve for a recently departed family member," Enjolras tries to look innocent. "I am sure Jehan, R, and Combeferre believe that I am still grieving for the loss of my own family. I did not know Musichetta would be here, but I believe that she is here to support you."
Why would Musichetta show up at a service that was ostensibly meant for Enjolras and his long-dead family? 'Chetta is the only person present who is not in the know about Enjolras' past as a marble statue, so it does not make sense for her to read between the lines about the real cause for this event. So, does Musichetta know about her? Does she know about her mother? And if so, did Enjolras tell her everything?
"What did you tell her?" she hisses from between clenched teeth.
"I told her nothing," Enjolras vows. "However, I do believe that you have not given her enough credit. She knows that something is off."
Damn it! She lets go of his arm with a look of distaste on her face, before frantically looking around her for some sort of exit plan. The boys may expect her to support Enjolras in what they perceive as his personal tragedy, but Musichetta has somehow figured out that there is more going on. She may not understand just who Enjolras is – she probably has not spent enough time at the museum to recognize the statue made flesh – but she understands that there is a reason for this meeting that has absolutely nothing to do with him. Has she been that sloppy? Has she made mistakes that would have given her away to the other woman? How many?
"You had no right," she raises her hands to the heavens in frustration.
"I am sorry if I misjudged the situation," Enjolras refutes, "but I was under the impression that you were in pain. And in my personal experience, it helps to have someone there with you to help you deal with it. You also expressed concern that you would not have the chance to say goodbye to your mother, so I attempted to ease that pain for you. I never meant to cause you any further harm."
Maybe he intended this to be a thank you for the way she comforted him while he dealt with the loss of his entire family – but that is not the way she feels right now. It feels like some sort of trap, a service where she is supposed to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of all of these people. She knows that he wants her to let these people in and call them friends, like he seems to do with ease these days.
Enjolras may not yet be ready to be a full-fledged member of Musain society, as he has turned down all offers to help him find a job, but he has made a lot of progress in less than three weeks. He has shown himself to Combeferre – and maybe to Jehan and R as well. But most of all, he has let her see him.
So she's whined about not knowing his full name and the details of his curse. But has he really been so secretive around her? Enjolras may not have shared those particular details, but she knows more about what kind of man he is than anyone alive on the entire planet. Really, she could be called his best friend.
That idea makes her want to run away even faster, and she would not be surprised to see her body in a crouched position, ready to run at the first sign.
"Why do you want me to make friends so badly?" she sighs, defeated.
She promised him this one day in Musain, and even though he has grossly misjudged her needs at this time, she has to stick to her promise. She owes him at least that much – even though her exit looms ever closer.
"Why do you want me to stay here?" she continues as she follows him back outside, into the searing sun. "Can't you tell that I don't do that, not ever? I don't stay. I do not make friends. I just move on. And on. And on."
This song and dance? She knows all of the lines and the moves by heart. Enjolras is the one unknown factor, but other than him, she's been around. She has seen other towns and other friends that offered her a place to stay, if she just changed herself and opened up and stuck around. She ran every time.
"Are you planning to be lonely forever?" Enjolras asks.
It looks like he has more to say, but the arrival of Combeferre and Musichetta interrupts wherever he was going with that. Enjolras' abrupt silence leads to a moment of awkwardness – she is sure that Combeferre thinks they were talking about serious statue business, while Musichetta thinks they were sharing confidences about something completely different. Because somehow, 'Chetta has got it into her head that Éponine and Enjolras are just meant to be together forever.
"Thank you for coming," Enjolras is unfailingly polite.
"I wouldn't miss this," Musichetta vows.
Why does the other woman feel so strongly about this? Does she know? How could she possibly know? Or maybe she is just getting paranoid, and all of the mess around the living statue has made her jump at shadows.
"Why?" she blurts out, surprised by her own stupidity.
"Because I could tell you've been hurting," Musichetta looks her straight in the eye with her head held high. "You were different at the barbeque yesterday."
Different how? She thought she'd done quite well at putting on the mask, at pretending it was just another day and she was so very happy to be hanging out with her friends. Sure, the food and company were a nice distraction from the inner turmoil bullshit she had going on – but she was not enjoying it as much as she pretended to.
She was so sure that no one would be able to tell the difference.
"Are you psychic?" she doesn't understand at all.
"Just highly intuitive," Musichetta shrugs. "And I've been around you a lot lately. You were a lot more subdued yesterday, and you were staring at your phone a lot. It looked as if you were waiting for bad news. Or maybe you already got it."
There is a gigantic lump in her throat and she fears that the second she starts talking, she will either weep or scream. There is no moderate or in-between option left for her, because Musichetta has figured her out. She knows that there is something wrong, and she is here to be a good friend. What the hell has she ever done to deserve that? She's about to leave this damn town, and she's about to leave Musichetta without so much as a goodbye. She is not a very good person, so why does this woman want to be her friend?
"She did," Enjolras just confirms what is written all over her face.
It is Combeferre who reaches for her first, laying a hand on her shoulder in silent support. But Musichetta makes the bigger gesture, pulling her close into a warm hug that finally makes her feel safe and comforted and loved again. There is no more holding back her tears now – no one has held her like this for so very long. It's been so long that she does not quite know how to respond. Right now she just stands there, awkwardly letting herself be hugged – hugging Musichetta back would be admitting that this connection is nice. She is not sure that she can do that.
"My mom is dead," she whispers, her voice hoarse and creaky. "My sister called and she told me mom died. And they weren't gonna have a funeral."
Her mother died alone, in prison, forgotten by her entire fucking family. Sure, the mother who bore her was not a good person – hence the being in jail – but she still deserved more from her husband and children. Hell, her parents never even officially divorced, making the asshole she calls her father a widower, something that he is going to milk for years to come. The widower with his four children would surely entice a mark or two to just hand them some money or valuable goods.
"So Enjolras set this up for you," Combeferre's voice is soothing.
"You're a pretty good liar," Musichetta tells Enjolras. "If I hadn't seen Éponine at the barbeque, I would have believed you when you said that this would be about you losing a family member. But you're also a great friend."
The tears are still coming, but more slowly now, and so she feels that her dignity is slowly returning to her. She lets go of Musichetta – when did she start holding her in return? – and takes a deep breath, hoping that Jehan and R did not see her outburst of patheticness. She's already ruined her tough image for three people, and that is more than enough vulnerability for one day. Or a whole year, really.
"Someone change the subject please?" she begs, trying to fix her face.
"I have muscle pain in places I didn't even know I had muscles," Combeferre confesses, looking completely serious as everyone bursts into laughter.
"Spare me the details," she winks at him.
"I'm sure Valerie would massage some key areas if you ask nicely," Musichetta looks almost devilish as she teases Combeferre.
With that, both 'Ferre and Enjolras turn bright red. She focuses on Enjolras, because the doofus is never going to adapt to modern society if he keeps blushing at every single innuendo that is made around him.
She has now made it her mission for the day to help him get over that – by making as many dirty jokes as she possibly can. Surely, if she enlists Jehan and R, they could fix this problem within a week. And if Musichetta gets involved, it will be mere days.
Would she stay a few more days for that?
"Need me to explain what key areas 'Chetta is talking about?" she asks Enjolras.
"Are you going to use pictures or are you going to point them out on a live model?" Musichetta asks in return. "I recommend you choose the latter. I'm sure Enjolras has a few aches of his own that could use some soothing."
While Musichetta is probably right about that, and she is almost tempted to really put the offer out there – just to see what he will do – there is no way that Enjolras is even capable of providing a coherent answer. His face is still bright red, and his eyes are closed in an attempt to drown out the grinning faces of his friends. Or is he actually imagining it? Is he thinking of the pains he has and what a pair of steady hands could do to fix that? When he thinks about that, does he think about her hands?
Oh hell, she is a terrible person for putting those thoughts into her head.
"Let him breathe," Combeferre appears to be trying not to laugh.
"You're just happy you're not the focus of this conversation anymore," 'Chetta quips.
Once again, Musichetta is probably right. Really, that should be the theme of this entire day: Musichetta is always right. About everything. Except this whole ridiculous idea about Eponine and Enjolras being perfect together.
That is just bullshit.
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By the time Musichetta and Combeferre finally leave, the sun has gone down, Enjolras has blushed furiously about a million times, and there are about half a dozen bottles of wine strewn about in the backyard. Hey, they're French! It's practically required!
"The day is over," Enjolras remarks.
"So it is," she responds. "It's almost Monday."
That means it is decision time, and she feels nowhere near ready to tell him that she is leaving him behind. How can she do that when she is the reason for his presence? How can she leave him when she helped him live?
"Will you stay?" he asks, not willing to beat around the bush.
"You know I can't," she has to try and make him see. "I have to go."
The guilt is worse than she thought it would be. She is fine with leaving the others behind, is fine with never knowing how Jehan and R would end up, is okay with Combeferre being Enjolras' minder from now on. She has to be. The one thing that is hardest to deal with is that she will be leaving Enjolras behind. He features prominently in every important memory she has of this town, and if she could only pick one thing about Musain that she could take with her, he would be it.
"Why, though?" Enjolras asks.
"Enjolras," she sighs heavily. "I just can't."
There is nothing to gain for her if she stays here – if she risks staying here any longer, she is going to let herself care. That is the worst thing she can do – it is dangerous to care about people, because it only leads to pain and betrayal. It is best to only depend on oneself – you can never betray yourself.
"You still have not given me a reason," Enjolras refuses to let this – and her – go.
"Because I am simply not that kind of person," she is mentally pre-packing her bags already. "I don't like small towns, the invasive idea of everyone knowing way too much about everyone. And I don't stick around, not anywhere. I barely managed to stay in the same place for college, and I won't do it again."
Even in college she did not make friends. She went to class and studied hard, and she occasionally drank too much and went home with random guys, or had quickies in alleys to relieve the ache for a connection, however superficial. There was always more work to be done – her waitressing job didn't pay her nearly enough – and papers to write and museums to visit with a student discount. She left no time for attachments.
"Are you that afraid of caring about these people?" he questions.
"I am not afraid of anything," she argues vehemently, hating him for getting it right on the first guess. "I am just not the type that settles down anywhere."
How did he get to know her so well? How does he know? This is not something she advertises, not something anyone ever sees in her. Her masks do not ever have holes in them – she has crafted them in detail over a period of many years. Whenever someone was even close to catching on to her, she moved on.
What Enjolras thinks is helping, is only making her more determined to leave.
"Éponine," he speaks her name so passionately now.
"Enjolras," she refuses to play along.
No amount of pleading or begging could make her change her mind about this. She never wants to be that weakling again, and the people in this damn town would make her one – and fast. Betrayal always happens between people who trust each other, so if she just never trusts anyone, she might not have it happen to her. She must never trust anyone the way her mother trusted the wrong person. She must never trust anyone like Mom trusted her father.
"Gabriel, actually," he looks at her from the corner of his eye. "My name is Gabriel."
Only she trusts him already, in some way. And apparently he trusts her in return because he actually just told her his name – something he would not dream of telling her just two weeks ago. Again, he is just making things worse.
"Damn it," her hands clench into fists. "Why would you tell me that?"
"You earned it," he speaks to her so clearly. "You have my trust. You have supported me and aided me, and I apologize for not telling you sooner."
This is definitely not helping her in any way. Apologies and kindness, they are no balm for her wounded soul, because no matter how serious he is about this, it is too late. She is already gone, whether he realizes it or not.
"Why would you do that?" she is incensed at his gall.
"I just told you," he plays confused. "I should have told you sooner."
Oh, he is not that clueless – he cannot actually be that clueless. She has seen him in more than his share of naïve moments, but this is just too much. He sees right through her one second and then he goes and makes it worse? That is just another thing to add to the list of reasons why no matter how many secrets he tells her, she will never understand him.
"That is not what I meant," she wants to push him away, fists pounding on his chest in fierce anger. "I am trying to leave here and you keep telling me all this stupid shit. It's not going to make me want to stay."
Damn him for trying to lure her in closer with the revelation of more secrets.
"Is that the plan now?" she grinds out, fists clenched. "Would you actually tell me every damn thing I wanted to know if only I threatened to leave? Are you going to keep luring me in with secrets until I beg to stay?"
Could she really take advantage of him like that to find out more about him and his curse? Did it even matter when she was just going to leave him and this town behind? It is getting harder to hold on to that thought.
"I thought you wished for me to be more open with you," Enjolras – she is not going to start calling him Gabriel – seems put out. "You despise it when I keep things a secret from you. You called me out on this before. I did not wish to upset you any further. That was my intention in telling you my name."
Oh, he cannot actually be serious about this! This is just taking advantage of everyone's idea that he must be terribly naïve just because he is from a different time. He can be naïve at times, sure, but he learns quickly and he can be almost calculated in his responses at times – especially when he has secrets to keep. And it seems like he has a pretty extensive supply of those. And if she has to wait around for him to reveal all of them, and at the speed he's going, she might have to stick around forever.
"You are not that guileless and innocent, buddy," her fingernails dig into the skin of her palms. "You have too many secrets to keep to be so innocent, and since you're willing to actually trade for them…. What, do I have to stick around forever to find out? Are you going to make me sign a contract saying I would never leave? Huh, buddy?"
That dotted line would come with too much pain attached. No, she could never do that.
"Buddy?" Enjolras appears to have some kind of problem with her sarcasm. "We are friends, Éponine."
The worst thing is that she cannot argue against that. She can call him her friend and mean it, because in less than three weeks he has already wormed his way into her shriveled-up heart. But still, that does not mean that she cannot leave him behind.
"A real friend would let me leave," she pours on the guilt.
"Not alone," Enjolras just has to argue with her.
A true gentleman would not be able to handle that feeling of guilt, right? If she can just make him feel like forcing her to stay would be the asshole move, he might actually let her leave this place. Guilting him into it might not be the nicest thing she can do right now, but she is sure that it will be the most effective.
That is, if he stops talking nonsense.
"What does that even mean?" her frustration just will not end.
"It means that if you do decide to leave Musain," Gab- *Enjolras* – she is not going to start calling him Gabriel – steps in closer to her, staring into her eyes, "I will be leaving with you."
What? No! That's just…. No! Absolutely not!
"Damn it Gabriel!" she forgets all about her unspoken vow in a fit of pique.
"You called me Gabriel," he grins a lopsided grin.
Why is the idiot so damn proud of himself now? He is pushing her away with all this stupid behavior, and he is just standing there grinning. She gets that almost calling him by his first name was a damn rookie mistake, but it did not mean that much. It could not have meant that much. She is still leaving him and this entire town behind.
"That is not what you should be focusing on," she is so ready to walk right now.
And it would be so very easy to do that. Walking away from him and this damn town – just sling her bags onto her back and take it one step at a time. And she won't have to hear any of this bullshit.
"What are you proposing I focus on?" he asks.
She cannot quite figure out if he is sincerely asking this to calm her down, or if he is mocking her again. Since it is Enjolras, the marble man, she should probably assume that he is genuinely trying to calm her down – but something stops her. Because he is not just the innocent creature that the others seem to think he is.
It seems that he is changing right before her eyes, showing a new side to him that had been hidden previously. And now she is just angry with him – he may think that this is helping, but all he is doing is completely pissing her off. Enjolras has attached himself to her, refusing to let go, and she is fucking terrified that he is getting too close to figuring out what a mess she really is. God, why can't he just leave her alone?
"You can focus on what you'll say to the others," she snipes at him. "After I leave, they're going to ask you why, or if you talked to me before I left."
That might distract him enough for her to walk out – her bags are easily packed and even though she dislikes walking through the French countryside in the middle of the night, she would do it to make sure that no one else knows that she is leaving.
"And I will tell them you left because you were scared," he says that so calmly.
"What?" she feels so damn exposed.
Maybe she is scared, maybe she really is terrified of forming connections with anyone in her life – and maybe she is too messed up to be anyone's friend, or anyone's anything. It is just easier to give up on everything – and she hates him for not letting her.
"I am not scared," she raises her head. "I just know when to cut my losses and move on from this damn town. You build your life here, I'm out."
There is nothing keeping her here – nothing at all. If she can just believe that, she will be out of this place in no time. Paris is calling.
"Éponine," Enjolras actually reaches for her.
She should push him away – force him to let go of her arm and stick to her plan. But it has only been a few days since her mother died, and she is weaker than she thought she was. There is a need for comfort running through her that almost makes her sick. She is better than this, stronger than this. She does not need anyone. Not ever.
"Why won't you just let me go?" her voice breaks on the last word.
"Because you deserve better," Gabriel hesitantly wraps her in his strong arms. "You deserve friends and love and happiness. You deserve to have someone by your side, someone you can talk to when you need a friend. You deserve a proper family, a family of friends who believe in you. You were right about your father, Éponine."
No. No. No. No. No, no, no, no, no, no. That was long ago and it was forgotten and nobody believed her – Gabriel should not know about this. Nobody should know, because the lone wolf had forgotten about it. Or repressed it. Or something. Anything.
"How do you know that?" she tries to wipe at her eyes surreptitiously.
"I heard your phone calls with your sister," Gabriel doesn't comment on the wet spot forming on his shirt. "You told me things you have never told anyone. I added up what I learned. This is why your relationship with your sister is so strained."
Goddamnit, why is he so perceptive? Does he have magic powers? Did his curse involve a wand and a bespectacled wizard with a lightning scar? She hates that he sees through her like this, and it makes her tense. The lump in her throat makes it almost impossible to speak. She takes a deep breath and hopes her throat opens back up.
"It's part of it," she reveals, and then chokes on her words again.
"I did not say this to force you to talk about this," there is a warm hand on the small of her back. "I said it to show you what you are giving up by walking away. The people here care about you, Éponine. They wish to get to know you. I hope you let them."
She does not hear "them" – all she hears is: "I hope you let me in". And she is sorely tempted, and just so damn tired that she might as well give in.
"Just a few more days," she sighs. "I can do a few more days."
The hand on her back starts to move back and forth in a soothing motion, and she is torn between flinching away from him and settling into his embrace even more. Her stiff limbs remain in the in-between position. For now.
AN: Soooooooooo, thoughts? Comments? Ideas about why you'll hate me after the next chapter?