"She shows no sign of physical illness." Dr. Benoit said as he shut the bedroom door behind him and joined the young master of the house in the hallway.
Monsieur Enjolras's shoulders slumped with visible relief. The Doctor studied the unkempt young man, noting his bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and sallow skin.
"When was the last time you got any rest, Monsieur?" The Doctor asked gently.
"I cannot rest until I know there's nothing wrong with her."
"I assure you, she is in perfect health."
"Then why does she not wake? It's been three days."
The Doctor hesitated. "Perhaps she does not want to wake." He said at last.
The young man blinked at him.
Dr. Benoit sighed and continued. "In my years of work, I've seen several cases such as this."
"Such as what?" The man asked, his tone taking on an impatient edge. "What sort of state is she in, doctor?"
Again, Dr. Benoit hesitated. He'd treated many bedridden patients in his lifetime. If it wasn't physical sickness, then it had been a matter of infidelity or loss of a child that had driven people into such a hopeless state. But this young woman had shown no signs of pregnancy or miscarrying...
"It is my belief that she may suffer of a broken heart or broken spirit." He clarified. He knew it would not be right to assume. The young man did seem fairly besotted with the girl, so perhaps infidelity could be ruled out. But it was the best explanation the doctor could offer.
The man's face dropped. He turned to the closed bedroom door, as if he was trying to see her through the wall.
"A broken heart, you say?" His voice was faint, a distant look in his eyes. Perhaps the lack of rest was finally catching up to him.
"I don't suppose you know what may be the cause?" The Doctor inquired carefully. "Perhaps grief over the loss of a loved one? That seems to be the most common case."
"I had hoped…" The rest of the sentence died on the young man's tongue. He turned his face away, but not before the Doctor caught him rapidly blinking away the tears that had pooled in his eyes.
He waited for the young man to say more, but only silence followed.
Dr. Benoit cleared his throat and tightened his grip on his briefcase.
"I shall come and check on her in two days' time. Let us pray she wakes by then."
"And if she does not?" Monsieur Enjolras asked, sounding defeated.
"Then the odds will be grim indeed."
A heavy silence followed.
The Doctor wished he had better news to give, but there was nothing more to say. He turned and began to walk away.
"Can one really die of a broken heart, doctor?" Monsieur Enjolras called out.
The Doctor glanced back and the look of fear on the young man's face gave him pause.
"That, I do not know." He said carefully. "But what I am certain of, is that love can cure any heartache."
The young man nodded, though the fear behind his eyes did not lessen.
The Doctor turned back around and walked away.
You sentimental fool, he chided himself.
Hanging by a thread, connecting me to you
A fine thread, not tough enough to bear
The weight of desire and despair
Untended, the fibers start to fray
Darkness. All was heavy darkness.
Someone's voice, deep and gentle, trying to reach her. But she was lost in the depths of the darkness, too far gone.
The voice persisted, urgent and pleading. But she could not understand the words.
A hand on her cheek.
Her eyes struggled to open. She squinted against the blinding light. Her head was throbbing. Everything was too warm.
Someone was leaning over her, holding a blessedly cool, wet cloth to her forehead. They were speaking, but still she could not understand.
Slowly, she registered the face before her.
Enjolras.
A bitter taste blossomed in her tongue. With feeble strength, she batted his hand away. His brows crossed with concern and…hurt?
She licked her dry lips.
Don't do me any favors. She didn't know if the words ever made it out of her mouth. The darkness was dragging her back down and she gave into it eagerly.
