The Break
Minutes ticked by and Grantaire arched his back. The glow of the laptop basked the messy flat in an eerie light.
3:27 am. Fuck, she had to report to the café in less then two hours.
Smirking, Grantaire knew that if anyone could pull off working the rush-hour-mad-coffee-commuter-shift after an all nighter it was Eponine.
Still. The circles under her eyes were far too prominent for someone her age. Although Eponine swore he was blind to the squalor they lived in, he noticed how thin she'd become.
Hell, in this weather he wouldn't be surprised if she blew away. His fingers itched for charcoal as an outline of Eponine tumbling through the Paris skyline popped in to his head. A month ago they would have laughed and revel in their newfound freedom.
Then shit began to catch up with them. The weather changed. Grantaire lost a job, and had his pay docked from another. Eponine attempted to juggle four jobs, but managed to lose two. One due to budget cuts. She'd lost her most recent job because she was late one too many times running from the café to her extinct gig cleaning motel rooms by the pier.
Grantaire shivered in the frigid air. This month they scrimped together enough dough to cover the water bill. Heat would have to wait until the next pay period.
Snot dripped from his nose on to the quilt he had buried under. He was so fucking cold. Would he lose his last bit of dignity if he just let the goo sit there?
Grantaire had just resolved to trek to the bathroom for some tissue when he heard a soft bump against the front door.
Wiping a hand above his lip, Grantaire sniffled and cleared his throat. A key scratched against the wood and was followed by a frustrated growl. Eventually, the knob turned and a pair of heels entered the flat.
Silver faux leather shoes, with a six-inch heel. His eyes traveled up her legs. Grantaire wasn't aware that the quilt pooled around his ankles. Or that he had begun walking towards the kitchen.
Her shaking hand flicked on the shoddy fluorescent overhead lamp.
"Jesus! Do ya want to give me a coronary?" Eponine frowned, trying to raise the middle finger on her left hand. "Shit." She mumbled, looking anywhere except his face.
"Eponine."
One word was all it took. The way he said her name served as a reminder of who she was and what she'd done. Like a burn, the realization seared her skin. Everything failed at once.
"What hurts?" Grantaire asked sharply.
The energy it took to turn her head towards him astounded her. Dimly she felt his hand on her back.
"Everything." She tried to laugh, but a stabbing sensation in her side quieted her.
"Fine, smart-ass." He chided. "Gimme your hand."
"Are we going to dance?" How queer it was watching Grantaire mother her. Lightening and thunder attacked her hand and a moan escaped her lips.
"Damn Ep. I think I have to call Joly."
"No. Please, just get me ice and Aspirin." She begged, wincing as she scooted a few inches away from him. "I'll be right as rain."
Grantaire's stomach clenched. As he watched her smile and hum the tune of a made-up song only audible to her ears, he dialed the pre-med student.
"It's open!" Grantaire yelled, betraying the panic in his voice. Despite the melting ice he wrapped in his t-shirt, Eponine kept passing out or falling asleep.
Whatever words Joly had planned died on his tongue as he took in the scene. His eyes widened and for a second Grantaire caught a glimpse of his friend in primary school, fainting from a nosebleed and needing stitches after he collapsed against the edge of a table.
"Joly!" He snapped, supporting Eponine's limp neck.
Steeling himself, the medical student dumped the contents of his pockets and knapsack on to the floor.
"How long has she been unconscious?"
He shrugged. "She keeps going in and out. Managed to get here on her own though."
"Did she tell you what happened?" Joly asked, gently probing her neck and chest.
As he pressed her side, Eponine startled and gasped. Pitching herself forward, she
Coughed and spat clotted blood down her dress.
"Sorry." Eponine croaked. "Joly…"
"Shhh, it's alright Ep." Carefully he wiped her mouth. "Can you tell me what hurts the most?"
Grantaire tucked hair behind her ear and kissed the top of her head. Closing her eyes, Eponine's brow furrowed in concentration.
"Ribs. Hand." Drawing a shallow breath, she continued the inventory. "General discomfort."
"Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor." Grantaire retorted, shooting Joly a look.
"You definitely have cracked ribs Ep, the blood you coughed up is clotted so that's good. I don't think you have any internal bleeding. But-"
"No hospital." Her voice low and serious. "No."
Joly moved away from her and dug through the upturned supplies.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." Shaking her head, Eponine's legs shook as Joly fingered the blooming bruises on her thighs.
Dried blood directed his attention to the inner portion of her quad.
"Eponine, there's blood here. Do you remember a cut?"
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Her chanting increased, terror granting her temporary flexibility as she fought to stand and escape.
"Whoa." Grantaire caught her under the arms and braced her with his body.
Joly's face was grim. "I-I don't want to hurt her…but I am worried about bleeding."
"I'll hold her." Grantaire declared.
Joly set a towel on the warm stained floor where Eponine had collapsed and nodded at his friend. Grantaire positioned himself behind her, propping her up in between his legs. Eponine curled her injured hand under her chest and leaned her head against Grantaire's chest.
"R." She mumbled.
"It's alright Ep." He whispered, holding her good hand. Rubbing small circles with his thumb over the back of her hand he nodded at Joly.
"Eponine, I'm going to make sure you're not ah hurt too. Well…" Joly stumbled over his words, face turning fire engine red as he helped Grantaire bend her knees and cover her exposed lower half with a sheet stripped from their shared mattress.
"Get on with it." Grantaire said angrily. "Please" More softly, he gripped Eponine's shoulder steeled himself for her cries.
Shit. He'd been sure his heart turned to stone, yet her screams and muscle spasms cracked the armor around the organ. It wasn't until her struggling stopped though, that Grantaire felt his heart shatter. As Joly bandaged the wound along the inside of her leg, Eponine ceased fighting. Her eyes stared ahead blankly. Her body appeared to be void of bones and lay splayed across Grantaire.
"Done." Joly breathed.
"Can I move her?"
"Yeah. She doesn't have a head wound from what I can tell. She'll be sore though. Do you still have any prescription pain meds around?"
"Try the cabinet under the sink. Imma lay her down."
When they'd found this flat, Eponine had grinned at the fact they each had a bedroom. It had turned out that even this cheap run down three 'room' apartment was too much space. Most nights, Eponine wound up snuggled beside him. She didn't even bother with an excuse anymore. Simply strutted in, rubbing her puffy eyes and kicked at his back playfully until he conceded a bit of the mattress.
"Shh. It's alright." Pushing her knotted hair off her neck, Grantaire smoothed the tape covering the injury above her collarbone. "I'm here Eponine. You're saf-"
His voice hitched and Grantaire tried to swallow the knot of emotion caught in his throat. He should have protected her. They needed money. Of course they did. The fuckin' heat had been turned off. Too many people in their neighborhood made decisions like this, and worse every day.
What could make her desperate enough to return to him? Tears burned behind his eyes and Grantaire fought for control. Fucking Montparnasse. She had to know what would happen. Seeking him out after two months off the grid. Fuck, They both had friends and co-workers that had been killed for far less infractions.
"Found some." Pills rattled in an old bottle and Grantaire watched Joly kneel beside the makeshift bed. "Give her one every 4 hours, with as much water as she can tolerate. Food too, but, I don't know how much she'll keep down."
"Thanks Joly." He felt his friend clamp his shoulder and press his lips to his forehead.
"I don't work until tomorrow night, I'll come back in a couple hours."
"What about classes?"
"It's fine." He shrugged.
Grantaire shook his head and couldn't hide his sobs.
"Com'ere. Shhh love." Grasping his neck, Joly pulled Grantaire in to his chest, rocking him gently.
Who cares for the broken? Not the leader. Enjolras focused on the structures of government and the process. Not the guide. Combeferre was dedicated to the causes the chief ordained, but his loyalty lay in keeping his friends safe. Not the center. Courfeyrac steadied the Amis and held everyone together. Gradually he ticked through everyone. They all had their roles to fill. Joly's compassion and selflessness drew him to his occupation.
These secrets were not his to tell. He could confide in any one of the Amis. The chief, guide and center would attempt to 'solve' Grantaire and Eponine's lives.
Joly smiled to himself as he helped Grantaire lay down on the lumpy mattress. His friends would kick the trios' arsis if they obviously intervened. Pride is a fickle possession. Joly learned how damaging it could be last Halloween after Grantaire had brought a barely breathing Eponine to his sophomore dorm at Uni. He'd also seen how pride cultivated self-worth. He'd never forget the flash of Eponine's grin after she'd been assured employment at 'Chetta's café and bakery. She'd been so young, full of fire and something like hope.
Grantaire sighed and held his hand above her body trying to find a place that wasn't hurt. Eventually he settled on her hairline. Stroking her forehead, Grantaire pressed a kiss to her temple and closed his eyes.
Always the protector, Joly thought. Stoic, strong and fiercely cynical Grantaire had endured more in his young life than all the privileged student Amis together. Joly felt honored that Grantaire trusted him, but this was sacred space. He watched as Eponine curled her head towards Grantaire's neck and relaxed as much as her injuries would allow.
As he let himself out, Joly scrolled through his contacts and selected a number.
"Darling? It's me. Sorry to wake you." He impatiently waited for his lover to wake.
"Baby, tell 'Chetta Eponine won't be in, but I'll work her shift."
"Love you too. I-I'll explain later." Ending the call, Joly made his way down the avenue eerie glow of yellowed defaced street lamps.
God, what would he tell Enjolras tomorrow when they asked about the bags under his eyes? Or where Eponine was? He imagined speaking the truth. Rape, prostitution, homemade stitches, a good old-fashioned beating out of drug-addled rage and an achy anger. He'd go with the usual. Too much sex with his lovers, 'Musichetta and Bossuet would appreciate the reputation their bedroom escapades had earned.