Warning: contains minor mentions of abuse and suicidal thoughts
Saturday morning, and Enjolras woke up later than usual. His mouth tasted like an ash tray, not like he knew what that was like, and his hair was all over the place. But he was grateful. His friends had let him sleep in since he only had one shift at the Musain that day. He figured he might use his free afternoon to go see his mother. It really had been too long. He was alone in the kitchen pouring his second cup of coffee when he heard someone pounding on the door. He opened it to find Jehan standing there, completely out of breath.
"You're buying Montparnasse's motorcycle?" the ginger said in lieu of a greeting.
"What?" Enjolras stepped back to let his friend in.
Jehan rounded on him immediately and continued. "What the hell are you going to do with a motorcycle, Enj?"
"Did Montparnasse tell you this?" Enjolras asked, so much for discretion.
"His words were 'crotch rocket,' but yeah I figured out what he meant. But in all honesty, why the hell do you need a motorcycle?" Jehan said cocking his hip, crossing his arms. The kind man fixated a glare with deadly accuracy which made Enjolras squirm.
"I-"
"Is your bike not enough?" Jehan asked earnestly
Enjolras looked down at his toes. "It's not that."
"Then what is it? You don't even know how to drive a motorcycle, do you?"
"No...but I could learn," Enjolras grumbled softly.
Jehan relaxed his stance, "what's this really about, Enj?"
"Have you ever wanted to be more...I don't know...daring?" Enjolras asked. He felt foolish as soon as the words left his mouth.
Jehan's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure that I understand."
"Have you ever felt trapped here, in Montfermeil? Like the whole town is closing in on you and you just can't breath? Like the only way out is to defy expectation." Enjolras said in one go.
The crease between Jehan's brows deepened. "And you think a motorcycle will help you to 'defy expectation'?"
"It surprised you," Enjolras argued.
Jehan conceded. "Touche."
"But it doesn't have to be a motorcycle. It could be anything. A tattoo, taboo sex, facial piercings, drugs, whatever," Enjolras said flippantly.
"I-" Jehan's eyes widened. He wasn't prepared for the mental image Enjolras' words painted. He couldn't imagine Enj doing drugs or getting a septum piercing. Jehan shook of those thoughts, and weakly continued, "Please tell me you aren't thinking of getting a facial piercing."
"Look, Jehan. I'm trapped here. I'm working three dead end jobs just to stay on top of all of my bills. I am no closer to being a lawyer than before." Jehan looked like he wanted to interject. "No, let's face it. I'm failing all my courses right now. Montfermeil is circling in getting closer and closer, and there is no way out. Is it so wrong to want to live a little?" asked Enjolras desperately.
"Of course not. But are you living your life, or the life Felix wants you to be living?"
"What?"
"Are you living vicariously because you want to or is he living vicariously through you?" Jehan asked. "Because those are two very different things."
Enjolras' face turned into an arrogant mask, so different from how he usually spoke to his friends, "It's my life-"
"Enjolras, stop. I don't want you lying to me. You never have before and I would rather you don't start now." Jehan said gently.
Enjolras' face crumpled, softening at the edges. He leaned into his friend's open arms and began to sob. Jehan guided them both to the couch, all the while holding Enjolras in his arms.
"Hush, love. It's okay. I'm all for you getting a tattoo, or experimenting in bed...so long as that's what you want. Just please don't do anything you're uncomfortable with. Especially not for a man, no matter who he is. If he's pushing you, he's not worth it. Do you hear me?" Jehan whispered fiercely.
Enjolras let out another sob before pulling Jehan closer. Jehan began rubbing the blond's back, soothing him. He wanted to kill Felix for what he was doing to Enjolras. "You are so much stronger than your pain, Enjolras. I know you're hurting, but you can do this. You don't need Felix. You have a family here. Please don't ignore your life here, with us. He's not worth this heartache. I'm sure Combeferre and Courfeyrac would agree. Feuilly too. We love you Enj. Please."
Enjolras continued to cry as Jehan rocked him slowly. Although the redhead's words were well aimed, they would not be enough to dislodge Felix's hold on the young man. A drowning man is desperate and will cling to anything which promises to hold him above water, even if it is the fin of a shark.
At the Musain later that afternoon, Eponine and Bahorel were having a meeting of their own.
"We need to talk about this wedding." Eponine started after ordering her coffee.
Bahorel nodded. "Tell me what you can. R's been distant ever since he came back."
"Well for starters, have you met the bride?" Eponine growled.
"No, but I think I've seen her at the gym," Bahorel said thinking back. It had not been a nice interaction to say the least, and although he could hardly say that he had met her, he certainly remembered her.
"What did you think of her?"
"She's fucking gorgeous, but other than that I don't know. She was talking on her bluetooth and well...she didn't have nice things to say," Bahorel said with a frown.
"Who was she insulting this time?" Eponine asked tiredly.
"Grantaire."
Eponine swore. "I fucking hate that woman. She's all wrong for him, Baz. Completely wrong, and what's the worse, what's the absolute worst part is that she's got him believing he deserves her treatment."
Bahorel sat stony faced. "That's abuse, Eponine, be careful-"
"Fuck off, I've lived with abusive, manipulative people all my life. I know what it looks like. And I can tell you she's abusing him. He barely talks anymore; she won't let him. She's pushy, and judgmental...she hates everything about our town, and I think she hates the part of R that came from here. I don't know why she's marrying him if she can't stand him. I can't let this wedding happen."
"Ep, is it really our place-"
"Oh don't you dare, Bahorel. You agreed to hear me out, so fucking listen. Charla is a gold digging, manipulative, abuser. Grantaire will barely look me in the eye. The last time we really talked was about one of his paintings. He described it as Romanticism. And fuck, he was so excited you should have heard him...but then when Charla was bragging about his art she called it Abstract. And do you know how he looked? He looked cowed. He should be proud of his work, but instead she's got him ashamed. She's stifling his creativity and manipulating it, Bahorel. I know she is."
"People change. If you look at any artist their style changes throughout their lifetime," reasoned Bahorel. "We weren't there with him in New York. Maybe he does abstracts now."
Eponine's fire disappeared; the young woman slumped. Softly she replied. "I know. I wish we had been there for him."
"We'll talk to some of his friends. He told me he's got a couple college friends from New York coming for the wedding. We can ask them." Bahorel patted her arm.
"I hope they're good people. He needs someone in his corner right now."
Bahorel smiled. "He's got you. In my mind that makes him one of the luckiest people in the world."
Eponine blushed. "Shut up."
"Hey, we'll figure this out. Just be there for him, yeah? That's all we can do."
Eponine nodded. "I know, and I try but Charla has me running so many errands. I barely see him anymore...and when I do, she's always there too."
"She sounds like a bad case of chlamydia," joked Bahorel. "Impossible to get rid of."
Eponine sighed. "If you think Charla is bad, wait til you meet the other bridesmaids."
"They're worse than what you just described?" Bahorel said, raising his eyebrows in an attempt to return humor to their conversation.
Eponine let out a dry laugh. "Somehow they make Charla look tame. They're fucking WASPs if I've ever seen one. Entitled and privileged little bitches who keep the economy going through their daddys' trust funds."
"Daddy as in actual father, or daddy as in sugar daddy?" asked Bahorel.
Eponine snorted. "I don't know. Both?"
"They sound charming," Bahorel laughed. "But at least they serve a purpose."
"What?"
Bahorel raised a brow. "You said they keep the economy going. That sounds useful to me."
Eponine laughed. "Oh Lord. Useful as two wet matches. I haven't even told you the worst part. They want to fuck R."
"What?" Bahorel's laughter stopped abruptly. "Like all of them?"
"All but one...she tried to hit on me. Anyway they say they hate Charla and it's their way of getting back." Eponine shrugged. "I'm almost for it, if it'll call off this wedding."
"You can't be that desperate, Ep."
"Well I am. I'm tempted to come up with an excuse for when the minister asks if there are any objections. Think R would believe I've been in love with him this whole time?" Eponine asked.
"No."
"What about that I have been secretly engaged to him since birth?" joked Eponine.
"Definitely a no."
"Charla's his secret sister?"
"No."
"Charla's already married to me?"
"No," chuckled Bahorel.
Eponine started to laugh as well. "Well guess we're fucked then."
Behind them Enjolras moved away, sick to his stomach. He had heard everything they had said. All he could do was listen, a sick fascination rooting him to the spot. Was Grantaire really in for a loveless marriage? Enjolras wracked his brain trying to think of anyway that he could stop this wedding. Unfortunately as soon as an idea came to him, he could think of ten reasons why it wouldn't work. There was nothing he could do. He was still in love with Grantaire, and there was no way to save him.
"Enjolras? Enjolras, are you okay?" Marius asked as the blond entered the kitchen. "Cosette! Cosette come here. It's Enjolras."
Immediately the young woman was by his side. "Enj? Love? What's wrong? What is it, sweetheart?"
Enjolras let out a choke of a laugh. "The world is so fucking screwed up, you know that?"
Cosette and Marius shared an uneasy look. If their resident optimist was feeling this way, something must be going really wrong.
"What's happened, Enjolras? Use your words," Cosette coaxed.
"I'm in love...and that bitch Charla has fucked up everything," in his rage, Enjolras shoved pots off the counter creating a loud clatter as they tumbled to the floor. "I've got to see Felix."
"Did you just say Felix?" Cosette asked backing away slightly. She looked edgy, a foreign expression to the waitress' usual easy going persona, making both Marius and Enjolras nervous.
Marius looked at his two coworkers, both of who appeared to be on the verge of a panic attack, and decided to deal with them one at a time. "Cosette, get some air. Go, I'll take care of him. Charlie, clean this up...and tell the boss I'm taking Enjolras home."
Charlie nodded as Marius guided the other man out the back. In the alley, Cosette was breathing shakily, leaning against the wall.
"It's not him. It can't be him. Papa would know if he were...It's not him," she said to herself. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out her cell phone to call her father.
Marius was anxious to know what had gotten her so frightened, but felt duty bound to help Enjolras first.
"I can't go home. Courfeyrac has enough to worry abou-"
"I'm taking you to your mother." Marius said, helping Enjolras into his car.
"You're what!?"
"She's the only one who can talk sense into you. And I know for a fact you haven't seen her recently. We're going to the hospital."
"Forget Courfeyrac! Take me home. You can't take me to her. She can't know about-"
"Enjolras, shut up." Marius said. He snapped his mouth closed not quite believing that he had told Enjolras to shut up. He continued a little more calmly, "she's your mother. She's got a right to know what's going on in your life."
"Take me to Felix, he'll understand. He can make this pain go away." Whined Enjolras clawing at his seat belt.
"The thing about pain, Enjolras, is it demands to be felt."
"Is that a fucking John Green quote?" Enjolras said squinting at Marius.
The other man blushed. "Um...yes. But that's beside the point. You can't keep bottling up your pain and hurt because then you'll turn into a bitter old man."
"Maybe I want to be a bitter old man," argued Enjolras.
"No you don't. You want to be a lawyer."
"Forget being a lawyer. It's not going to happen, Marius. Not for me." Enjolras screamed, angry tears burning in his eyes.
"Fine, then find a new dream...but so help me God, Enjolras, you are not going to be a bitter, mean old man." Marius shouted back.
"And why is that?"
"Because you are one of my best friends. I want you to be an honorary uncle to my children. And if you're bitter because your dreams never came true, and you believe the whole world is a miserable place, well what will you be like around my kids? I won't have people like that in their lives. Besides you're an optimist, Enjolras, and you will change the world. And maybe it's by being a lawyer, but maybe you'll be a teacher, or a doctor, or a midwife."
"I'm not becoming a midwife, Pontmercy," Enjolras said regaining his cool sarcastic tone.
Marius blushed. "Um right. Maybe not..."
"Why would you even suggest that one?"
"I was talking to one of the nurses when I was visiting your mom...except she wasn't just a nurse she was a certified nurse midwife, and well she said that she feels like her job is very… um… satisfying," Marius ended lamely.
"Why was there a midwife in the cancer ward?" Asked Enjolras with some trepidation.
"She was visiting her girlfriend I think," replied Marius.
"That sucks, that her girlfriend has cancer," sighed Enjolras.
Marius' eyes went wide. "Oh no. I didn't...um no. Her girlfriend is a nurse who works in the cancer ward? I didn't mean to imply that she actually has cancer. Not that that is a bad thing just-"
"Calm down, Marius. And yes we can agree that having cancer is a bad thing," Enjolras chuckled. They had arrived at the hospital's visitor entrance. As Enjolras was getting out he asked Marius, "check in with Cosette, will you? And can you apologize to her for me?"
"For what?"
"She was freaking out, and I wasn't being very helpful," Enjolras said ashamed.
Marius shrugged. "I am sure she'll forgive you."
"Just apologize anyway, will you?"
"You can, when you see her next," Marius offered with a smile. "And tell your mom I say hi!"
Enjolras thanked Marius for everything before entering the hospital. What little good mood he had generated in the car with Marius disappeared the closer he got to the cancer wing. He felt shame wash over him. It really had been too long since he had last visited her.
He found his mother in her bed reading a book.
"Enjolras?" She put the book down, and immediately gestured for him to come closer. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Relief coursed through Enjolras' system. He ran to her, falling into her arms. "I've missed you, Maman."
"I've missed you too, love." Gently she ran her fingers through his curls. "What has brought this on? Not that I'm ungrateful."
Enjolras pulled back slightly. "I was ungrateful. I shouldn't have stopped visiting you...it's just I met somebody."
Jeanne's smile brightened up the whole room, her eyes were alight with joy. "That's wonderful! Tell me all about him."
Enjolras shrugged. "I...can we not? Just for right now...can we pretend that nothing has changed?"
His mother became somber. "Of course, Enjolras."
She continued to stroke his hair, humming under her breath.
"Thank you," he murmured softly.
"How was your day?"
"Horrible."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I think Grantaire is being abused."
His words hung in the air. Jeanne was silent, waiting for him to continue. She showed no sign of disbelief or shock, except for momentarily tightening her grip on his hair.
"I don't know what I should do..." Enjolras said softly into her shoulder.
She continued to listen.
"Who would possibly listen to me? What do I know about any of this… Maman?"
"Yes?" she asked softly.
"I'm scared."
Instantly she was brought back to his youth, when he had nightmares and insisted on climbing into her lap to cry. She swallowed, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She choked out, "and why is that?"
"I'm scared for Grantaire. And for you. And because I don't see anything in my future. Nothing at all. I'm starting to think that I might be better off dead."
She whispered, "Stop."
Blindly Enjolras continued,"I don't like where my life is going. I don't want to live without you. I can't live in a world where Grantaire is with Charla, where Charla is abusing him. I don't want to go on, Maman. And that scares me the most."
"Stop." she said more forcefully. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, Enjolras looked up. He was crying too. "I know you're scared, but you can't give up. This life is too beautiful to want to throw away. It's a miracle, Enjolras, and I won't let you take it for granted."
Enjolras heaved, her grip around him tightened. She was real; she wasn't gone yet.
"Look outside. Tell me what you see."
"A parking lot-" he began dully.
"Look again," Jeanne said glancing out the window.
"I see a parking lot filled with cars, trash littering the pavement, a gray sky," Enjolras sulked.
His mother's hold became tighter. "You want to know what I see? I see people, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. I see birds flying, and jumping about in that odd way they do. I see plants fighting for their right to live, and winning against cement. They're blooming, against all the adversity stacked against them, they're there...alive. Look, there are clouds, and up there there is rain. Imagine feeling spring rain on your skin, Enjolras. There are so many beautiful little miracles out there, and if you ended your life you would miss them. You wouldn't get to feel the rain soak you to the bone again. Or the relief of warm, dry clothes after a standing out in a storm. You wouldn't hear the birds begin to chirp when the sunrises. You would never get to know the feeling of your husband's two day stubble as he kisses you, and you would never hear your child's first words. And most of all you will miss out on the man I know you are going to be. The world will never get to see you, and that might be the most terrible crime of them all."
Enjolras stared at his mother. "But what about you? I don't want any of those things without you."
"Oh, Enjolras. I've seen all those things. I have made my peace with dying."
"The treatment could still work," Enjolras argued.
"You and I both know that it is only delaying the inevitable," Jeanne said gently. She folded one hand into his. "I just want to see you happy again. That's all I want."
"The man I met is married." Enjolras said feeling the need to be honest with his mother.
There was no disappointment or hurt in Jeanne's eyes. Instead she asked, "is it love?"
"I...I don't know…?" Enjolras said blinking owlishly. He was frowning looking anywhere but his mother's face.
"You'll figure it out," Jeanne said patiently.
"I think I might do something stupid," confessed Enjolras.
"And what is that?" Jeanne asked seriously.
"I think I'm going to get a tattoo."
Jeanne let out a little laugh. "You scared me for a moment there. And getting a tattoo is nothing stupid."
Enjolras cuddled up with her, burrowing his head into her shoulder. "Thank you. For everything."
Jeanne kissed the crown of his head. "You are very welcome."
"Can I make another confession?"
"Of course."
"That email," the words caught in Enjolras throat. "The one I wrote to Grantaire before senior year...I didn't want to break up with him...quite the opposite actually...but he was being stubborn and wanted to come to DC with me for college to go to some second rate community college...well his mother said there was a really good school in New York...so I broke up with him so he could follow his dreams, but I couldn't do it in person...so I wrote that damned email. I wanted him to study art at a proper school. So I broke his heart so that he wouldn't follow me."
Jeanne was silent, the words sunk in. She pulled her son tighter. "Sweetheart, how long has this been weighing on you?"
Enjolras continued to cry. "Since I decided to write the stupid thing."
"Who else knows?" Jeanne asked.
"Grantaire's parents, Bianca, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, and now Eponine," Enjolras said.
"I see." Jeanne paused, "is there a reason you couldn't tell me until now?"
"I know how much you liked R. I was worried you would tell him the truth, or try and talk me out of it." Enjolras explained.
Jeanne nodded. "I understand. Thank you for telling me."
"And maman?"
"Yes dear?"
"I'm still in love with him," the words were slurred by exhaustion. It was clear that Enjolras didn't realize what he was confessing to, but Jeanne believed every word he said. Enjolras drowsily cuddled closer. It appeared that he was dozing off. As Jeanne held her son she couldn't help but think of all the sacrifices Enjolras was making for her...and for R. She couldn't begin to imagine how much pain he must be in.
"What are you reading?" Enjolras asked softly. It was clear he was trying to remain conscious.
"The Count of Monte Cristo," Jeanne said with a smile.
"Will you read it to me?" Enjolras asked.
In his childhood he had spent many evenings curled up with his mother just like this with her reading anything they could get their hands on. The library in Montfermeil didn't have a lot to offer, so Jeanne often found herself rereading classics to her toddler son. But somehow they made it work. It was his fondest memories as a boy, because he was fascinated by her voice. She could create characters at the drop of a hat, but no matter who was speaking Enjolras knew he was safe. As he grew older he resented the naive boy who still had his mother read to him. He demanded they stop, and she had acquiesced to his wishes. He regretted that demand immensely.
And so Jeanne read to him, her voice soothing as the rain on the windowpane. Enjolras soon drifted off to sleep. She set the book down and watched her son intently. There were bags under his eyes; his lips were chapped and bruised, and Jeanne was pretty sure he was thinner than he had been recently. She ran her hand over his forehead as if to erase the furrows which lay there.
"Oh." It was a small sound from the door. "I should go."
Jeanne turned to find Grantaire dripping at her door. The rain had soaked him through, the only dry thing about him was the sketchbook under his arm. She looked at him and then softly but forcefully said, "stay."
"I don't want to intrude. You need time with your son. Besides, it looks like he could use the rest," Grantaire let out a humorless laugh.
"And what about you?" Jeanne's ease disappeared. "How's the wedding planning?"
Grantaire suddenly looked older than his 24 years. "It's fine."
"Is that all?" She pursed her lips.
"What have you heard?"
"Only rumors, which I won't put any stock in...unless they're true?" Jeanne asked. "What's Charla really like?"
"She's sweet, until she's not." Grantaire paused. "Sometimes she's moody and has a temper. Other times she's indifferent and distant. She's super independent...most of the time, and then sometimes she will be clingy. She supports me though, so long as I listen to her advice and follow it. I think she just wants to be heard. She corrects me when I need it, and has stopped me from embarrassing myself numerous times. She's there for me when I needed someone to stop me from hurting myself, and sometimes she will complain about it, but she's always there."
The longer Grantaire talked the more serious Jeanne's expression became. "Have you considered why she acts this way?"
Grantaire shrugged. "I've been with men most of my life, I figured this is just what women are like in a relationship."
"Is this how your mother is to your father? What about that New York girl? Musichetta? Does she treat her boyfriends like this?" Jeanne asked.
Grantaire frowned. Musichetta could be sassy, and she often teased Joly or Bossuet but it was never cruel. And his mother...she was always looking out for her family, but she never made anyone feel bad for making a mistake. And he knew for a fact that both women supported their men, even if they had decided to ignore their advice to seek out their own paths. "I..uh.. no."
"I see."
Suddenly Grantaire was filled with the overwhelming urge to defend his relationship. "She's just a bit mercurial."
"Of course."
"We have our good days," Grantaire defended.
"I'm sure."
"She truly is spectacular."
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
Grantaire looked down at Enjolras' sleeping form. "I don't have any other choice."
"You always have a choice," Jeanne said.
"I'm never going to meet someone who could love me and is as incredible as she is," Grantaire seemed to be talking to Enjolras' sleeping form.
"And what if you've already met them?" Jeanne said looking distinctly at Enjolras. Enjolras' own confession about the email was straining at her lips, but she knew better than to say anything.
Grantaire let out a choked laugh. "Are you even remembering correctly? He broke up with me. I don't even think he likes me at all. He always looked so pissed when I walk into the Musain while he's working. I thought I could reconnect, but I don't think he wants that."
"You're saying an awful lot about how you think he feels," Jeanne noted. "But what about you? How do you feel?"
Grantaire shrugged. "I've moved on."
"Is that so?" Jeanne questioned. "You're happy with Charla."
"I'm never going to do better-"
"So you're settling," Jeanne interrupted.
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you," muttered Grantaire. "Yes I'm settling, but I'm never going to be happier than this. Just stay out of it, I don't even know why I told you."
"Why did you come see me today?" Jeanne asked softly.
"I thought it would make me feel better."
"Better?"
"Charla's having one of her fits, and she took Eponine off somewhere. I can't go see my mother about this; she wouldn't understand. I thought maybe you would… but I can see that I was wrong." Grantaire turned to go. Again Jeanne was tempted to tell him the truth, and again she forced herself to stay silent.
"Remember, you always have a choice."
Grantaire nodded. He didn't need another cliché to add to his long list of mistakes. He had come to sketch Jeanne, but seeing Enjolras asleep in her arms made him pause. It had been so long since he had seen the other man so vulnerable. It had brought back memories of those long drives to nowhere with Enjolras in the passenger seat of his beat up car. They just drove into the night sharing dreams and secrets, the darkness brought comfort and a sort of anonymity. It was nice. Grantaire missed those drives. Once they had driven so long that they had reached Manhattan.
"I'm going to be an artist there one day," Grantaire had boasted. They had been sitting in the car together staring across the river at the city that never sleeps.
"Mhm," Enjolras had replied sleepily, their hands were intertwined in his lap.
"And you'll be there with me."
"Oh?" a small smile graced Enjolras' lips. "And what would I do in New York?"
"Whatever you want! You could be a lawyer here, it's not DC...but there are plenty of courthouses here that need ace lawyers like you." Grantaire blushed. "I mean if that's what you want..."
"I'm not 'ace'. I don't even know if I would be even a good lawyer," Enjolras confessed his fears to the dark.
"You'll be incredible. I know it...I just hope you can be incredible with me?" Grantaire peeked up at Enjolras from under his long lashes.
"Of course. New York sounds incredible. Being with you is incredible." Enjolras pulled him into a sleepy kiss. It was slow and warm and chaste. The perfect way to end a summer's night. Enjolras pulled away with a slight frown as if remembering an unpleasant thought. "What about your Cinderella license?"
Grantaire looked at the clock with a little laugh. "I think it's a bit late to be worried about that."
Enjolras laughed too. "Okay, but if we get pulled over-"
Grantaire brought his lips back to Enjolras'.
"Sir, are you alright?" A nurse asked him.
"Huh?"
"You were kind of staring into space. Is everything alright?" She was looking at him with mild concern. It was her uniform which brought him back to where he was. The hospital. Jeanne was dying, and Enjolras was with her.
He smiled wanly. "It's fine. I just was caught up in the past."
She nodded uneasily and left him to his thoughts. Grantaire began to walk away, trying to bring back the memories of that last summer he and Enjolras had had. He would do anything to remember...
"'Can't repeat the past?...Why of course you can.'"
Grantaire shivered. Shaking his head he resolved to forget. He continued to walk away, determined not to follow the tragic example of Gatsby. He had made his choice.
So this chapter isn't exactly happy...but I hope it was a nice change from the previous abuse. I loved writing Jeanne in this chapter! Also I headcanon that Marius has read all of John Green's books and absolutely loves them. You can fight me on this. Recently I've thrown in some Gatsby allusions which I think are appropriate for the story, I hope you agree. Thanks for your continued support, it means a lot to me. New chapter next weekend! Feel free to leave a comment below, they make my day! xoxo ~T.W.o.W.