The Night That Ends At Last *Les Miserables Romance (Enjolras)*

Chapter 4: One Day More

Chapter 4: One Day More



One more day before the storm, 


At the barricades of freedom! 


Where our ranks begin to form,

Will you take your place with me? 


~~**~~

Enjolras sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. The sun streamed in through the window of their cramped bedroom, illuminating the dust in the musty air. The typical chaotic sound of the street below had woken him. The revolutionary stretched his arms, throwing the thin white sheet and scratchy burgundy blanket off his body. Tomorrow was General Lamarque’s funeral. Tomorrow the barricades would rise. Today was one day closer to the freedom of France; only a day. Enjolras was excited, a new-found energy buzzing through him. Happily, he pushed himself out of the straw stuffed bed and stepped as quietly as possible onto the creaking floorboards. He padded over to the wardrobe and quickly got dressed. Adjusting his waistcoat and cravat, he glanced about the quiet room, smirking to himself. The wardrobe was in the main room, as well as the kitchen and his little desk. Before Joleigh had moved in, the place had been cluttered high with all sorts of papers and inanimate objects. Enjolras didn’t have time to pick up after himself. Now it was clean, as clean as it could possibly be, with all of his work stacked on his desk and the dust swept to the corners of the room. Even their clothes were neatly folded and sorted within the single slanted wardrobe they owned. Joleigh was remarkable. Enjolras walked back into the bedroom and peeked at her from the doorway. Still asleep, her pale figure rose and fell with each long and drawn breath. Her face was buried into a feather-stuffed pillow and her golden curls ran over her shoulders and along her back like shimmering ribbons. She was dreaming. He could tell because she was smiling ever so faintly and her eyelids were fluttering. Slowly he stepped into the room and bent down, brushing back her soft hair aside to plant a kiss on her forehead. Enjolras smirked when she murmured something unconsciously. He wanted to crawl back between the sheets and wrap her in his arms, he wanted to hold her and feel her. But, there was no time for that. There was a higher cause. Enjolras sighed heavily and pulled the edge of the burgundy blanket up so it covered his fiancée’s shoulders. When the people win the rebellion, and the poor get their rights, and all is well; that will be the time to hold her. Going back to his desk, he quickly scribbled a note for her about his whereabouts. Enjolras strode out of the room with confidence and putting on his red jacket, left for the café. 

Joleigh's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the front door shutting. Rolling her shoulders, the blanket slid down and she laughed softly, her voice heavy with sleep. At night, it would always end up being kicked to the bottom of the bed, clinging to their legs like seaweed; therefore she knew Enjolras had recently covered her with it. Pushing her hair out of her face, she rolled over to stare at the ceiling. It was peeling, with dark stains from leaking pipes dotting it like ink on wet paper. Lying there, she sighed, content for some reason. It must have been her dream. Joleigh smiled to herself. The dreams of the past were the best.  A horse whinnied loudly somewhere outside, the clattering of a cart bouncing off the walls as the lively sounds of Rue Plument drifted trough the open window. Joleigh stretched up and closed it, wiping the sleep out of her eyes with the back of her hand. The girl stood and fixed the bed sheets as nicely as she could, shaking out the linen and patting down the lumps in the mattress. Joleigh glided to the main room, her bare feet cold on the creaking floor. Swinging open the wardrobe doors, she noticed Enjolras's day clothes were missing, and his nightshirt was thrown in a heap at the bottom. Joleigh clicked her tongue in amusement and picked up the shirt, gently folding it and placing it on his others. After selecting a long bland green gown she tied her hair in a loose plait – remembering her dream - and admired it in the smoky cracked mirror in the corner. Through the refection she could see that there was a note written on Enjolras’s desk, discretely placed far from his other papers. Joleigh turned and went to the desk, slipping on her worn down leather soles. On it, read;