A Promise

Chapter Forty-Two

I slowly made my way into the room, wading through piles of garbage. This was so unlike Enjolras. The Enjolras I knew was organized and clean. He would never let his study become so filthy. But then again, the Enjolras I knew would not possess what I had found in that study.

Piled on the floor was a huge heap of bottles. Liquor, wine, beer. Some of the bottles were shattered. Some still contained liquid. Others were empty. Still others had not even been opened. My mouth hung open as I stared at the scene in horror. Even Grantaire would look like a moderate drinker compared to this. Had Enjolras really become so depressed that he had turned to drinking? I'd heard of drowning sorrows in a bottle, but this was excessive. There were so many bottles in that room that Enjolras could have drowned the entire National Guard in liquor.

"What are you doing in here?"

I whipped my head around. Enjolras stood at the doorway, staring at me with red eyes. He looked angry. "I tell Ambrosine all the time that she is not allowed in this room," he said, his voice low. "There's a good reason for that."

"I didn't know," I said, my throat dry.

"Get out," he told me.

"No," I snapped stubbornly. "No, Enjolras, I won't leave until you explain all this to me."

"What is there to explain?" Enjolras asked. "I'm just a desperate man trying to numb the pain."

"This is a lot of alcohol," I said, indicating the huge heap of bottles.

"There's a lot of pain to numb," Enjolras said with a shrug.

"Why?" I asked. "Why are you hurting so much?"

Enjolras laughed dryly. "Can't you see, Eponine? I killed them all. On June 6, 1832, I led every one of my friends to their death. It's my fault Jehan will never be a renowned poet. It's my fault Joly will never know his child. It's my fault your brother never got to grow up. Up until now, I've believed your death was on my hands as well."

"Enjolras, it wasn't your fault," I told him. "They all knew what they signed up for. They made the choice to fight. You didn't force them."

"You told me you blamed me for Gavroche's death, don't you remember?" Enjolras asked me. "I never forgot the way you told me you hated me after he died."

"I was grieving!" I responded. "It was not your fault, but I needed someone to blame."

"But it was my fault, Eponine. Maybe they made their choice, but I was their leader. I was the one who convinced them we had a chance even though we did not. Because of me, they all died for a hopeless cause."

"Don't you dare say that," I told him. "Don't you dare say they died for nothing. That is an insult to their memories."

"It's the truth," Enjolras said.

"It is very far from the truth," I argued. "So maybe you didn't win. Maybe you didn't overthrow the government. That doesn't mean the fight was for nothing. That doesn't mean it wasn't worth the try. Open your eyes, Enjolras, and look around you. The rich don't ignore the poor anymore. I saw it with my own eyes. There's something different in France. The bourgeoisie actually have compassion for the poor. The June Rebellion wasn't the huge revolution you had hoped for, but it was a spark. It started a fire in people's hearts. It showed people that the poor have a voice, too. It showed people that we don't have to lie down and let the government walk all over us. You started that fire, Enjolras. Who knows? Maybe in a few years, the barricades will rise again, and this time they will be more successful. Les Amis de'l ABC were not stupid. None of them went into that battle believing that they were guaranteed to live through it, not even Gavroche. But, Enjolras, they were willing to die for this cause. If Les Amis were willing to die for something, then you can be sure that something was far from hopeless. Maybe they died, but their deaths sparked a flame in France that can never be put out."

"Pretty speech, Eponine, but nothing we say now is going to bring them back from the dead," Enjolras said.

I sighed in frustration. "Why don't you throw out these bottles?" I asked. "The smell of stale beer is awful."

"It's no use," he said. "I throw them away, but they just pile back up again."

"What about Ambrosine?" I asked him. "Don't you think your drinking hurts her?"

"Of course I do!" Enjolras yelled. "I think about how it affects her every day of my life. I did not want to take her in at first because I knew my drinking problem would hurt her, but she had nowhere else to go. Now, I just do my best to hide it from her. This is why I don't want to get back together with you, Eponine. I don't want my drinking to hurt you."

"You don't think I can handle this?" I asked. "I handled prison, I think I can handle an alcoholic. My father and Montparnasse used to drink all the time. Trust me, I'm used to it."

"I know, Eponine, and that's exactly why I don't want to subject you to that again. You deserve so much better than me. You deserve a man who is not a slave to this crap."

"But I want you," I said.

"No, Eponine, I won't allow it," Enjolras replied.

"Then stop drinking," I said.

"I can't do that."

"I'm not asking you to do this for me. If you don't want us to be together, fine. But you need to stop drinking for Ambrosine," I said. "She needs her Papa to be strong. If you don't stop this now, one day you're going to do something that hurts her."

Enjolras fell silent. "I want to, but... I can't."

"Then let me help you," I said. "I'm making this decision right now. I'm going to take all of these bottles and throw them out."

"No," Enjolras begged. "You don't understand, Eponine. Without alcohol, I get... nightmares. When I go to bed without drinking, my dreams are haunted by everyone who died in the June Rebellion. I see their faces. They come to punish me for what I did to them."

"Maybe not," I suggested. "Maybe they come to tell you that they are in a better place now, and that it's time for you to move on."

"Please, Eponine, I can't handle the dreams."

"Don't you think I had nightmares too when I was in prison?" I snapped. "But I didn't have the luxury of numbing my brain with alcohol."

"I'm sorry, Eponine," Enjolras said.

"I don't want your pity, Monsieur," I said. "I want you to go get me something to throw these bottles away in."

Enjolras sighed. "Fine," he said. He left for a moment and came back with a couple of large sacks. Together, we picked up broken class and empty bottles. Then, I picked up the bottles he had not drunk yet. "Come outside with me," I told him.

Enjolras followed me outside. The harvest moon shone down upon us. I handed him the bottles. "Pour them out on the ground," I instructed him.

"Eponine, please-"

"Do it!"

Enjolras opened the first bottle, his hands shaking. He poured out the beer until the bottle was empty. He did this with all of them until there was no more alcohol left. When it was done, he went inside without saying a word to me. I followed him back into the house.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, marching into his room without wishing me good night. I simply stood there for a while, staring after him. Finally, I went back into my room and curled up in bed. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't. Instead, I let myself sob into my pillow. I had been so excited to reunite with Enjolras, but everything seemed to be going wrong. Enjolras was sad and broken. My sister was dead. Worst of all, Enjolras did not seem to love me any more. If he did, then he was hiding it to try to protect me from his alcoholism. I didn't understand why we couldn't just be a normal couple. Why did my life have to be so complicated? I cried silently, the tears falling onto my pillow. Finally, I cried myself to sleep, which was a mistake, because then my consciousness was transported into the dark world of nightmares.

(Author's note: Yay, I finally have 10K reads! This makes me so so happy! I never expected any of my stories to have so many reads. You guys are the best. I love you all!)