ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER TWENTY

The apartment was plain but clean, charming in all its ordinariness, but Claudine could hardly take it in. It felt different; emptier, lonelier. 

She glanced at the window, pushing down the urge to fling it open, lean out of it and shout for Enjolras to come back. It was almost shameful, how much she already missed his presence. It was obvious he didn't want her around, and the best thing to do was to let him go. 

To distract herself from her thoughts, she sat down on the floor and opened the valise he had given her.

It was packed to the brim with dresses. 

Stunned, she ran a hand across the fabric, and it felt just as it looked - cold and soft and expensive. It was probably what the bourgeois women wore out on the streets, and despite herself, Claudine couldn't get enough of it.

In a giddy fit of excitement, she grabbed one of the dresses and held it against her body - but then she froze.

The smooth, satiny material of the dress only served to bring out the poor state of her clothes. She realized that she hadn't changed out of her shirt and trousers since the day she left the Court, not even when she showered. They were discolored and torn and caked in filth that no amount of scrubbing could wash off. She hadn't bothered about them, hadn't noticed - with all that was going on in her life, how could she have?

But Enjolras probably had. He was impeccably clean, Claudine knew, and looking down at her dirty and unkempt self, she bitterly wondered if she had made his skin crawl.

Then she thought of him buying the dresses for her. Imagined him walking into a women's boutique, stiff and awkward and turning heads with his angelic face and halo of golden hair. Him shuffling down the aisles, meticulously picking out the dresses he thought she'd like best. Him asking the shop owner for the correct size. Him stuttering when she coyly asked who they were for. 

Her heart was really going to burst. 

What had motivated him to buy the dresses for her? Was it pity? Disgust? She wasn't quite sure which was worse. But one thing she knew - in his eyes, she would never be more than a poor  little gypsy girl. 

The dress dropped to the floor and pooled at her feet. She briefly considered stuffing it back into the valise and shoving it into one of the drawers, never to be seen again.

In the end, she decided against it. They were good dresses after all.

___

Claudine was in a dress. One would think that in something so pretty, all the attention would be drawn to the dress and not the girl wearing it, but somehow the opposite was true for Claudine. It accentuated the smallness of her waist and brought out the copper undertones in her pale skin. But even the heavy silk could not hide the ferocity and determination of her movements. She was so different from what Enjolras was used to, and so beautiful. 

I do not care. 

Joly blinked up at him from across the table. "Pardon?"

Merde. He'd said that out loud. 

"Nothing."

"Are you alright? I could give you a little check-up. You were looking a little bit flushed, and now you're talking to yourself." He sounded genuinely concerned. 

"No."

"You're not alright?" Joly gasped. "Dear me. Have you been experiencing -"

"Focus," Enjolras snapped, almost losing his cool.

"I think it's just stress, Joly," Bossuet said languidly. "He's carrying the whole of France on his shoulders."

"Really?" Jehan joined in the conversation. "I speculate that there may be another factor causing such great distress to our Chief."

"Pray tell."

Before they could say any more, Enjolras stood up, took his papers and left his seat.

Unfortunately, that meant brushing past Claudine. He caught the flash of her eyes, the slight furrow of her brows, and was once again seized with the irresistible urge to draw her close. She was so small, he was certain he could wrap an arm around her waist and still manage to touch his own hip. 

He breathed out the heat in his abdomen.

Distance yourself, he thought, but his hand shot out anyway.

___

Enjolras's fingers encircled her wrist. His touch was brusque but soft, as always, and that was still something she had yet to accustom herself to.

"I hope you like them," he said quietly.

Claudine averted his gaze. Anywhere but his eyes. 

She looked at his hand instead, the one that was holding hers. He was still wearing her bracelet - that ugly thing that somehow mattered the world. She blinked, and felt the painful, unfamiliar prickling of tears.

If only you knew, she wanted to say, but it was too late - he was already walking away.

___

[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ]

"Distance yourself."
— Enjolras, 1832

So much has happened since the last time I updated. It's such a difficult time now, but I know that one day it'll all be over. I'm still in relatively good health and good spirits, and to anyone out there who's going through much worse - hang in there. Stay safe!

Cheers,
Nat 🍃