64(I have decided to make this a story consisting of drabbles and with focus on a different character with each chapter. Hope you like!)
Grantaire lay motionless on the couch, staring blankly ahead. His eyes were puffy and redrimmed and his head ached terribly. After a dozen unanswered phonecalls and messages, his phone now lay forgotten on the floor. Enjolras refused to pick up and Grantaire was too shaken up, not to mention too drunk, to get up and follow him. He figured his boyfriend - ex boyfriend? - had gone to Combeferre by now, but Grantaire didn't have the courage to contact him. He wanted to be alone, to drown in his own guilt and self-loathing. God how he hated himself. He wished he would die. But that was too easy. He didn't deserve anything easy after what he had done. What had he done? How could he have done it? What terrible demon had possessed him? A raw scream tore its way out of Grantaire's throat and he fisted his hair until it hurt and then some more. Stupid, stupid, good for nothing, stupid, stupid.
He suddenly laughed. A laugh filled with self-loathing and disgust. It was stupid to think that he and Enjolras could work. Of course he would screw up. Of course he would hurt him. When had he ever done anything good? He didn't deserve someone as Enjolras. His boyfriend - ex boyfriend? - was too good for this world. His heart too gentle and too big for someone as pessimistic as Grantaire. It was nothing less than a miracle when the younger blond had shyly told him: "I think I might like you..." Grantaire should've never gone with it. He should have kept Enjolras at distance. He should've forced the blond to keep his brave heart away from his own dark one. He should've crushed his own aching love for Enjolras to the ground. Then none of this would've happened.
Grantaire rolled off the couch and stumbled towards his kitchen to grab a bottle of vodka. He was already drunk, had been the entire night, but he needed more. He needed not to feel. He needed to drown out Enjolras' shocked face when he entered the apartment. He needed to forget the choked sob that escaped from his boyfriend's - ex-boyfriend's? - throat. He needed to wash away the painful words that had been said during their fight earlier that evening. He needed to exterminate that look of pure hurt and betrayal from his mind. He needed not to feel. He needed to pass out and hopefully never wake up. He didn't deserve to wake up.
Grantaire didn't know how much he drank. He didn't know how long he was lying there. He didn't know when he had started vomiting and he didn't know who the hands that were suddenly all over him belonged to. He didn't know whose voice he heard and he didn't know what that voice was saying. Soon he didn't know anything.
TBC.
(Next will probably be Combeferre's point of view)