Pain.

The broken shards of glass that prod at my insides, burning me through and through. I scream, but no one hears.

That is the way it has always been, and that is how it always shall be.

My eyes cry dry tears.

That is the way it has always been, and that is how it always shall be.

My hands, pale and scarred, fondle the curves of the dark green bottle, my only companion. The scene is all too familiar. Me, sitting in the dark corner, drowning my sorrows in an ocean of absinthe.

That is the way it always has been, and that is how it always shall be.

And why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I let myself forget the horrible things done to me in the entire of my miserable existence?

Figures move across the room, as always. I can hear the les Amis de` ABC scurry from table to table. Their voices sound odd, and distant. Good, I don't wish to hear them today. I do not wish to hear any of it. I do not wish to hear them talk of their dream, of the future, or of love for that matter. Such things are lost to me now. Me, the grand-R, capital-R, who does not wish to hear of their happy lives.

That fool approaches the groups, that fool they call Enjolras. Only Enjolras? They ask him, and yes, I know him. I can see him. I can see the human half of his marble fronted self. I see the part of him that holds his first name, Julien. And yet, sometimes I wish I didn't see him for what he is.

Enjolras is too complicated for my liking. I could never understand him, I've given up trying. Besides, what the use of trying to understand someone who despises you? He always will despise me, he always has. I am the dirt beneath his boots, there for him to shake the mud off onto my face.

That is the way it always has been, and that is how it always shall be.

I was once asked, "Do you sleep at his door?"

Why would I? Out of devotion? Hardly. He would spit on me in the morning if I ever did that. All the better I suppose, at least he doesn't spit on me here, at the café. At least, not all the time.

Thrusting the bottle to my dry lips, I can let my eyes close in tired contentment. Just. a few more glasses, and the fog can take over. The fog can erase everything. The pain, the hurt, the memories. All the disappear into the vapor. Beautiful green fairy, take me away to where I don't have to think. Don't have to worry. Don't have to hurt. The bittersweet liquid is welcomed. As is everything else. Oh emerald absinthe, loosen my tongue, make me eloquent. Pull me from this hellhole, and into the warm haze that makes up my only comfort.

Is there anything on this earth that can breathe life back into me?

Wine and absinthe work for a while, but the life isn't real. I wish for the youthful bliss I had for a few precious years before plunging into turmoil.

Adele, my dearest sister. Such beauty shouldn't have been stolen from you so quickly. Like a precious jewel, I held you tightly in my hand, in my heart, for the first ninth years of your life. But the winds of life swept through just as harshly, and took you from me all too soon.

You were such a pretty girl. With your dark green eyes and lush chestnut hair, I fell in love with you from the moment I saw you. My sister, the only thing I had to cherish. With father drunk half his life, and mother so ill, you brought such joy when you came! So naturally, I begged to have you sleep in my room.

You had nightmares, awful, dreadful nightmares Adele. I remember your pale little face when you awoke from them. I was glad that I was with you then, to comfort you, and to console you.

For seven years, you stayed with me in my room. We were inseparable. Brother and sister, Grantaire and Adele. Then, the sickness set in.

You always were pale, and thin. Almost like a glass doll, you seemed frail, and fragile. And for that reason, I took the blame for your mistakes. I got the beatings. I always figured Papa might break you, with his hard cane and sharp hand.

I can still remember your face, when I sat outside with you on your ninth birthday. You always dragged me out back, to watch the sunset with you. That was the last day I ever got to sit out there with you. I can still see your bleary green eyes looking up at me, wet with tears. It was so cold, I could have sworn that the were going to freeze on your pale little cheeks. Momma didn't want us coming out, for fear of you. I can't say I blame her.

I held you close, wrapping my coat and my arms around your shivering body. But you refused to go inside. You wanted to "stay a little longer." When I could feel the warmth slip from you, I began crying harder then I ever had in my life. You were going to leave me, leave me all alone. You reached up a little hand, and wiped the tears from my eyes. You were such a brave little girl, so ready to face death at the tender age of nine. I can still hear you, singing the song that you so loved. The song that I used to sing to you when you were younger.

Where are you going?
Where are you going?
Can you take me, with you?
For my hand is cold
And needs warmth.

Where are you going?

Far beyond where the horizon lies
Where the horizon lies
And the land sinks into
Mellow blueness
Oh please
Take me with you

Let me skip the road with you
I can dare myself
I can dare myself

I'll put a pebble in my shoe

And watch me walk
I can walk
I can walk

I shall call the pebble dare
I shall call the pebble dare

We will talk
About walking
Dare shall be carried.
And when we both have had enough
I will take him from my shoe
Singing
Meet your new road.

Then I'll take your hand
Finally glad
That I am here
By your side
By your side.

You had the sweetest voice. It reminded me of the nightingale, with its sorrowful song. Finally, I joined in, my rough alto hardly comparing with your lilting soprano. When we reached the last note, your voice had reached a gentle murmur, barely more then the whisper of the summer breeze. Lord knows, I held you so tightly, hoping with all my might that if I refused to believe that you were dying on me, that you'd be restored, and that the sickness would leave your trembling body. I remember begging God to take me instead of you, pleading of with him to spare my precious little sister.

It didn't work. God turned his back on me, and my silent cries for mercy.

Looking down, I caught full glimpse of your beautiful face. Oh Adele, your green eyes gazing up at me with the most pure love I had ever seen in my life. I was at loss for words. Never before had anything hurt like that had then. With a soft, final goodbye, you rested your head on my chest, and breathed your last breath. Just as this happened, the red-orange sun fell beyond the horizon, and darkness stretched out over the land. Time was irrelevant to me then, it could have been hours, days, months, or years, that I sat out there under the starry sky with your dead body leaned against me, wrapped in my possessive embrace. Tears coursed down my face, until I finally thought to go inside, your figure cradled in my arms.

Upon leaving the bench that you and I had always sat at, I left behind all beliefs I had ever had in my life. God, Jesus, Christianity, faith, hope, belief, all of it was gone to me. They had all betrayed me.

That's the way it's always been, and that's the way it always will be.

Now, the song we sang still rings in my head, like an insistent nagging. Remembering you causes this horrible wrenching at the sharp corners of my soul. Why are you always there? Why can't you leave me alone? Oh Adele, you break my heart every day, each minute splitting it deeper. One day, I'll die from it. If I don't die at this stupid insurrection, or whatever it is, first.

Until then, I'll just drown in my drink, washing away the pain, the hurt, the feeling, and the memories.

And I'll sit outside, in spite of myself--

To watch the sunset.

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