z. s. luther {javert} (sentinelstar) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-07-28 22:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | javert, wicked witch |
Who: Joanie and Luther
What: The Breakdown
Where: Charleston, South Carolina
When: July 27th/28th
Warnings: Angst, suicidal tendencies, mind-fuckery, and potential swearing.
Notes: Tissues. Bring them.
By one o’clock that afternoon, Luther and Joanie were cleared to go home. The Wickers helped them into their car, speaking in hushed tones as they drove back to their house. Luther continued to ignore Joanie, no matter what attempts she made to speak to him. He attempted to keep calm or appear outwardly so, but his mind continued in a blur. The law and the question of it wouldn’t leave his mind, even as they got back to the house and they were helped up to their rooms.
He retired to his guest room immediately, ignoring any invitations to rest downstairs with the ‘family’. The annoyances of Libby and Sarah and Mattie seemed trivial now, even as they bustled about clucking their tongues with sympathy. He shut his door and changed it to clean clothes, before packing everything up. The original plan had them heading home the day after tomorrow – it would distract his mind, stop his shaking hands, even as it hurt his wrist-
A sound at the door surprised him and Luther looked up from leaning over his suitcase. Patrick shut the door softly behind him, offering a careful smile as he leaned against a bookcase in the corner of the room. “How’re you holdin’ up?”
Luther swallowed, eyes falling to his suitcase again. Looking into the eye of the man who’s daughter he beat up was impossible. “Just fine. I figured I’d – I’d do something productive.” Lying was necessary here, but the man didn’t need to know that
“I can see that.” Patrick paused, before edging to the door. “I figured I’d check on you, though. Is there anything I can get you?”
Without thinking, Luther shook his head. He didn’t need anything, he needed to be alone with his thoughts and not feel like he’d lost his whole reason to-
He froze, a pair of socks in his hand. No. That was too strange, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. “Actually,” he said hoarsely, looking up to the older man. “Do you happen to have a copy of Les Misérables? I was – I was reading it before I came down here. Reading might keep my mind off of what happened.” Or do the exact opposite. He held his breath, until Patrick nodded genially.
“I’ve got a good unabridged somewhere. It’s a mighty fine book, isn’t it?”
Luther couldn’t only nod, tightly as Patrick slipped off. When the book was finally in his hands, he locked the door behind Patrick. He settled on the bed with the worn copy, flipping through to a familiar section – back to the annoying Marius – and continued on.
It had been a few months since he last attempted the novel, putting it down as an uneasy feeling grew along with his annoyance with Marius. He’d been told by Ella that Javert killed himself – and Cole and Hannah had pushed him to read the ending, but he couldn’t. A small part of him had suspected that something was off and he didn’t want to know how he – or his character – died. But now with this copy before him, he couldn’t get through it fast enough. Marius was still annoying and Valjean’s supposed goodness was infuriating. Cosette was charming though and as Eponine crossed the pages, he could even manage a small smile. He did respect her after all that had happened.
Javert though – it was too strange to read about him. Hugo’s tone was almost mocking as time went on. Luther kept his eyes glued to the page, even as he was called down for dinner. He called back that he was too tired, pushing on through the dense, detailed read. Javert’s discovery was met with a shaking of the head – he had to respect him, when he would have done the same. Sometimes lying just didn’t help – even when amongst villains. Enjolras bothered him for an unexplainable reason, striking a chord of familiarity. Perhaps he’d already met him…
And then came Valjean. Luther’s heart stilled as he read on, experiencing Eponine’s death in a shock, followed by Valjean requesting to deal with Javert. “No,” Luther whispered, broken from the spell of reading at last. He glanced up to his clock where it said it was one a.m. The only sleep he’d had was when he’d passed out the night before. Despite his aching limbs and bruises, he didn’t feel tired. He returned to the book, reading with an increasing feeling of dread.
Valjean’s sparing of Javert’s life made no sense – it was an impossibility in Luther’s mind. The man was a criminal, the author was wrong, he was a villain the true one…and how could he spare Javert’s life? Luther could only remain in disbelief as the narrative continued, leading to Valjean the lover Marius. His breath caught, but he didn’t stop.
And he recognize Javert’s entrance before Valjean did. He could barely think though as the final events played out – Valjean’s nobility was played out, again and again as he saved Marius and gave himself up to Javert. Luther didn’t need Hugo’s commentary to understand what Javert was feeling – his own feelings had matched his confusion since earlier. It didn’t stop his sharp intake of breath as Javert let Valjean go free. It was near, Luther could sense it.
He powered through, pausing only at Javert’s last chapter before reading the rest. Familiar motions – the arms crossed in front and clasped in back – made him uneasy. Licking his lips, he continued on, heart panging with every thought of Javert’s. It was familiar, it was real..
…and Javert was dead.
The book feel from his hands to the floor with a thump, but Luther ignore it. He was unaware as he sat there, eyes unfocussed as he stared off to a corner of the room. Every movement of Javert’s made sense – and it only confirmed his fear throughout his whole day. Through his whole life.
He’d been wrong about it all.
Luther couldn’t breathe at first, the thought suffocating him. He glanced around the room, as if expecting people to burst out and criticize him, mocking his obsession for all these years. Madeline, his blurred-featured mother, Nina, Valjean- None appeared but it didn’t change his uneasiness. He was wrong, he’d fucked up majorly and worst of all…he had no idea what to do now.
Not quite true though. His eyes fell on the book once more before he got up from the bed. He shoved his feet into a pair of boots and slipped out of his room, white shirt standing out with the light from the moon that filtered through the windows. He didn’t bother to walk quietly, gait sounding terrible with his limp as he made his way down the stairs and out the front door. He had to get away, had to find a place to think and…decide. Decide where.