Misc.

the hunchback of notre dame 3

A crowd had gathered around the notre dame cathedral when the hunchback hobbled out of the front doors with a dead roma woman carried in his arms. 

People gasped, shocked at the creature who'd emerged from his isolation of his own volition for perhaps the first time they knew of. 

The entire square smelled of smoke and iron and the sky was orange and stretched across the land giving everything a nauseously warm tone.

Quasimodo lay the girl down, as gently as he could, supporting her head when he set it down on the cold, hard stone.

Police sirens wailed in the distance. 

A man pushed his way through the crowd, urgency and panic in his voice.

"Excuse me. Move. I have to get through. Please- let me through!"

He broke through the wall of bodies and stepped into the no-mans-land of space between the hunchback and the crowd, and everything went silent. 

There was only a ringing in his ears.

Clopin felt dread seep into his bones and his soul detach from his body when he saw Esmerelda lain out on the concrete. 

His friend, close like a sister, didn't move, even when he fell hard on his knees and caressed her face in his hands. Strangely, he did not say her name, or ask her to wake up, for he knew deep down she wouldn't be waking up ever again, and no matter how loud he screamed her name, she wouldn't respond.

The sirens got louder, and louder, until several police cars screeched to a halt and officers ran over, breaking up the sea of people. Someone put a shoulder on Clopin's shoulder and said, sounding far away "viennons, mon garcon,".

As if in a trance, he obeyed, standing and facing the police man who'd gotten him up. His eyes were glassy and he couldn't look up, trying to comprehend what he was going through. he couldn't stop thinking about how cold esmerelda was. god, she was so cold, yet so peaceful, like she'd come over for a movie night, and fallen asleep on his couch, and none of it made sense in Clopin's head. that angered him as well- he understood everything, he was the one people came to answers for. it didn't- it wasn't right. 

"sir, can you hear me?" the officer asked, looking at clopin. he zoned back in enough to look at the man and mumble a "yes". 

the rest of the day was a blur that he didn't remember. 

he was in the police station with a blanket he didn't recall acquiring, or even asking for. 

he remembered his stomach roaring and the invesigator sitting across from him asking if he wanted food, even though the thought of eating made clopin nauseous. 

all he could think about was the feeling of esmerelda in his hands, replaying over and over in his head like a video on loop. he recounted everything about the day, even though he never would have said a word to any sort of law enforcement had he been of sound mind. he told them what he'd done, how he'd gone to get coffee before going to work, how he had to close early after phoebus had run in frantically saying that esmerelda was missing, how they'd sped to the cathedral, how phoebus had actually gone inside the burning building to look for her, and clopin around the block. he explained hearing people gather and gasp and trailed off when he once again in his mind saw esmerelda's body in his hands, her skin cold like ice.

they let him go and vaguely recalled seeing phoebus sitting in the lobby, his face wet with tears, beginning to sob once more when he saw clopin come out, looking like some sort of robot ghost zombie. clopin didn't even say anything, just left the building and drove away, not recognizing the streets in front of him he'd driven on for decades. 

somehow, he made it back to his apartment and locked the door behind him. he shut the blinds, and after the silence had set in, grief hit him like a brick. clopin fell into the couch and numbly took a pillow, hugging it to his chest. his face scrunched up, like a child upset over something petty, and at first he let out quiet whimpers, like he was just trying to get the pain out of his body, like he didn't want to feel anything anymore. after a while he dissolved into heavy sobs, his entire body shaking, crying, and he continued weeping long after his head had begun to pound and his body ached with exhaustion.  

sleep kissed him goodnight and gently forced him to rest, the cushions of the couch drying the wet tears from his face. a blissful thing in the moment that turns cruel long after when he inevitably woke from his slumber and felt everything crash over him all over again. 

he didn't eat, or move, or even think. 

his home remained dark and became messy with every passing day. dark ideas swarmed his head and he ignored every phone call he received. the only time he acknowledged the passage of time was when he fell asleep at odd hours of the day, angry every time he woke up, upset that the ache in his chest wouldn't go away.

he hadn't been this bad in years, and back then, the only person who had been patient enough to help him through it was esmerelda.

it seemed like an eternity passed before whatever cruel god that had the audacity to rule the world decided that clopin had been alone for long enough.

it was nearing 3:30 in the afternoon on the fifth day of misery when there was a knock at clopin's door. 

he'd been curled up on the couch, staring at the carpet for the millionth hour, when a rapping made him lift his head. 

too numb to check who it was, clopin opened the door. it could have been a serial killer for all he cared, which wasn't much at this point, which unluckily for him, it wasn't.

phoebus stood in the doorway, looking at clopin. 

"hi." he said softly.

"hi." clopin replied, his voice hoarse, the first word he'd spoken in the better part of a week.

"can i come in?" 

clopin didn't reply, he just walked back over to the couch and left the door open for phoebus to enter through.

the house was in a destitute state.

his bedroom was a mess, sheets and books and pillows all over the place. fruit had gone bad in the kitchen, and pieces of what used to be an intact bowl were in the sink. dishes were piled up at the sides, and his fridge was empty. the blinds and curtains were still drawn, and none of the lights were on. 

phoebus came to sit next to clopin on the couch, turning to him.

he was doing better than the man he was next to. he was clean, and dressed, and even had his hair tied back. he looked tired, but okay, like he was processing the event healthily.

"clopin, are you okay?" he asked softly, concerned about his friend. clopin didn't respond, staring ahead with a clenched jaw.

"clopin, please. look at me." phoebus asked, taking the man's hand.

and then he broke. 

like the first physical connection he'd gotten in a week sparked ,something inside him, like the video came off loop and everything lurched forward. he blinked and looked over at phoebus, and suddenly there were fresh tears in his eyes, and suddenly he knew why they were there, and that he had to let them go.

"hey-" phoebus started, shifting.

"i miss her." clopin said out loud, breaking down into sobs. "phoebus i miss her so much," 

his body wracked with them and he felt himself being pulled close. clopin cried into phoebus' chest, shaking.

"and it hurts so much and i don't know how to make it stop." 

the man holding him just smoothed his hair and whispered reassurances to him, telling him "i know", and "i've got you". 

"phoebus please make it stop." clopin begged, gripping the sleeves of phoebus' shirt.

"i wish i could."