i. "When she was just a girl / she expected the world / but it flew away from her reach / and the bullets catch in her teeth…"
Every girl wants to be a princess. Every girl dreams of a fairytale wedding with her own prince charming and live happily ever after in a beautiful palace. It may not be now nor will it be forever, but such thought must have occurred at some point in a girl's life.
Including me.
Right now, that clichéd dream is only a snap of finger away from coming true. But, as the moment edges closer, I find myself cowering into the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I should be happy, shouldn't I? I mean, this is what I've been dreaming of.
He seems nice enough. He stands tall among the rest of the people in the room, but not arrogant. His choice of clothing looks well-put-together without trying too much. His blue eyes are intelligent as he engages in a conversation with my parents, but not condescending as he listens intently to whatever nonsense they are saying. His every gesture is polite without being too careful not to break anything. He is young –probably only a few years older than myself, but has this air of wisdom that I can't quite point out.
He looks every bit like the fairytale prince a girl would fall in love with.
"Éponine, my dear, I'd like you to meet Émile Combeferre," my father speaks up as soon as he spots me. "Monsieur Combeferre, this is my daughter, Éponine."
The blonde man smiles gently before pressing a chaste kiss on the back of my gloved hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle,"
I feel nothing.
ii. "Up with your turret / Aren't we just terrified? / Shale, screen your worry / from what you won't ever find…"
Monsieur Combeferre turns out to be as decent as I thought he would be. Young –no less than twenty five years of age. Prospective –he has already established himself as a doctor at the local hospital. Well-mannered –he offered me his arm as we went out for a stroll about the estate grounds. Intelligent –he spoke with enthusiasm of our common interests in philosophy and humanities.
I have every reason to fall in love with him. But as much as I enjoy his pleasant company, this setup just feels cold. Tasteless. The thought of spending the rest of my life with a man I have no romantic feelings for becomes too terrifying. It's amazing how a dream could turn into a nightmare once you subtract love from it.
Maybe my expectations are too high. I haven't the faintest idea what falling in love feels like. But I must feel a flutter in my stomach, a skipping heartbeat, or a breath hitching –anything that will tell me that this is it.
This isn't it.
iii. "From the inside of my mouth / and the slow migration south / and it's not to be denied / it's not to be denied…"
"My parents told me about this whole arrangement," I inform him when he comes around a few days later.
"Is that so?" he doesn't seem surprised at all.
"You know they only did it for the money, right?"
Combeferre drops his eyes to the ground for a moment. "My family can help out your father's business,"
"And they are using us as collateral."
"I am aware," he says quietly, "Mademoiselle –"
"Please, Combeferre. Call me Éponine,"
He nods in comprehension, hesitantly looking up. "Éponine, I am asking your permission to court you."
"It is not my place to decide, sadly," I let out a humorless laugh.
"Well, I'm asking you either way. It is only right to do so," he insists.
"What if I said no?"
"I personally would bow out, but I'm afraid the circumstances are rather complicated…" he muses, "Besides, what will become of you, then?"
"Banished from home, disgraced, disowned?"
His face falls.
The mixture of hurt, worry and shock in his face somehow makes me laugh. Damn my sick sense of humor. "I was joking,"
"That was a terrible joke," he counters.
"I do not need your pity, Combeferre."
"I'm not doing this out of pity."
"Out of what, then? Love?" I scoff incredulously.
He stays quiet.
iv. "Whispers in the dark / steal a kiss and you'll break your heart / pick up your clothes and curl your toes / learn your lessons, lead me home…"
The engagement party is a grand celebration held in Combeferre's family estate in Bordeaux. Guests come pouring into the tall-windowed ballroom dressed to their nines. The different colors of the evening gowns seem to decorate the massive red-brick mansion. The sound of glasses clinking against each other almost feels like an accompaniment to the music playing in the background. The women gush about the diamond ring that weighs a burden on my left hand. The men flatter, saying that I am far out of Combeferre's league when the truth is the exact opposite.
With a small kiss on Combeferre's cheek, I excuse myself from the haze of cigarette smoke and buzzing chatter to the quiet in the open airs of night.
"Needed some air?" a male's voice breaks me out of my reverie.
He emerges from the dark with his blond curls gleaming under the moonlight and shadows a small part of his face like a pencil sketch. "Mademoiselle," he bows his head.
"Monsieur Enjolras," I say, more of a statement than a greeting.
Monsieur Enjolras is quite the orator, but rarely ever enjoys small talks. He doesn't see the purpose of pointless chatter with people he doesn't particularly like. But, just this once, he may have found a purpose in this small talk.
"Forgive me for being so crude, but I'm not sure whether I should congratulate you or offer my condolences right about now."
"You heard."
"I did."
I try to laugh, but it comes out a shaky shudder from the cold air biting into my skin.
He chastely lowers his eyes and hastily slides his dinner jacket off, wrapping it around my mostly-bare shoulders.
"Oh, you didn't have to, Monsieur –"
Monsieur Enjolras raises his right hand. "No, I insist."
My stomach fleets when his other hand lingers on my arm. The warmth radiating from his palms contrasts against the coldness of my skin.
"Combeferre is a good man, we both know that. But I…"
My windpipe closes up before I can finish the sentence. I do not even realize how much I have kept in until my eyes start to burn and my vision goes hazy. My stomach, that fluttered only moments ago, sinks into a pit and drags my whole insides with it. It must have got stuck somewhere because my chest feels like exploding into little pieces, its debris coming out a series of shattering sobs.
"Shh… Hey, you will be fine," he grips both of my arms tighter, as if trying to make sure that I am still here.
"Do not feed me more lies! I am tired of being told that I will be fine, because I know I will not," I shove his hands away, but the shove is only as powerful as a limp nudge to him.
My knees give in, but Monsieur Enjolras catches my waist before I hit the grassy earth. We are attached by the hip and frozen in this position as I bury my face into his shoulder.
When my ragged sobbing subsides, he speaks up. "I apologize, Mademoiselle. I should not have brought up the matter in the first place, considering how this whole thing upsets you."
I look up to find his blue eyes wide and apologetic, and before I know it, my anger is lost in there. "Well, since I have just stained your waistcoat with my tears, I would consider us quite even."
He smiles. Despite having seen him lurking about (because he hardly mingles) the whole evening, that is the first genuine smile I have seen from him. Monsieur Enjolras is as beautiful as the Statue of David (if not more), but the smile livens up his features and makes him actually look human. A pair of lines traces along the sides of his mouth like parentheses. The corner of his eyes crinkle, reminding the fact that his skin isn't made of marble.
Somewhere between studiously observing his features and closing my eyes to stop more tears from falling, Monsieur Enjolras touches me when Combeferre has not.
My heart races in his embrace. My head feels like floating yet I do not want to drift away. My breath stops in my throat as we close the gap between our lips. And from that angle, I do not feel him breathing either.
It is everything missing in my encounter with Combeferre.
His eyebrows are knit and eyelids shut when we pull away, like he is having an inner conflict of some sort. He leaves his lips parted for a moment before apologizing profusely once more.
"I promise you, it won't happen again."
v. "So young, full of running / all the way to the edge of desire / steady my breathing, silently screaming / I have to have you now…"
Some promises you break, some promises you keep. Monsieur Enjolras is not usually a man who breaks his own words, but like the small talk earlier in the evening, this is another exception.
"Éponine…" he drawls, his lips just hovering over mine. "You are marrying my best friend."
"He doesn't love me! Nor I him,"
"And you love me instead?"
I am unsure how to answer that. Do I love him? Are those physical symptoms I am getting whenever he is nearby what love feels like? How do I know? Who do I ask?
"We can't do this, Éponine. We shouldn't."
His mixed signals confuse me. What comes out of his mouth contradicts how his arms lock around my waist and forehead pressed against mine.
"Tell me that you feel nothing and I will walk away," I close my eyes, bracing myself for what is to come from him.
"I can't," he breathes out.
A wave of relief washes over me. The lack of emotional interaction has made me desperate. He may have not said the word, but the fact that he does feel something is enough for me.
Unlike his bold traits, his kiss starts out stiff and hesitant. Some may even think it emotionless. It's almost as if he was trying to prove something by being objective.
Well, as objective as he can be, in a situation as compromising as this.
A/N: Hello, lovely people! If you've reached the bottom of this chapter, I assume you've read it so thank you for reading :) I hope this isn't too bad. It's my first attempt at writing something angsty and I hope it's not too bad. I'm planning to split the story into three parts (hence the short bits) but in the meantime, please do tell me what you think of the story. Your feedback is greatly appreciated. And if there's any question, feel free to hit me up on PM or ask me on Tumblr (under gooneranalogheart). Until the next time! *curtsies*