- Èponine's POV -

I made my way through the streets of Paris, pulling my thin shall around my shoulders in an attempt to keep myself from the chill of the night air. I knew where I was heading, though I refused to think about what I was about to do. I had done it before of course; exchanged my pride for a couple of francs. That was what happened to all girls once poverty pulled them to their lowest. It had happened to me mere months ago and I had spent most of my nights down at the docks since then.

It wasn't so bad whilst it was happening. I just closed my eyes and dreamed of Marius, his smile, his laugh, his eyes. But as soon as it was over, I was left with an indescribable sickening feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach, one that forced tears to spill from my eyes and my legs to shake.

I would never tell pére or mére, not from shame but simply because I knew how angry they would be if they found out that I had not shared the money with them. Instead, I used it to buy food for my siblings, there was always just enough for a crust of bread each, leaving myself and my parents hungry. But seeing the joy on little Gavroche's face when I handed him the bread was worth an empty belly.

I glanced from side to side as I darted down the staircase that led to the sandy docks, noticing the women in skimpy dresses, their breasts on full show and their faces caked in make-up, as they flirted customers into their beds. I was not ashamed to be a part of what the bourgeois called the 'lovely ladies of the docks' if it meant that my siblings would not go hungry, so I took my place alongside them, pulling down my bodice and wiping the dirt from my face in an attempt to make myself seem more appealing.

"Well, what do we have here." A male voice said, drawing closer to me with each word he spat. Soon he was right in front of me, the stench of alcohol on his breath significant. "I would like to have a little taste of you."

Nodding slowly, I took his hand and led him further down the footsteps, ducking down into a dark alley at the bottom. Before I had a chance to say anything to the man he pushed me up against the damp wall, his lips sloppily tracing their way down my neck, his hand pulling up my skirts as he unbuttoned his briefs.

It was quick, thankfully for me. My eyes watered as he finally pulled away, only the thought of my partner being the ever loving Marius kept me going. Blinking away the tears, I watched as the man fixed his trousers and turned to leave. Frowning, I stretched out my hand and gently grabbed his arm.

"Monsieur, you have not yet paid me." I stuttered quietly, not daring to make eye contact.

The man's patronising laugh echoed around the alley. "I don't believe that was worthy of any of my money."

I stared at him in disbelief, a sudden anger coursing through my body. "Monsieur. When you chose me, you and I entered into a deal. I would give you what you wanted in exchange for a small amount of money. You owe me."

The man pulled his arm away from my grip, his other hand moving to pin me to the wall by my throat, blocking my air ways.

"You dare to speak to me in that way? Me, a gentleman of the upper class, and you, a dirty little whore. What gives you the right?" He spat, putting emphasis on the word 'whore'.

"I am a person, just like you. And I deserve what I am owed." I gasped, feeling my face reddening with lack of air.

And that is when the first punch came. He struck me across my left eye, before slapping the cheek below it. Then he removed his grip on my neck and I slid to the ground, gasping for air. I felt no pain in my face, neither did I feel any pain from the kicks to my stomach that followed, nor the stamp to my hand that left it crippled. It was only after the man spat at me before skulking away into the shadows that the pain finally rose, becoming unbearable, until all I wanted to do was sleep.

- Enjolras' POV -

It was dark when I finally left the Café Musain. Marius and the rest of the Les Amis had retired home long before me, but I had stayed to continue preparations for the revolution in peace, without Grantaire's constant drunken rambling in my ear. When I had finally left I felt an urge that could only be overcome in one way.

I made my way down the stairs to the docks. I was aware that my friends had humorously nicknamed me the marble man due to my disinterest in women, despite their attempts to hide it from me, but I had the same urges that they did; I was a man after all and it was only natural for a man to need some kind of release. What made me different from them was that I was not interested in marriage or finding love. My mother had, of course, thrown various eligible girls my way over the years but I had declined their advances as politely as possible.

Glancing at the women around me, I headed towards the sandy floor, making my way in the direction of the more expensive, yet more respectable ladies. As I darted down the alley I knew they resided at the end of, my foot tripped on something. Spinning around, I noticed a small bundle of rags on the ground. To begin with I did not think any thing of this; it was not uncommon in Paris to see rags and rubbish littering the streets. However, when the rags began to move slightly I started forward, bending down, noting a hand outstretched on the pavement, the fingers broken and bloodied.

"Madame? Are you hurt?" I asked, pulling a strand of knotted, dark hair from the face of the woman. My eyes scanned her face, taking in every feature. "Madame Thénardier?"

The girl's face was plastered with ever blackening bruises and her frail body seemed broken and battered. She was not conscious but after checking her pulse, making note to thank Joly for showing me hot to, I was pleased to find that she was still alive. Unsure of what to do, I scooped her fragile body into my arms, glancing from side to side before taking her back down the alley, up the stone steps and through the streets of Paris.