I walk down the street with Cosette's note in my breast pocket. It burns against my chest and my heart as a terrible reminder that he will never be mine. He'll always be hers, hers, that stupid blonde bitch. I know I shouldn't be thinking such things, but I can't help it.
What does she have that I do not? Sure, her long hair is golden and shimmery, while mine is a mussed up and not-so-shiny dark brown. As I think of this, I run my fingers through my tangled rat's nest of a head. Maybe her sky-blue eyes are prettier than my dirt-brown ones. Maybe her pale, luscious pink skin is smoother and less dirty than my rough, tan skin. Okay, it's fairly possible that she has a lot more to offer Marius than I do. She's bourgeois, while I am a street rat with no money to offer. The only thing I have to offer Marius is my heart and all my love.
"I love him," I whisper to the dark sky. "But only on my own." The stars are black and cold tonight, and they offer me no comfort or peace. The only comfort is that the rain has started to lightly shower upon the slums of Paris. A stone skips across the cobblestones as it connects with my foot. It is happier than I am.
The meager, six-foot high barricade comes into view. Mentally, I scoff at the band of schoolboys and their strawberry blond leader, Enjolras. How could they ever think that this tiny pile of chairs and beds will do them any good or free the people of France?
Marius runs up to me, his face excited and gleeful. Under that mask, however, I can see the worry and anxiousness of somebody who knows that they are going to die soon. "Was Cosette there?" he asks.
"No," I lie. I think to myself that this is the very first lie that I have ever told to Marius. I can barely stand myself at this point. "The house was empty. Everything and everybody was gone. There was no trace of them."
I can visibly see his face fall and his heart literally drop. "Oh."
"Listen, Marius, I'm really sorry," I comfort him. "You two would have been a good….couple." I can barely say the words without throwing what little may be in my stomach. Thinking of that, when was the last time I ate? Probably two days ago, and even then I only ate a few bites of a squashed apple, a rare treat.
"Thanks, 'Ponine," Marius says.
"Anytime, Marius," I respond to his retreating form. His shoulders, usually held high, are slumped back in defeat. Oh God, I think, how can I do this to him? It is so terrible that I deign to put him in so much emotional pain, but it must be done. Maybe now that he thinks Cosette is gone, I have a chance with him. Probably not, though. I never have and I never will. I have always known this, but only now does the realization sink in through the heavy layer of blind love for Marius. It is the most perfectly paradoxical passion.
"They're here!" I hear one of the students yell. All of us lift up our guns, even Gavroche, my little brother. How and by whom he was given the gun, I do and do not want to know at the same time.
"FIRE!" Enjolras commands.
And all comply as the bullets go flying from both directions. One down, another, another, another, and another, until I see it.
The leader of the National Guard has his rifle pointed at Marius, who does not even notice. Without thinking rationally, I run in front of Marius and grab the rifle's barrel, pointing it at my own stomach. The gun goes off and I stumble lazily down the barricade through the haze of pain.
Unable to withstand the call of pain and acknowledging the extreme flow of my red life-sustaining liquid, I slump against the wall of the café. I close my eyes and fall asleep.
A few minutes, seconds or hours later, I wake up and see Marius hovering over me nervously. "Are you okay?" he asks me, worry evident in his hazel eyes.
I ignore his question and, with a shaky hand that is bronzed by my blood, I hand him Cosette's farewell letter. "I lied," I tell him. "She was there. I'm sorry." I cry out from the pain, and Marius draws me onto his lap and cradles my broken body.
"Oh God, 'Ponine," he whispered. "It's everywhere." His hand draws up from my stomach and I can see more of my blood on his hand. When he notices this, his face turns pale white and he holds me closer.
"Don't fret, Monsieur Marius," I assure him. "It doesn't hurt me at all." We both know that this is a lie. It's the second lie I've told him.
"If I could heal you with words of love," Marius mumbles into my hair, "I would."
I smile. "Just hold me now and let it be. Hold me close." He complies and does so.
Nearby, a little flower bud is starting to open and reveal its loveliness. "See, Marius, rain will make the flowers grow. The pretty flowers."
"The pretty flowers," he reaffirms.
I look into his eyes and know that I'm about to die. I can feel the pain and physical toll of the blood loss coursing through me. "Do you know, Marius," I say to him, "that I believe that I was a little bit in love with you."