A/N: So I was typing a poem (because school got out early and I had five hours to kill and also because I was in my Jehan/Combeferre/Javert mood) about this and then I decided to make it a one-shot instead. The italicized words are her thoughts and memories of that night, and the normal words are what she's writing. It's terrible writing because it was interrupted by dinner, but I'm satisfied with it. This will probably be expanded at a later date.

Also: Yes, I know that Thenardier probably wouldn't do something like this. I'm not an idiot. But it very well could happen, and in my own little fanfiction universe it did, so please no flames about that. Thanks.

Enjoy!

-Vroche


April was supposed to be a happy month, the middle of spring, for Pete's sake. April was supposed to be the month where I held her hand and took her and Vroche to see all the little ducklings by the pond. April was supposed to be the month where you're really successful in pickpocketing and hide it from your father but then tell her about it. April was supposed to be the month Marius noticed me. April was supposed to be so many things that it wasn't.

"You worthless piece of shit," he yelled, his words slurred excessively, swinging back his leg and then releasing it with such force it hit her shin with an audible crack that could be heard from upstairs.

Without knowing it, I just knew. It was Azelma. Gavroche and the two little ones (Henri and...Pierre?) had left long ago, had fled from the ruined nest that Azelma and I still called home. "'Zelma!" I shrieked, rushing down the rickety wooden staircase and nearly stubbing my toe on the doorframe.

I had never been so scared in my life until then. Not when Montparnesse first turned on me, not when I first saw Marius with Cosette, not when I got lost in the streets when I was five.

The scene I was met with was horrible. Horrible. My father was drunk, intoxicated far beyond his limits, with angry glazed eyes and it didn't take a genius to see that he ws struggling to keep his balance. His gang stood a few feet behind him, laughing, Montparnesse frowning the slightest bit. Azelma was standing, nearly cowering but it couldn't be because Azelma didn't cower, in a corner, her usually docile jade eyes wide open with pain, burning anger, and fear. Her lip was split and her shin was a mess, ruby blood flowing and parts of the ivory-colored bone were showing. No doubt shattered.

I couldn't understand why he was doing this. Azelma was typically his favorite, the one who never defied his orders, the one who brought back the most money. I was the one that should be at his mercy, the one whose blood was on the floor.

Apparently he didn't think so. Pulling back a ring-studded hairy fist, he laughed and swung it at Azelma's stomach, but she ducked and the punch hit her face instead. Now on the floor, Azelma was in no shape to get up and my father knew this.

"Stop!" I screamed, sprinting towards Azelma as he prepared for another kick. What was he trying to do, kill her?

"Aw, big sister is coming to save the day. Isn't that sweet?" He smiled a savage, snaggle-toothed grin again and delivering another blow to Azelma, who whimpered in pain as her rib- ribs? -cracked. One of his sick friends, I believe Babet but I wasn't really paying attention, started actually clapping. Clapping.

I threw myself in front of Azelma- she didn't deserve this!

I couldn't help that my father was drunk, but this was too far.

The last thing I remember seeing was my mother. Standing in the doorway, looking as if she was in shock. And not making a move to help my sister.

That's all I remember. I wish I could remember more of that night, but at the same time my amnesia is a blessing because I don't want to be haunted with those memories, those images, my whole life.

They said they took her and I to the hospital. They said they tried everything they could to save her. I don't believe them. I walked out of Combeferre's medical room with a concussion and a broken arm but Azelma didn't get to walk out at all.