Author's note: Hi! I'm new around here, and this is my first story so I would appreciate it if you would review if you enjoy it! Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1:
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Les Miserables.
The morning saw Enjolras leaving his apartment, briskly walking down the street while carrying his usual pile of notebooks. Every day he walked down this street, Rue Josephíne. It happened to be the quickest route between his flat and the Cafe Musain. He always welcomed the walk because it reminded him what he was fighting for. Even though this street was on the edge of the bourgeois side of town, he still saw suffering faces and hungry eyes staring after him from the dark corners and alleys. The hands of suffering and inequality reached even this part of town.
This particular day, Enjolras stopped to buy a pair of knitted gloves from a poor street vendor. He tried to buy whatever he could to support these people, even though he didn't need gloves and the day was rather warm. The principle of the thing was what was important. He was a friend of the poor here, and he tried to communicate to them the potential for a brighter future where all would be equal and no one would be oppressed. He hope that when revolution came to Paris, that these people would be the first to stand for freedom.
As he made his way down Rue Josephíne, a small girl caught his eye. Her skill at darting around people and carriages reminded him of his young friend Gavroche. He saw the girl run down a small alley and into the side door of a rather strange-looking establishment he had never really paid any attention to before. As Enjolras studied the front of the building, which was built with columns and had music coming from inside, he realized it was a brothel. It seemed to cater to more elite "customers", by all appearances, than the common prostitutes that could be found in the alleys and docks of Paris. He shook his head, for seeing anyone sunk to such a state where they would sell their very body filled him with sadness. Enjolras began to walk away, but then began to get the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He turned, and noticed an upstairs window in which a young woman sat. She stared down at him, and he up at her. Her face had a look of extreme sadness, which he imagined haunted the souls of many of these "fallen women". Additionally, he could tell she was very thin, and probably wasn't eating well. He wished there was some way he could help her. Suddenly, she jumped up, and a curtain which she had been holding back fell in front of the window, obscuring any further view of her. Staying for one more moment, Enjolras turned and continued walking down the street, towards the Cafe Musain.
_
"Èponine!" she heard her father's shout. What had she done this time? She rushed to the door, just in time for her father to slam it open, hitting her in the shin. Èponine gasped, losing her balance, and Thenardier caught her by the wrist. She righted herself, but he did not let go.
"What, exactly, do you mean by not coming down for breakfast? We can't have you girls looking too thin, it drives away customers!" he snarled.
"One of the men last night, he hurt me." To explain, she pulled up her camisole to reveal several dark bruises on her hip. Even so, the physical pain that she felt was nothing compared to the pain she felt inside with each "customer".
"I'll give you more to match if you don't get downstairs and be grateful for all Monsieur Montfierre has given us. Beggars can't be choosers, you know, and it just so happens you're a beggar!" With that, he released his grip on her wrist, and declared "Make yourself presentable, and get downstairs with the other girls!"
Eponine walked over to the one chair in the room that she put her clothes on the night before. She picked up a silky purple robe that she had been given upon her unwilling introduction into her new career, just two weeks ago. She slipped it over her shoulders and tied the belt loosely. Then something caught her eye out the window. She saw her sister, Azelma, running down the alley right under her window. She wasn't supposed to come to the brothel, and Thenardier didn't know about her visits, but Èponine did. Every week Azelma brought her an herbal medicine that was supposed to prevent pregnancy. Eponine didn't know how it worked, but she wasn't pregnant yet. She knew what would happen if she did: Thenardier would beat her until she miscarried. She knew she couldn't handle that. So at the beginning of every week, she dropped a few coins that she had stolen from "customers" out her window to Azelma, and at the end of the week, she would bring the small bottle back and hide it at the foot of the stairs, where Èponine would retrieve it. The plan had worked remarkably well for the short time it had been put into practice.
Azelma, her mother, Thenardier, and sometimes Gavroche lived in a small apartment a few blocks away. Thanks to her father, Èponine lived at the brothel. She pushed the familiar resentment back into the recesses of her mind. As she was lowering the curtain, Èponine saw an unfamiliar young man with curly blonde hair and wearing a red jacket at the entrance to the alley, looking around. She watched as he turned, walking out of the alley. Suddenly he stopped, hesitating for a moment before he turned and looked up, directly at her. She felt like his eyes pierced directly into her soul in that moment, seeing all her sadness and pain. Their eyes stayed locked on each other's, never looking away. Èponine communicated her life in her stare, and she felt his empathy for her in his.
"Èponine!" For the second time within a few minutes, her father's shout broke through her reverie. She jumped up, letting the curtain fall. She ran for the door as she heard the sound of her father's boots coming up the stairs. She scurried past him to breakfast.