1830

Éponine looked at her bruised face through her cracked piece of mirror. Her sixteen years of age were lost under premature wrinkles, dark circles under her eyes, expression marks and grime. Her grace was being consumed by hunger; her face was mainly formed by a sharp jaw and really high, accentuated cheekbones and her body was so thin that she would move her fingers through her ribcage. Her brown, long mane, which was her personal pride a long time ago, was now dirty and greasy and hanged from her head like a dead batch of snakes or a bunch of burned hay.

Cursing internally, she threw herself on the ground as he heard her drunken father coming into the living room. After leaving the only room in the apartment, which was mainly a corner of the room they had separated with pieces of Éponine's oldest tatters and was used by her parents to get drunk and have their awkward and loud love 'demonstrations', the old man kicked her on he hip just for fun and then left the apartment, probably to find his gang.

She stood up afterwards, walking hardly with the bruises that her father's gang had caused her just because she hadn't brought enough sous for them to drink the whole night.

"Éponine," her mother called her as she was about to open the door.

"What do you want?" she asked Mme Thénardier in a resentful tone of voice.

"Where's the whore?" Mme Thénardier asked, knowing that made Éponine mad.

"Azelma is not a whore," she answered resentfully.

"She sleeps with men for money. How do you call that?" Mme Thénardier asked ironically.

"You forced her! Sold her to a man in the docks! Don't dare to call her that!" Éponine exclaimed in rage, "Besides, you cannot call any other woman in the whole France a whore when you receive every man in your bed when your husband's not looking. Claquesous, Babet, Brujon, Gueulemer, you name them! And...they don't even pay you!"

"Putain! Sewer rat! Watch out with your tone with me if you don't want to suffer your sister's fate," she threatened her.

Éponine was gone by then. It was raining and he was barefoot but she didn't care, she just wanted to leave that place. She was tired, hated her situation with her soul. She hated how ignorance was tattooed to her forehead like a sin, hated the way everything pure and beautiful had left her, as though she had been consumed by darkness, hated the way her parents' wretchedness had corrupted her soul and marked her life forever, hated poverty, hated how she was looked in the streets as something lower than dirt, how she was unworthy of everything, including love. In that moment she hated Marius, both her only friend and unrequited love, who was the only man that had showed her that people can be good while, at the same time, completely ignoring her. She hated the way her brother had the guts to escape and was probably living as happily as an urchin can live while she was stuck with a hustler and a whore for parents. She hated how her sister, beautiful young Azelma, was now a lovely lady, a job she didn't have to do up until now because she was a professional at pickpocketing and other arts (nothing she was very proud of), especially from begging in the better parts of the city, where she got a lot of sous just to leave and stop making the views ugly.

She was tired and refused to continue. As she walked through Rue Plummet, she was seriously thinking about suicide as a viable option, when something occurred to her. She was a young, literate girl that learned things fast. From her time at her family's inn at Montfermeil, she had learned how to cook several things. She could search for work somewhere. That's how it occurred to her that she could simply knock in one door and ask for work, not even thinking that it was dawn and that, with the rain, her personal demeanor wasn't precisely appealing.

Hopeful, she opened the fence of a cottage surrounded by a beautiful garden. As she walked, she could feel her heart pounding harder at the perspective of a new life, not even thinking about the reaction of the house owner. With these feelings, she knocked. Nobody answered, making her knock again. By the third knock, she started to mentally scold herself when the door was opened, revealing a beautiful image that made Éponine miserable.

Blonde hair made in a long braid, blue, innocent eyes narrowed by sleep, kind smile, fair skin, young, innocent. Clad in a nightgown that was probably worth more than anything Éponine had worn in a very long time, she was a recognizable figure that haunted her every dream. Cosette, on the other side, didn't recognize her foster sister and childhood tormentor, thus she called her father immediately.

Jean Valjean, awoken suddenly by her daughter's call, ran to the door in anguish, thinking that it was probably Javert and that his own daughter had opened the door for him. Standing behind Cosette, he did recognize the girl in front of him, soaked to the bone, shivering and crying. For a brief second, as the girl looked away, he imagined her with her head shaved and her teeth missing, disgraced and beaten by life, dying in the middle of a battle against fever and sickness, a battle against her demons, a battle against the wrong decisions. He imagined her trembling, asking for help with her last breath, telling him to take care of her child and then she directed a hurt glance at him with her big dove eyes and he recognized that look of extreme suffering and tireless struggle he hadn't seen since Fantine passed away. He had to help her.

"Cosette, wake up Toussaint and go to your room," he commanded immediately, not letting her ask any question.

"Yes sir," the girl answered in a childish voice as she left.

Valjean made a signal for Éponine to come inside and he closed the door behind her. She was suddenly aware of her muddy feet and skirt as she didn't want to mess up anything in that precious cottage. She walked uncertainly behind Valjean, who took her to the kitchen, where an old woman waited for them.

"Toussaint, please give her something to eat, as much as she wants. Also, prepare a bath for her, put her a dress from Cosette's wardrobe, they're probably the same size. Then, send her to my library," he commanded before living.

"Immediately Monsieur," she answered respectfully.

"And Toussant?" he suddenly remembered before leaving.

"Yes?"

"Sorry for waking you up at this hour," he said, making Éponine blush and look away.

"Don't worry sir," she answered and started preparing something for Éponine.

Éponine was given a delicious soup with some warm bread and a small cup of wine, which she ate and drank without lifting her head from the plate or even thanking the woman in front of her, who looked at her with a sad, uneasy expression in her face. When she finished, the woman helped her to reach the place in which Cosette took her baths, an spacious room with a tub in the middle, previously prepared with warm water for her. After her body accustomed to the warmth and the filth started to drip from her body, even she was disgusted by the amount of dirt she had accumulated. Toussaint helped her wash her hair, complimenting her on how beautiful it was. The woman also helped her to scrub her back with a sponge in a very gentle manner. Éponine closed her eyes and, leaving the shame aside, felt the pleasure of someone taking care of her.

It took the at least an hour and a half to get Éponine ready. After the bath, Toussaint prepared for her a beautiful dress that brought Éponine to tears. It was cream colored with a pattern of small flowers and a little embroidery in the top, around the shoulders and breast, it had a matching purple belt that accentuated Éponine's small waist. Before putting on some purple shoes, Toussaint had to rub her feet, apply a certain ointment and put a bandage on; Éponine had gone barefoot for a very long time, injuring her feet while never taking care of them. Although it was weird at first, she felt safe while having shoes on.

When she was taken to Jean Valjean's library, she was a totally different person. Her hair had been left hanging naturally, except for a few strands that had been tied with a little bow. Valjean smiled at her, offering a seat in front of him and commanding Toussaint to close the door.

"You look quite beautiful," he said.

"Merci beaucoup," she answered while looking at her feet, "also, thanks for your hospitality...but I know nothing's for free. I'm sure I can work for you. I'll cook, I'll move heavy objects, I'll clean...whatever you need."

Valjean took her hand. "I did recognize you...you were in that inn in which my daughter worked as a slave."

Éponine looked away in shame. This is it, the moment in which Cosette'll get her revenge...and I'll be thrown to the streets like a stray dog, she thought as tears pooled in her eyes.

"Naturally, you understand I cannot keep you in this house...not only because, you know, Cosette, but also because the way I live with her...we cannot have many people with us," he tried to explain. Éponine nodded and was about to stand up.

"But I know a woman that lives nearby...She'll gladly accept you, I'm sure. She needs a nanny for her little granddaughter. I'm sorry I can't offer you anything better," he said but Éponine's face lit up anyways.

"Being a nanny is better than everything I've done so far," she admitted hopefully, "are you sure...she'll accept me?"

"I'll speak very high of you. In fact, we can go in a few hours, it's already the morning," he said with a smile.

"Sir, you're an angel...but I'm just a sewer rat and have no job experience," she argued.

"If I'm not wrong, you had a little sister, right? That's job experience," he said. Éponine lowered her eyes.

"Such a great job I did with her," she mumbled ironically, "She's now in the docks, you know?"

Valjean closed his eyes, thinking about Fantine. "You're not and that's something you should be proud of."

...

A few hours later, Éponine said goodbye to Jean Valjean, who left her in the house of Madame Rochelle, an old, rich woman whose two years old granddaughter had been left in her house. The woman was kind and caring and saw something in Éponine, a glint of innocence and profound grief that made her want to help her.

By noon, Éponine was playing with the little girl, a redhead named Annette, vivacious and pretty, who clapped and laughed at everything. Mme Rochelle looked at her from afar, seeing in her a resemblance to her young self before she married Monsieur Rochelle, when she was a countrywoman, daughter of illiterate peasants. She decided Éponine was staying, she would turn her into a lady.

This might be a boring chapter...I swear it's going to be better :) Enjolras and Éponine are both going to be very OOC because I found it funny that Enjolras is always the marble statue and Éponine is the girl in love...you'll see soon ;)

Traductions:

Putain: Slut/Whore...you get it..

Merci Beaucoup: Thank you very much.

Sorry for the harsh language, especially in the beginning...