Thank you so much for your reviews guys! I looked through the previous chapters, and I will edit them when I have the chance. Hopefully this one will be smoother.

And now, I present you the second chapter.

Enjoy and review!

II. A.

She was already sixteen when two guards accompanied her to the Police Station for stealing a bottle of wine from Monsieur Lachovre, the salesman.

The wine sadly shattered as they caught her. Pity, she thought. If I was drunk I would be at least happy to see the Inspector.

The Inspector is just as she remembered him to be.

Clean. Crisp. Immaculate uniform. Broad shoulders. Dark hair with some grey. Grey eyes with cold fire. Sneering mouth.

As he was writing his reports, Éponine admired the majestic letters he created. She never really learned to write, and her reading abilities were very poor. As she watched the pen in his long fingers, Éponine wondered when he learned to write so magnificently.

"I asked you a question, girl. " She is dragged back into reality and into the hard face of the man. "Or are you so dull that you can't even answer?"

Fury arose in her with such power that she had to swallow the insults that she wanted to throw at him. Relax, she thinks, if he thinks you are polite and an idiot he might let you go.

"Oh, sir" she congratulated herself for the pathetic voice and pitiful look she threw at the floor. "My sister is dying and we do not have the money to buy medicaments… I didn't want her to feel pain… Surely, that's not a sin?

When she finally dared to look up, the policeman was standing right in front of her. Éponine knew she has miscalculated when she assumed she can reach his shoulders. Javert was in fact menacingly tall; so tall that it made her wince. She also knew that Javert thought was exactly she feared of: that stealing wine is the most disastrous sin ever been committed.

She gulped and waited.

When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously low.

"I am not interested in your lies, mademoiselle "he was mocking her, and suddenly she wished that she didn't try to steal the wine. "Tell me your full name so that I can choose you a cell for five months."

She almost fainted at the heard number, at the mere idea of prison. There were true tears in her eyes now, ready to fall and flow.

"Monsieur, I have no excuses. But I simply have to steal."

His hands suddenly grabbed her face, the long fingers cold on her cheeks.

"Tell me, wench," Javert said, his breath far too hot in her ears. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Before she even could stop herself, Éponine furious voice came out as a silent, repressed whisper.

"Don't worry Monsieur L'Inspecteur; you are a self-righteous bastard, not stupid at all."

For a startling moment, the policeman looked at her like he would be ready to break her neck. She noticed that one of his veins pumped with an unnatural force in his neck and that his jaw was so strongly clutched that it might have cause severe teeth damage. His fingers held her cheeks painfully tight and there was no sound in his room only their raging breath. Éponine knew that the chance of freedom just flew away along with her possibility of getting out of prison before she reaches forty. Her former tears that have dried a minute ago became covered with new ones and she desperately wanted to turn her head away from the Inspector.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Javert's face became composed and still.

"Better to be self-righteous than weak, Mademoiselle."

He let her go, and she hid her face in her dirty coat. She not only felt weak, but extremely tired and completely ugly. Her face was a muddy mess, her thick mass of hair out of order, her man-like clothes over worn.

While she lamented, Javert sat down on his chair once again, his face now in a controlled façade.

"I will ask the question once again. Why did you steal?"

"I wanted to be drunk."

"Ah," the detestable sneer at the corner of his mouth appeared again. "Now the truth is finally out. Wasn't so hard, was it, girl?"

Éponine didn't stop though. Her mind suddenly started working again, and the chance for revenge shone ahead.

"Yes, you see," her voice became deeper, and a little bit rough. "There is no other cure for the love sickness."

"Please, spare me from the tragedy of your life."

"Ah, but Monsieur," she sighed seductively, her brain already laughing loud. "Why do you think I stole that bottle of wine?"

He seemed to froze, but his eyes seemed to burn even more as he looked at her.

Éponine didn't look away.

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To be continued…