A/N: All right, let's wind the clocks back a month. A month ago, TheIbis2010 wouldn't dare disappoint any of his wonderful readers by not updating his stories. But what happened? Did he leave FanFiction? Did he forget? Did they actually succeed in killing the Batman (I mean, the author)?
Nope! I'm back, everyone, with Dark Knight quotes to prove it. Sorry that this has taken so long; school has not been particularly kind to a guy like me. But now, I've returned to FanFiction, and not only have I posted my new Sweeney Todd story (which I highly recommend you checking out: who doesn't love serial killings and true love?), but here is the long-waited update to The Hate That's In Your Head! Yay! Feel free to review, favorite, and follow!
Chapter 4: The Actions of a Supposed Dandy
Later that evening, Éponine leaned her head against the window of her room in The Sailor, praying hopelessly that tonight would last forever so that the morning would never come. Because in the morning, she would have to pay for the choices she had made.
She'd been arguing with herself on a certain point ever since Ferrant had locked her in her room. For locked she was, as the door would not open, nor would anyone hear her pleas for help. After a few minutes she'd stopped and simply sat at the foot of her uncomfortable bed. Weakness had no place in a bawdy house like The Sailor of Brittany.
At first, Éponine had been relieved that Madame Ferrant was leaving just as she was arriving. This new woman, Mlle. Pompidou, was much younger and, she'd hoped, kinder. By God, was she let down. For a moment, it looked as though she would refuse her father, but then she agreed to his offer, and had the Crone of Paris bring her down to this cell.
The reason she was upset with herself was because she knew that she could have avoided all of this. Never have come to the Sailor, never meet Pompidou, and not be awaiting the coming evils like a pig for slaughter. Azelma could be the one their father used for his scheme, and Éponine could still be at the Gorbeau tenement, safe as could be.
But then she forced herself to stop being selfish. Her sister was the last person in this world she truly loved, and had inherited her mother's stubbornness, but also her father's weak spirit. She would be gobbled up by the world that had devoured Éponine and spat her back out in an instant, only Azelma's leaving wouldn't be so quick. Thenardier milked cows until their udders were dry, and Éponine knew his claim that this was a "one-time arrangement" for Azelma was a pile of horse droppings.
She ran her fingers across the window glass. For whatever reason, Ferrant had made her room be on the ground floor, and the window could be opened wide enough for her to jump out. The fall to the ground would hurt, but she would survive. And once she did, she would return to the tenement, get Azelma, and leave their parents forever. It didn't matter where. In Gavroche's elephant, maybe, or on the goddamn moon for all she cared. Anywhere was better than what Thenardier would make them do if they stayed.
Éponine was preparing to toss herself out of the window, when she saw someone passing by the road. Better yet, she recognized that person, and if there was anyone she could trust outside of her siblings, this was it.
"Montparnasse!" She hissed.
He turned, his eyes hazily focusing on her. He must have recognized her, because his brow furrowed in confusion. "'Ponine? What the deuce are you doing inside The Sailor of Brittany?"
She smiled for the first time in days. She'd had a long, good history with the youngest criminal of the Patron-Minette. They'd been a couple for almost a year, and friends for even longer. She'd found him charming and strong and mysterious, and he'd thought her beautiful from the start, to her amazement. Surely someone as handsome and rugged as Montparnasse would want someone more elite; some grisette from the Marais, or at least a decent woman from the suburbs. That he'd chosen her-an ugly, dirty gamine from Saint Michel-had been the best thing that had happened to her in years. Parnasse made her feel protected, and had stayed by her longer than any boy ever had.
"My father's put me in here." She whispered. "I'm telling you, there is no good left in that man. The money I'm going to collect for the next three days, from the man who forced themselves upon me...he'll take it all, and do the same thing to Azelma sometime in the future. Wouldn't you say that's just horrible?"
Montparnasse grinned crookedly, and gave a small burp. "I say that's damn good business."
She stared at him, as dumbstruck as if he'd slapped her. What on earth was he saying?
Then she saw the truth. The slowness in his movement, the glaze in his eyes, the tone of his voice...
"Parnasse," she said sadly. "You're drunk."
His eyes widened, making him look something like a sallow-faced bullfrog. "That's an honest-to-goodness lie! I am certainly not drunk...yet." He chuckled, and raised the half-empty bottle in his hands to his lips.
"Parnasse." She whispered, more urgently this time. "You have to help me escape. I don't want to be used like a whore."
He eyed her, silently for a moment. Then he smiled again. "All right. I'll make a deal with you."
"What?"
"You give me a kiss, and I'll help you."
Éponine looked at him, perplexed. Montparnasse had kissed her before, of course, but he's never asked permission to do it. Why was he now?
Though it seemed like such a simple thing to agree, she found herself saying "Umm..I don't know."
"Ah, c'mon, 'Ponine." He complained, his words slurred. "I'll give you a franc." And he brought a shiny silver piece out of his pocket to prove it. "It'll be a nice bit of coin that your father won't be robbing you of."
She had to admit, he had a point. Despite a strange feeling in her gut telling her to refuse, Éponine leaned out the window and took the coin from his hand.
"Good. Now, if you don't mind, I'll have what I paid for."
Before she could fully comprehend the meaning of his words, he cupped her face in his hands and brought her lips to his.
Instead of feeling giddy and light-hearted, as she had in the past when Montparnasse had kissed her, Éponine felt as if she was being smothered by a completely different person; a darker, crueler entity than the boy she fancied she loved.
After a few moments, Montparnasse broke their intimacy, and released her. He smiled crookedly again. "Ah...well worth the money, dearie." Something about the way he said it put Éponine on edge. Somewhat self-consciously, she wiped the kiss off her lips with her arm.
She coughed to break her silence. "All right, then," she said, trying to gather her thoughts. "Will you help me now?"
The dandy nodded pleasantly, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that increased her discomfort. ""Course I will, ma cherie. Some advice for you; tomorrow, if the man is ugly, then I suggest you simply close your eyes and get it over with. If he's handsome, however, then try to have a little fun. But not too much, mind you. I know you're such a good girl." And with that, Montparnasse made a mocking bow, turned his back, and began to leave.
Éponine watched him go, dumbfounded at first, but then her confusion quickly turned to fury.
"Bastard!" She yelled. "You wretched, drunken, dilapidated mountebank! I wanted you to help me escape, not leave me here in this house of whores!"
"Oh, you're one to talk, dearie." Montparnasse snapped, turning back on her in a flash. The glint she'd noticed before was even greater now, and neither of his dark eyes reflected the light of the lamps that shone on his pale face. "As I've always understood it, whores are women who make deals with men on issues of a wildly inappropriate topic. And I must say, you're becoming quite skilled at that. You made a pact with your father to spare your sister-" He smiled at the look of surprise on her face. "Yes, I know all about that, 'Ponine. Thenardier is such a gossip, did you know? But furthermore, whores also take men's money, and you only need look at the new franc in your hands to prove I'm right." Montparnasse walked to her window, and leaned in, so that she could smell the drink on his breath. "But if you still need motivation to stay here, let me tell you this; if Thenardier doesn't pay us back the money he lost-oh yes, we know he lost it to Wolfstein-then Clauqesous has sworn to break every bone in his slimy little body, and I'm deeply considering helping him. So hold on to that franc, 'Ponine. You might just need it to save your father's life."
Montparnasse raised his hands, and slammed down her window. She could hear the loud thud! of its impact on the wood. The dandy eyed her one last time with a look crueler than she'd ever seen him give, and then he vanished into the shadows.
Éponine staggered away from the window, her limbs numb. She wanted to scream. She wanted to burst out of this terrible room and this ungodly house, find Montparnasse and shake him until he turned into a pile of jam in her hands. She wanted to ask him what the hell was wrong with him and the reason for his bipolar episode. Why they couldn't go back to the way things were before, when she imagined the two of them, forever and forever.
But the shock of what had just happened, and the words exchanged between them left her drained of all anger. Only sadness was left. So she climbed into the lumpy bed Madame Ferrant- no, Pompidou- had given her, and cried herself to sleep.