Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.
Eponine's back! Yay!...Or perhaps not.
Thanks for all the lovely and helpful reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
It was the kind of night in which you could smell the oncoming storm.
The air was thick with clouds, and the rain was inevitable. Eponine only hoped that she would make it to the Café Musain quick enough to avoid it.
Her bare feet touched the ground lightly and quickly, her fingers ringing together nervously in hopes that she had not missed the nightly Les Amis meeting. She desperately wanted to see Enjolras, and see how his day went with the poor of France.
She shivered, her arms prickling with goosebumps. Coldness was second nature to her now, but the air was now near freezing with the promise of rain.
Nowadays, it seemed like the café was getting closer and closer to anything that resembled a home. Even though she knew better than to get attached (since everything she loved left her anyway), but she could not help but see Enjolras and the Les Amis as a possible constant.
Enjolras.
The name alone drew her feet quicker.
The image of his face in her mind was enough to distract her that day. She had been assisting her father and the Patron-Minette, partaking in one of their infamous house robberies. Her job was mostly watching, waiting for signs of the cognes or the owners to make an unwanted appearance.
However, she had been so preoccupied, imagining the sound of that stern, yet soft voice speak words of freedom and equality, that she had neglected to spot the carriage pull up outside the gates.
Her father and his friends had just managed to sneak out unnoticed.
When he had yelled at her, harshly asking what the hell was wrong with his stupid daughter, she had nothing other to say apart from the pitiful excuse that she was simply daydreaming.
At least he had chosen to run off and down his sorrows in alcohol rather than take it out on her.
She'd found it difficult to leave then. Montparnasse had insisted in his usual seductive manner that she stay with him that night.
She was no fool; she knew very well what he thought of her. How he thought of her. Everytime they met, it was the same offer. A warm bed for the night in exchange for a little company.
No, she was not a fool.
She was a survivor.
They had made that deal, and had gone through with it exactly twice. She had been desperate, not wanting to return to her father's rage. So she had seeked a place to stay. Nobody could judge her for anything, she had done what had needed to be done. However, she had promised herself never to let things get that bad that she would need to endure that again.
So she distracted Montparnasse with a bottle from her father's finest hidden collection, and ditched him for the door as fast as possible.
There was nothing she wanted more than to rid the evening of horrid thoughts and failed jobs. She knew of only one man that could do that.
She felt stupid, really. Every time she looked into Enjolras' brilliant blue eyes, she would be lost. Although she knew that there could never be anything so absurd between them, she liked to let her mind wonder into worlds in which they could possibly exist. Together.
But it was best not to get her hopes up.
After all, there was Enjolras, and there was her. A gamine and a gentleman.
Still, there was no harm in anticipating the greeting that he would share when she walked through the door. There was no foul in wanting to hear his passionate voice echo through the walls of the café. There was nothing wrong in wanting to watch his strong face, observe his perfectly presented features.
Was there?
She hurried along the streets as the sharp moonlight began to break through the clouds. How comforting the thought was of a warm, friendly place to rest her tired body.
As she squeezed through a narrow alley between two lopsided buildings, she broke into a large, empty street. A cool wind shuddered through her skin, and she reached up to warm her upper arms.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. She turned, and was pleasantly surprised to spy a small, unmistakable figure a few yards away. Gavroche.
Was he on his way to the café also?
His small figure spotted her also, and gave a little wave. She moved on her heels, and started towards him.
Another, dangerous sound cracked through her ears like thunder then.
Horses.
She slowed herself, and looked ahead for some indication of where the sound was coming from. However, the darkness made it difficult to see, and it was only until she stepped forward a few paces did she even see several other figures emerging on horseback in the darkness.
One, leading the others, had a distinctly bulky shape of muscle and had a posture that presented power.
She knew almost instantly who it was at that moment, and fear struck her dumb on her feet as she stopped dead in the middle of the road.
Javert.
She wanted to yell, and opened her lips to cry out Gavroche's name, tell him to run before they saw him in their way. She knew Gavroche was stupid and brave enough to not take harsh words from anyone, not even the police. Yet, no sound came out, and she found herself opening and shutting her lips together several times like a stunned animal.
"Gamin, get out of our way," she heard an impossibly deep voice echo through the abandoned street. "Clear yourself out of sight."
Watching helplessly, she saw Gavroche's figure jump back, but hover for a moment around the figures.
"Watch where yer' goin'!" he exclaimed, roughly patting down the creases in his already ratted clothing.
"Hold your tongue, boy!" another officer snapped, his voice harshly cutting through the dark. "Unless you want a beating."
No. Gavroche, for God's sake, don't-
"I wouldn't speak to me like that if I was you, Monsieur," Gavroche responded. There was no unwavering of confidence in his voice. That was his problem, Eponine had often said. He knew nothing but success and sneaky behaviour. He didn't know how to get into trouble. Terror struck her as he continued. "I've got friends that are plottin' to take you down."
Gavroche, you beast! You terrible thing!
Adrenaline and action spurred into her veins then, kicking her feet up and moving her legs before she even knew it. Sprinting across the ground, ignoring the sharp pebbles and debris that cut at her feet, she ran towards them.
"Gavroche!" she cried. She instantly hated how panicked her voice sounded. "Shut up! Shut up!" Racing towards the scene, she was there in a matter of moments, flinging herself between Gavroche and the group of frightening guards. "Ignore him, Monsieurs," she breathed, her voice horrid and pleading. "He doesn't know what he says. He's just a child."
However, it was too late. She watched, paralysed by fear as Javert dismounted his horse and strode slowly closer to them. He towered over her, in build and in position, and she felt like an ant.
"Let him continue," he said in a vicious voice. "It sounds like the boy has something to say."
Eponine cast her eyes behind her, where Gavroche had seemingly realised that his tongue had dug himself a hole once again. His eyes were widened, and his face paling. "I, um-"
"Don't say anything," Eponine hissed. "You keep your mouth shut."
"I have heard amongst my men that there are rumours in the streets," came Javert's voice once more. He stared down at them in furious distain. "Of a revolutionary group. We are not foolish, we are very much aware. They must know that if they try and begin some sort of uprising.." He had to stoop down to address them, his voice dropping low and threatening. "...Then actions will be taken."
Eponine felt Gavroche's small, freezing hand grasp at her wrist.
"Tell me now, and spare yourselves. Where can we find these men?"
Eponine said nothing. If he thought that she would risk the lives of her friends in order to save her own skin, then he was seriously mistaken. Her lips were tight, and her eyes watched up towards his with a wide anxiety.
"You best speak," Javert muttered under his breath.
Breaths came short from her chest. She wanted them to leave Gavroche and her alone, she wanted to run into the darkness and hide. All her life on the streets she had skilfully avoided Javert and his men, only now to be caught.
She was almost grateful when one of his men spoke in a tired, almost bored voice. "They know nothing, Monsieur," he said, waving his hand towards them like they were nothing more than bugs. "Are they worth our time?"
Javert's harsh eyes locked onto hers, never ripping away to give her mercy for even a second. It was only when another voice spoke, that he even twitched.
"I'll stay with them, Javert." Eponine tore her eyes away to glance over his shoulder. Another guard, beside Javert's hose, stood impossibly still, eyeing her from feet away. "Let me find out what they have to say."
Eponine watched him carefully. He was younger in age than the other men, but rough in appearance and wise behind the eyes. Perhaps he was one of those street thieves she had heard about, who had clawed their way into the law's eye with their clever tricks and careful ears. Her father had tried to get his name in that way for years, but with no avail. If this was true about this man, then she realised with a cold heart that she in no way wanted to be left behind with him.
It was clear by this leering eyes and poorly hidden smirk of the lips that he only had one idea.
Javert, still watching her closely, straightened himself suddenly. "Very well," he curtly replied. He moved to return to his horse, mounting in silence. The air could have been cut with a dagger.
She felt behind her, a hand clasping the itchy fabric of Gavroche's jacket tightly. She was ready to push him away if necessary. There was no doubt in her mind that should there be trouble, he would be the one leaving safely. She would ensure it.
The sound of trotting hooves cracked through the air again, and she watched helplessly as the rest of the police made their way from the scene. She flicked her eyes to the man before her, to find that he was fixated on her, with no intention of hiding his wondering eyes.
She felt something strange inside her mind flicker. Like a memory. There was some recognition she had with this man, only she could not remember where she knew his face. Only something in his seemed to make her think that he remembered her well...
After a moment, he stepped forward towards them. His voice was rough like gravel as he spoke. "Now then girlie, tell me what you know." She said nothing in response, unwilling to give him the slightest satisfaction. He wanted her to fear him, so she would not let him know he did.
He sensed her anxiety regardless, and dropped his eyes down to a hidden Gavroche behind her. "Or maybe your little friend has more information." Eponine stiffened, and felt her eyes harden towards him. An instinct inside her boiled and made it's way to the surface, turning her features to stone. Call it protection, or defence, either way, she was not prepared to let this man lay a finger on Gavroche.
Yet, this was unknown to him, and the man leaned down, stretching a large hand with long, bony fingers towards where Gavroche stood. "Am I gonna have to rip it outta' ya?..."
As he moved closer to Gavroche, and suddenly a hot rage ran through Eponine like fire. As he bent down closer to her and reached eye level, she steadied her feet and rammed her head forward, a vicious growl ripping from her lips. Her forehead hit his nose, and she quickly felt a sharp ache develop, but it was a good shot. A mighty crack rippled through the air, followed by a pained cry. He stumbled back, his hand flying towards his nose.
Eponine moved quickly, seeing her chance to get away, but a hand reached out and gripped her bare arm so tightly, she thought the skin would break.
The force pulled her back so she was face-to-face with the guard. He brought his eyes to her, which were now almost black with rage. Dark blood trickled down through his fingers, dripping onto the ground below.
"Bitch!" he hissed. "You'll pay for that!"
Then she remembered. She remembered his face, his voice. She remembered his hands shoving Enjolras violently against a wall with harsh words. Her cheek felt hot at the memory of his slap that all but provoked Enjolras to attack him. Her mind suddenly cleared the fact that this man was no good.
Drawing a breath, Eponine spat into his face, and spun around on her heels to face Gavroche. His eyes were wide and fearful.
"Gavroche! Run! Get away!" she yelled at his stunned face. He moved back a little, but for some reason did do anything other than watch her with a dumb-struck look to his face. She felt her brow furrow. With one more almighty breath, she bent down and screamed into his face, "Run!"
That seemed to resonate with him. Action snapped into his body, and without another glance he turned. She watched with a mild sense of relief as he sprinted away into the darkness, ducking between buildings to disappear.
"Ah!" she yelped, feeling her arm being tugged back in an unnatural position. She was spun until her body was against his. The smell of tobacco and dirt hit her nostrils, and she looked up to see the man sneering back down at her like a devil.
"No harm," he muttered, a horrible smile creeping onto his mean features. "Perhaps best if the child left..."
Eponine reached up and clawed for his face. He moved back, but not soon enough to avoid her quick hands dragging across his jaw, drawing more rouge blood from his skin.
He hissed angrily, and before she could take pride in her fast defences, a hand reached out and made harsh contact with her cheek. The pain was sharp and sudden.
In the shock, all thought went from her mind. She felt herself being pushed backwards, although she could do nothing but take control of her feet. Then, a hard surface slammed against her back, and she felt her spine grow rigid.
Forceful hands pinned her against a damp, brick wall. Suddenly, a clear thought flashed into her mind.
Scream. He won't bother if he thinks you're not worth the trouble.
She remembered from being younger, when she would perform more dangerous, less preferable jobs with her father. Mostly seducing men in the back alleys while he and his gang snuck up to knock out whoever wanted to get friendly with her. However, on the occasion that there would be a hold up with their arrival, her father shared with her one golden tip. She was told to scream, to fight, to make it as troublesome as possible for the man in question. If men don't think they can get what they want easily, then they give up interest all together.
For the scum her father was, it couldn't be said that he didn't know what he was talking about.
She steadied her lungs by inhaling a cold gulp of air, and was ready to release a sound.
"H-" A gasp erupted from her breaths. She was suddenly aware of a tight hand around her throat.
"Not so fast, love."
There was a rip. Eponine looked down with wide eyes to see the other hand tearing at her dress, the shoulder now ripped to reveal her pale shoulder and the curve of her breast. She shut her eyes tightly.
There were suddenly warm breaths against her lips, and before she could protest, hot, wet lips were on hers harshly. Her body froze in disgust. This was not love, or even lust. This was violence and hatred.
She suddenly recalled then, a dream she'd had a few nights previous during a sleepless, cold night. She had pictured Enjolras, gentle and loving, with kind hands and sincere lips whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Although she had felt completely scandalised with herself, and remembered waking with pink, bashful cheeks, she also remembered a joy, a secret thrill that had come with visions of them together.
The sheer harshness that was her reality now stung her heart coldly.
She was not afraid of what he planned to do with her. No, his intentions were pitiful, pathetic even. For everything she was, Eponine was not a coward. A worthless man like this was not capable of mustering any type of fear from her.
A tongue invaded her mouth roughly, and Eponine forced herself to not gag as not to anger him further. However, that was lost as soon as another, better idea flashed in her head. As soon as his tongue had momentarily ceased it's horrid exploration of her mouth, she angled her mouth and bit down on his lower lip.
Hard.
Another shocked sound arose from his throat, and he leapt back from her.
He sent his hand sharply across her cheek again, which was now burning like hot coal. "Enough!" a yell of rage ripped from his throat. "You're nowhere near worth the trouble you make."
Eponine thought that was it. Perhaps he would hit her once more and leave in a hurry. But sadly, she was not lucky enough.
A strong hand grabbed the back of her head by the hair, and painfully yanked her down until she was on her knees with a sharp cry. In the moonlight, he looked demonic, like a frightening, impossible being as he glared down at her with blood stained skin.
Her eyes widened as she saw his hand, reaching to his side for his baton. Horror flooded through her as she realised he might actually intend to beat her to death. She had heard such stories before. He raised his arm slowly.
"No! Don't!" she yelled in anger, feeling hot tears sting behind her eyes. She felt her last ounces of courage and pride leave her. Now she was afraid. Not of death, but of the pain.
With one last afterthought of meaningless hope, she opened her lips, took a deep breath, and released the loudest, most fearful scream she could master. Perhaps someone would hear and have the heart to investigate. She wanted Enjolras to hear. Someone, anyone. The scream cracked in the air and echoed past the building tops in a terrifying requiem.
As his arm came down at a harsh speed, she squeezed her eyes shut and felt her limbs stiffen, awaiting the oncoming agony.
