September 17th
Dear Enjolras,
It's been awhile, huh? I guess you wouldn't know. You're dead. I'm better...on the outside. I only have to go to Musichetta's office three times a week again. She thinks that I have progressed quickly and at this rate, I can stop going to her office by the end of November. I really am better, really.
So I gave up giving up beer. It seemed insensible to give up beer if it was only going to make things harder on me. I had to get stitches because of that decision! And the picture was beyond repair. And I just really needed beer.
I've finally seen Zelma and Gav at Zelma's wedding last week. Zelma's engagement was quite short but I guess she just couldn't wait to get married. Zelma looked like a beautiful young lady and I almost cried. Gav looked very handsome and cleaned up very nicely. You'd be proud. Gav said he'd visit more often, which is a bit nice. Les Amis hardly visit save Ferre, Courf and Jehan. I think the others are a bit scared of me. Especially R. Well, Ferre and Courf usual fight over the tv remote while Jehan and I write. I've been writing short stories to easy my mind. I've written something about a girl being, along with others, locked up for an unknown reason and then a new guy shows up and the guy and girl escape and lead a revolution. I've also written something about a girl who stabs herself with a fork because being alone in love hurts too much. It's almost Shakespearean.
Anyway, Zelma told me that she and her new husband are leaving for England in December, after their honeymoon. It's nice to know she's doing something that makes her happy. I wonder if she's still mad about me leaving her behind when we were teens or if the smile she had on when she was with me was truly genuine. I hope it was genuine.
I'm fine. Did I write that already? Well, I am. Even though I've started burning my arms with my cigarettes to remind me that I'm still part of the world, I'm fine. Even though I have to get myself really drunk on Wednesday nights so my hangovers make me forget about Thursday breakfasts, I'm fine. Even though on the inside I feel like shit, I'm fine. The guys think I'm fine, Zelma and Gav think I'm fine and Musichetta thinks I'm...better than I was, so who's to tell me that I'm not fine? My little barricade is up and I'm Éponine Thenardier again. Thenardier sounds weird as my last name again but that's who I am, minus the drug addiction and crappy, abusive boyfriend. So don't worry. I've convinced the world that I'm fine.
Love Always,
Éponine
