A/N: Hey everyone. If most of you follow Coerced, then you know about my little rant, my uh…meltdown, if you will. Well thank God for you all. Honestly, I was ready to put those stories on hiatus until I was ready to write again, but I can't thank you guys enough. I've read everything that has come into my inbox and it just touches me. (I'm working on replies, please bear with me.)

Really, I was…perhaps I still am…but I'm going through a dark time in my life. But what better way to not let it get to you than to kick some ass. (Excuse my language) But I found the courage from you all to go out and write the best chapter of OHHH that you have ever seen! Yeah, it's not perfect, yeah it's not a masterpiece, but it's wonderful to me. And it kicks butt.

So thank you all. Why are you all so amazing to me?

Now, I will warn you. Go find a comfortable spot, wrap up with a blanket or a pillow, or both, get ready and get set. This one is intense - with violence and all - and as we're nearing the end…you're gonna be in for a wild ride.

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 26 - Of Fury and Fireworks

...

There comes a point in time when you find your world crashing around you, everything that you once believed in, everything that made you who you were, everything that you held so dear, suddenly it vanishes. It is as if all of that disappears into the air, gone in a cloud of smoke, evaporated, dissolved, and lost into the vast sky.

Montparnasse...he could feel his world falling from his grasp. Vividly, he could see her wrapped in another man's embrace as he whispered in her ear over and over, asking her to leave him. The man's hands glided along the curves of her body, touching everything that belonged to him, leaving his own marks on her skin, finding ways to stake his claim - laughing at him, mocking him. It sickened Montparnasse down to the core. His own wife let this man hold her, let him touch her - she breathed his name as he brought her to ecstasy. It seemed his control was slipping no matter what he was doing. But oh, he would make her rue everything and more importantly, he would find out the truth.

His fingers gripped her harshly, locking her in position, making sure there would be no escape from his hold. He shook her just enough to make her dazed eyes look at him. "Who is Enjolras?" he asked gravely. "What did he tell you?"

Her eyes landed on his lips that held an unforgiving scowl. Giggling, she tried to close the distance between her lips and his but immediately he shook her again, pushing her away from him without losing his hold on her.

"Enough, 'Ponine. Answer me."

"Jesus Christ, 'Parnasse," Babet cut in, "leave her alone."

Suddenly, Montparnasse set his eyes on Babet, his brow lowering, threatening him. There was something in Babet's eyes, something unusual about them, something that was making him stand up for Éponine, something causing him distress. "What do you know?" he asked.

Babet ran a hand down his face. "Nothing, 'Parnasse. But you're causing a scene. She'll answer you when she's sober."

"No," he said. "You know something."

"I don't know anything."

"What do you know?" he questioned as he lunged for Babet, never letting go of Éponine. Instantly, Babet took a step backward at the same time that Brujon stood to his feet. "Tell me what you know, Babet!" he demanded, yelling throughout the restaurant.

Babet stayed impassive.

Eyes were watching them now; quiet murmurs and hushed tones, fingers pointing and judging stares. A crowd of waitresses stood from afar, looking back and forth to one another before finally a waiter broke from their small circle. He approached Montparnasse cautiously, as if testing the water before he dived in.

"Excuse me, sir," he timidly began.

Dark eyes snapped to the waiter, flames roaring from the pupils. "What?"

Wringing his hands together, the waiter took a a small step forward. "I'm sorry, sir. But your conversation is causing a bit of a disturbance. If you could keep your voice down, it would be much appreciated. And if not, we're going to have to ask you to step outside."

"Outside?" he repeated as if it were a joke. Scoffing, he shook his head in disbelief.

Éponine only snuggled up against him, bare hands fisting the material of his dress shirt. "Can we go see the fire...works, baby? You told me you would...we would see them?"

For a solid minute, Montparnasse grit his teeth, jaw clenched as he looked between the waiter, Éponine, and Babet. With a sharp sigh, he spoke: "There should be enough to cover everything on the table. We'll be on our way." He met Brujon with a deadly stare. "Let's go."

Abruptly, the remaining two stood from their seats under the eyes of onlooking patrons. Leading the way, Montparnasse dragged the stumbling Éponine behind him while the other three took up the rear. The five finagled their way through the crowds, bumping into individuals here and there until they finally made it out into the brisk and frigid night air.

Determined, Montparnasse marched through the emptying streets of the Boston Marketplace, letting the fullness of his anger overtake his mind. He searched around, eyes frantic, until he saw what he wanted and darted off down a narrow street. Every step or two, he would make sure that his friends were following behind him and he would grip Éponine harder as she tripped over her feet in the hast.

With a few more quick steps, he found the perfect dark alley nestled between two tall buildings. He stuffed Éponine further into the darkness, pinning her up against the wall.

"Listen to me, Éponine," he said, tucking his left hand under her chin and pressing her head into the bricks behind her. "Look at me. Tell me who this Enjolras is."

Her mouth broke into a smile, her eyes searching everywhere but his. "I don't see any fireworks."

His right arm left its position on her midsection, and immediately, he slapped her across the cheek, but with his left hand securing her chin in place the pain only intensified. "Don't play stupid with me, 'Ponine. Look at me and tell me."

"For God's sake," Babet groaned. "She's drunk. She won't tell you anything. Just let me take her home...maybe I can find out."

"Shut up. You're gonna stay the hell away from her. She'll tell me. She knows she hiding something. She won't tell me if she's sober." Montparnasse shifted his hips against hers, pressing her harder against the brick behind. "C'mon, 'Ponine, tell me the truth. Tell me about Enjolras. What did he tell you?"

"Enjolras?" she giggled.

"Yes. Who is he?"

"Enjolras," she said again. "Enjolras who?"

Another slap found its way across her cheek and she sucked in a breath, wind blown out from her mouth. This time, her head teetered back and forth across the brick and she moaned quietly. There was no trace of inexplicable humor on her face anymore, her own happiness had vanished.

"Ow," she murmured after a moment as the pain swelled. "You hit me?"

"And I'll hit you again. So tell me."

Babet exchanged a glance with Brujon and Claquesous, but neither showed an ounce of guilt, neither seemed worried, instead they stood, enjoying the show, enjoying the display of power on Montparnasse's behalf. Babet took a small step forward. "She won't tell you, 'Parnasse. Not if you keep slapping her!"

It was like every nerve in Montparnasse's body paused for just a brief stint of time, enough to make the synapses in his brain snap and he found himself face to face with the most incredible thought. He turned himself around, bringing Éponine off the wall with him. Taking a bold step toward Babet, he narrowed his eyes. "Then you slap her."

Montparnasse positioned the stupefied Éponine in front of himself, holding her upper arms behind her back. He kept his left hand clamped around her bicep while he grabbed ahold of her hair with the other hand, forcing her head up.

"I'm not slapping her," Babet said, appalled and eyes wide, frantic.

"Why?" Montparnasse asked, feigning innocence. "You've been wanting to touch her all night, even take her home. Well...now I'm letting you touch her."

"That's not what I meant - "

Brujon scoffed, looking between the men. "Didn't you say you could get the truth from her? Well, go ahead, Babet. Get the truth."

Montparnasse grinned in the darkness, his pearl teeth radiating from the glow of the moonlight. "Man up, Babet. C'mon, slap her."

"I don't hit women, you know that," Babet deadpanned, hiding his growing anxiety, hoping they couldn't see the sweat forming on his brow, even in the cold.

"Aww...well aren't you a sweetheart?" Montparnasse taunted. "C'mon...Éponine needs a few good slaps tonight. C'mon, give her one. One good slap. Get the truth from her."

Instinctively, Babet stepped back minutely, closer to Brujon. "This is sick, 'Parnasse. I'm not going to hit your wife." He shook his head, running a hand down his face. "No, I'm done. I'm sorry."

As Babet turned around, he slammed headfirst into Brujon. "Do it, Babet, or don't even think about coming home tonight," he threatened.

For a second, it felt like all thought in his mind vanished. He was at an odds. What was he supposed to do? Surrender his morals or sleep on the streets for the night? Was there a way that didn't end with any hurt?

"You call yourself a man, Babet?" Montparnasse's voice broke through again. "Show me you are." He gave Éponine's body a small shake, readjusting his hold on her hair.

Babet stared down at Éponine, his heart already breaking for every shred of guilt he felt for her. Underneath the cloud in her eyes, he could see how terrified she was, he could see the slight tremble of her white coat through the blackness of night; he knew she was petrified. Yet, even though he saw that, he still took a step closer to her, but he didn't know why. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't want to be without a place to stay tonight. His hand raised and still no fathom of reason came to his mind.

When her eyes landed on his, his heart sank; he watched her white breaths of air coming out labored and even still, his pulled his hand back. But as he let it come forward, his palm met her cheek with a soft tap - a brush of his hand over her cheek.

Montparnasse scoffed. "That wasn't even a slap, Babet. C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that." He shoved Éponine forward slightly, closer to Babet. "Give her a real slap. A good one."

Babet looked between Montparnasse and Éponine once more. His eyes lingered on hers, staring deep into her brown pupils, now turned black under the shroud of night. He couldn't do it.

Even if Éponine couldn't think straight, even if the alcohol was fogging her mind and spinning her world, she could clearly see Babet and she knew the depravity of what was happening. So, she did this for him. She sucked in a breath and held his gaze. So lowly that it could have been confused by the wind, she whispered only to Babet: "It's okay."

How could she be this strong? How could she let him do this? How had reality turned this screwed that what was wrong seemed right? Babet didn't know the answer to any of that, except he knew that Éponine was more of a man than he was, and he was sorry for that.

Gritting his teeth, Babet pulled back his palm and struck her across the cheek; the sound of the smack echoing into the dank alleyway. She kept her eyes closed for far too long, afraid to open them, afraid of another hit. The world around her kept spinning and the only thing that kept her from falling over were her husband's hands still clasped in her hair and around her arm.

With a bitter chuckle, Montparnasse turned Éponine around to face him. "My pretty 'Ponine...my darling, won't you tell us now?" She finally opened her eyes and when she did, she did not see the warmth and the guilt that Babet's had. No, now she stared into the cold and unforgiving green eyes of Montparnasse. "I'll only ask once more: Who is Enjo - " He cut himself off, realization dawning. "Enjolras..." he repeated, as if it were a foreign word. "Enjolras, Enjolras...the man who saw you crying? The man who punched me? The one from the park."

"The park?" Éponine repeated this time, trying to recall any kind of park from her memory. "What park?"

"So it was a lie, my dear." His voice was grave. "You never went to any park with him? Then tell me. Where did you meet him?"

"Enjolras?" she asked. Her eyes closed again, focusing on her brain pounding against her skull. "He's a friend..."

"Shut up, Éponine," Babet nearly yelled in a trembling tone. "Don't talk. Don't tell him anything."

Suddenly, Montparnasse pushed Éponine to the ground in one forceful shove, sending her scraping along the worn cobblestones. He locked his vision on Babet and hurled himself at him, restraining him against the adjacent wall. "What do you know?" he seethed. "Tell me who he is. Tell me what she is hiding from me!"

"What kind of sick bastard are you, 'Parnasse? What the hell is wrong with you? You drag us to some god-forsaken alley just to get the truth from her? I won't tell you. Never in my life will I tell you. You don't deserve the truth. Because I know, for a fact, Enjolras loves her more than you do - "

The last breath of the word barely left his mouth before he was silenced. Montparnasse's face contorted, twisted, fueled in anger as he struck his knee into Babet. The stoner silently screamed, a sharp cry finally emitting from his mouth once he fell to the ground.

Montparnasse towered over him, admiring his handiwork with a smug smile dripping from his lips. He cast a glance to Brujon and Claquesous who both remained stoic but each with their own simper dawning on their faces. In two steps, Montparnasse stood above the ghost of white and reached down, grabbing her by the arm.

"Stand," he instructed, jerking her to her feet. He pressed her firm against his solid chest, breath hot on her own. "Oh, 'Ponine. I'm going to make your life hell tonight...and you can thank Babet for that."

As he yanked her away, she glimpsed back at Babet who was still howling in pain on the cold ground. Her eyes met his for a second, yet she never sent him a scornful glance, instead it was poignant, heart-rending...grateful. But she was whisked away before she could stare at him for too long, stumbling along behind Montparnasse, struggling to keep pace with his long strides like a dog. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes as the distant sounds of canons erupted. The sound sizzled and crackled before it faded away and another canon went off.

Why was she always just out of reach from the things she loved?

From his vantage point on the ground, Babet could see their silhouettes fade away as the darkness engulfed them. Her white coat was the last thing visible until it disappeared into the inky night along with his last image of her. A small tap by a foot caused him to look up and see Brujon standing above him.

"You can get up," he stated. "You good?"

Babet slowly sat himself up, hand still abating the pain between his legs. He groaned quietly before shuffling to his feet, now standing before his so-called friends. "Fine." Shaking the dust and dirt from his jacket, Babet glanced between his two formidable friends, waiting for them to say something to him.

He was thankful for the cloak of night that hid the pain in his eyes, the last thing he needed was Brujon to make him feel like an imbecile for his menial emotions. The fact is, he shouldn't feel anything, he spent years running from his emotions, he buried them, incinerated them, drowned them until they were dead; yet now here they were, building in his stomach like vomit. These feelings made him sick, but no, it was what he did that disgusted him.

The guilt would not let him rest. He made things worse for himself and for Éponine especially. Would she even survive until tomorrow now? But what would she look like if she did? Would she even be able to walk, or breathe on her own? And what about himself? He disobeyed the one rule he followed like a religion. He swore he never would. He didn't want to. But he did.

It's not like he could change the past. What's done is done. There was no going back.

And Babet loathed himself for it.

In the quietness of night, the sound of cannons erupted from somewhere in the distance. Babet's heart sank. A long forgotten ache appeared behind his eyes and his throat ran dry. Suddenly he snapped, he would not let them see him like this.

Brushing past Brujon in a hast, the gruff man stopped him, pulling on the sleeve of his coat. "Where you going?" Brujon asked.

Babet stopped on his heel and turned around, giving a small shake of his body to rid Brujon's hand from him. "Man, I just…I just…I-I need a hit right now. I can't think straight, I just need to leave."

In reply, Claquesous made only a small sound, similar to that of a grunt. It was the most eloquent thing he had said all night.

"I'll be back later. Don't wait up for me," Babet said, already turning to leave.

As he continued on his way, he could hear Brujon scoff. "Never do."

With a gulp, Babet carried on, forcing his feet forward, pushing onward with no particular destination in mind. His breath was wheezing while his heart kept breaking. Not intending to, he found himself wandering toward the crowds. They were illuminated by colors splaying across their face, green melting to red, then white as they stood underneath the radiant sky.

For a moment, he was mesmerized by it. But he couldn't stare at it for too long. Every passing second he looked at it made his heart swell, for she was not watching it. In a hast, Babet stepped to the side about to dart off once again, but collided into another mesmerized body.

"Sorry," he muttered, drifting his eyes up to see who he ran into.

It was a woman he didn't know, but a beautiful one. In the black of night, her red hair was dark, shining with the colors that exploded across the sky over and over. Her eyes reflected the sparkling colors as she looked back to him, eye-level. In the moment, he didn't realize that his hand was still on her arm until she motioned to it and he retracted it as if her arm were a flame.

"Sorry," he said again. "I-I didn't see you there - "

Another explosion cascaded across the sky, this time in the shape of a heart. Simultaneously, they both looked over to the firework, eyes widening with awe.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. "I love watching the fireworks, don't you?"

He took in a breath, tearing his eyes away from the brilliant sky. "No."

Her brow furrowed. "That's odd. But you're here watching them?"

"No, I'm leaving." Just then, her eyes dropped down and met his, her head tilting to the side, trying to figure him out. "And what about you?" he asked curtly. "You're just here by yourself watching them?"

She turned her eyes away from him, sticking her hands into the pockets of her coat. "Yup." She waited before speaking again, noticing how he didn't leave like he said he was going to. "So why don't you like the fireworks?"

How was he supposed to tell her? He couldn't, right?

"There was a girl," he started. "She wanted to see them. I kinda just messed everything up." He sighed heavily. "I think I kinda just messed up her whole life."

Suddenly, she looked back to him, her eyes incredulous. "How?"

"I didn't help."

The silence grew between them and she scoffed. "Funny. I think I'm in the same boat."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm here by myself, aren't I?" she questioned, placing her hands on her hips.

"Oh," he said, but he could not hide the confusion in his voice. "Um...?"

"I had this friend," she continued, hands finding her pockets again. She kept her gaze positioned into the sizzling colors that began to fade into smoke. "My friend needed some help. I wanted to help, but my boyfriend told me not to get involved. I don't know. I just left him. I couldn't understand why he didn't want to help. Now I haven't even spoken to him in weeks."

"Well, did you help?"

"No." She laughed at herself. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. Sorry. But can you believe it? I lost my boyfriend because I wanted to help and I still didn't even help." Shaking her head, she bitterly chuckled, not even embarrassed that he was staring at her now.

Babet stayed silent for a minute, just listening to her chuckle before it died away. "Just go to him," he finally said. "That's what I'd do." Nodding, Babet took a step backward. "Enjoy the fireworks."

He saw her turn around, watching his movements, so he gave one small smile as a goodbye and left her standing there alone.

Babet was ready now - he was ready to leave here for the rest of the night, go off somewhere far away, leave his troubles, and leave this pain. He found another small alleyway after a ten minute walk. Sinking to the ground, he huddled up and took off his coat, exposing his T-shirt clad self to the biting wind. But it wasn't a worry, in a coupe of moments, he wouldn't even feel it.

He opened up his inside jacket pocket and took a deep breath. The second the needle pierced through his skin, he could feel the familiar sensation overtaking him. He succumbed to it with a smile.

Yes tonight, he didn't just want to get high - tonight he wanted to soar.

...

When they entered their dark home, Montparnasse tossed Éponine to the couch as one would a piece of trash. He paced back and forth in front of her as she tried to sit up, using the pillows for support.

"Are you sober yet?" he spit.

She didn't know how to respond, honestly. Her face was throbbing, her head thrumming, the room wasn't ceasing its twirling, yet she understood what was happening.

Was she sober?

She shrugged.

The second she gave her answer, his pacing stopped abruptly and he glared at her. "Perhaps I should smack you again." He raised the back of his hand this time, and she jerked away, bracing herself with her arms.

"I'm sober!" she cried.

"Good," he replied, dropping his hand to his side. "Then tell me. Where did you meet this Enjolras? How do you know him?"

She cast her eyes to the floor under his intense stare. "Umm...I-I..." she stuttered.

His hand caught her wrist as she began to lower it back to her lap and he tugged her forward on the couch, close enough to feel his breath on her. "Why don't you tell me?" he sneered.

Her heartbeat quickened rapidly, her breath turning ragged. "It was the park."

Slowly, he picked up her wrist and stuffed it with the other one into his large hand. "Oh...the park, hmm?"

She nodded. "It was one day during work, I went to the park for lunch - "

Slap! "Try again," he challenged.

Éponine hissed at the sting, head still hanging to the side as she waited for the pain to cease. Premeditatedly, his hand was still gripping both of her wrists so she couldn't clutch her face to abate the pain. Instead, she lifted her eyes to stare at his chest, not meeting his threatening gaze. Her head felt heavy, like it was about to fall off her shoulders at any moment. Through the clouds in her mind, she thought of something else. "Mr. Gallagher asked me to ‑ "

Slap! "Try the truth this time."

Éponine closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath, and not make a sound indicating any discomfort. She paused for a moment, gathering most of her thoughts, trying to come up with something, but right now, it was difficult to even find the truth. "He came into the office - "

Slap! "We can do this all night."

Her head felt like lead, wavering, teetering on top of her neck. Panting, she stammered out, "T-the...the Lounge. When I ran away."

His hand raised to strike but only centimeters from her cheek, he stilled, lowering his face to hers. "That night? In October?" he whispered. He looked away from her, trying hard to recall. "The man who brought you back to me..."

Her eyes stayed screwed shut and she gulped in a large breath of air. "I saw him again after that...saw him a few more times. He's a client. H-he's working with Mr. Gallagher. We talked, we're friends, that's it."

It wasn't the truth, but it was close enough to the truth and already she felt like she betrayed him. Montparnasse's hold on her wrists tightened, crushing the bones together, ready to snap them in one quick move.

"You're friends?" His voice was a breath, one full of disbelief, one full of hurt.

How did this quickly turn into something worse than it was? She thought the worst of her punishment would be a slap, or a hit for her actions, but she never expected part of the truth to slip out so suddenly, insinuating worse than the situation really was. It was an accident, and one she needed to dig herself out of now. She shrugged her shoulders, taking a breath. "It's not like that, 'Parnasse. We are only friends. We don't hang out, or talk about anything personal - "

In one quick second, Montparnasse had Éponine's head pressed against the coffee table, knees on the ground, hand engulfing her skull and crushing it against the hard surface. "What did I say about having friends? About having male friends?" Gradually his voice was beginning to raise. "Did you ever once tell him: 'I have a husband?' Or 'I'm married,' or even, 'I shouldn't talk with you. My husband wouldn't like it very much'?"

"It wasn't like that," she sputtered out, hands clawing the corner of the coffee table. "He knows I'm married."

His fist grabbed a handful of her hair before sending her colliding into the hardwood floor. "Then he shouldn't have even talked to you more than once! And what is wrong with you?" he yelled. "Do you really hate me that much that you have to be friends with him? You've been friends with him...in secret from me...since October?! Since October! God, 'Ponine! He'll take advantage of you. Or...or...no. You let him? You let him take advantage of you! You hate me, that's it? That's why you let him? I'm not even worth anything to you anymore? Is our marriage nothing to you?"

"No, I love you," she croaked, hands brushing tears from under her eyes.

"Could'a fooled me! I don't even think you know the first thing about love! Love means respecting your husband. Love is loyalty and trust. You think I trust you right now? You think you've been very loyal to me?" Montparnasse eyed around for something to smother his anger, and soon his eyes found the broken remote on the coffee table behind him. He grabbed it, holding it high, and smashed it to the ground, narrowly missing Éponine's head.

She yelped earning her a hearty kick in the side of her ribs. Wrapping her arms over her head, she tucked herself into a ball, crying hard into her knees.

"Cry all you want, you pathetic skank. You disgust me. You didn't even have the decency to tell me what happened. You expected this to be a secret? You were gonna hide it from me? You were going to keep lying? Did you really think I wouldn't find out? You weren't even going to tell me if I never asked you about it." He squatted down, right next to her face and his fingers gently brushed her hair back. She flinched away from the jarring touch, already trembling at where the pain would come next. "I thought you loved me."

"I do," she whimpered.

"Then show me." His words were venom, a devil's demand.

"How?"

Montparnasse abruptly stood to his feet, grabbing a handful of her shirt and bringing her to her feet as well. He began leading the way out of the living room, crunching the broken plastic pieces of remote underneath his shoes on the way out. Storming his way into the bedroom with her dragging behind, Montparnasse tossed her to her knees and slammed the door.

"Beg," he commanded, standing in front of her with hooded eyes.

Éponine looked up to him with sorrow, face reddened from tears, palms up in confusion. "For what?"

He grumbled impatiently, folding his arms across his chest. "For my forgiveness. I want to hear you say you'll do anything to make it up to me. That you'll accept your punishment with willingness. That you will never even look at any other man that isn't me...again. Now, beg."

She looked to the floor, lips trembling. "I'm sorry, 'Parnasse. Please forgive me."

"Keep going."

"I will do anything to make it up to you."

"Will you ever even look at another man?"

"Never. I'm sorry," she sniveled, demeanor changing so suddenly into one of a misbehaving child, returning, submitting back to what she knew. "Please forgive me, 'Parnasse. I'd do anything...for you. I will do anything."

"What do you want me to do?"

She stilled, stunned by his question. "I'll do anything."

"You'll accept your punishment?"

"Yes."

"Willingly?"

She bowed her head resting her hands on her thighs. "Yes."

"Beg me for it," he calmly instructed. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, silently questioning his demand. "Look down and beg me for it."

Complying, Éponine sunk her gaze back to the ground and said with a breath: "Punish me. Please punish me."

A sick smile fell over Montparnasse's lips, his whole body getting excited just by her very words. "Tell me again."

"I need you to punish me for what I did to you," she said softly, trying to mask the tears in her words. "Please."

His emotions took over, the internal desire fueling his actions now; reason falling away. Montparnasse took hold of Éponine's face with both hands, crashing his lips into hers, colliding his teeth along her mouth, ravishing her with animalistic intent.

She sat confused at what was happening, but she did nothing to stop him, instead she closed her eyes and succumbed to him.

Montparnasse's face tore away from her and his palm slapped her across the face. Immediately, his hands clutched her hair, bringing her lips back to meet his and forcefully, he stood her up, keeping her mouth fixed on his, not stopping to give her a breath. He shoved her back until she slammed into his dresser. With a broad smile, he gripped her chin and thrusted her head backwards, letting it slam into the wood; smile turning to a sick grin when she didn't utter a sound.

Éponine shut her eyes as his fist collided with her abdomen. She doubled over herself, but Montparnasse held her, keeping her from falling over.

"Tell me you love me," his icy words ordered as he seized ahold of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath his fingers. His body pressed against hers, his rigidity firm at her thigh. "Look at me, Éponine." He shook her slightly, forcing her eyes to open. "And tell me."

Éponine cracked open her eyes, face set in a dead expression as she stared at her husband before her. Montparnasse. This was the man she had known for years, since she was a little girl. This was the man who saved her life, who took her away from her gruesome past. This man, whose fingers tightened around her neck with each passing second, who was suffocating the air from her lungs, and whose smile only intensified; this was the man she loved.

Her eyes turned glassy, conveying the hurt passing through them and with the last bit of breath she had in her lungs, she breathed, "I love you."

She fell to the ground, heaving and the world slowly lifted from the blackness that was swarming her vision. But her world didn't stop moving, she was shifted from the ground in an instant, being tossed onto the bed with a large weight on top of her. Greedy fingers were all over before she could even comprehend what was happening.

With no time to recover, no permission, and no second thought, her clothes were tossed away and he was inside her.

His body was suffocating her, pinning her down as his arms wrapped around her. He shifted their bodies on their sides, enveloping her in his embrace, shoving her face into his chest. "You love me," he murmured. "I know you love me."

He wrapped his legs over hers, compressing them between his. His arms only tightened around her and she did nothing to respond. Slowly and painfully, he was choking her body with his own. The only thing she did, was let his wavering words hit her again and again.

"You love me, Éponine. Don't leave me." His voice was turning scared, now only a whisper. He nuzzled his face into her hair, his muscles squeezing her body as a cobra would. "You won't leave me, you're mine. You love me." Suddenly, his breath hitched and he inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth, screwing his eyes shut. "You love me," he whispered again.

Éponine was ready to cry, her body ached, her head pounded, and the tears were trying to come. But she swallowed them back and opened her eyes. She stared straight through him, determined, resolute. "It's okay, Montparnasse," she whispered to him, arms finally embracing him just the same, drawling a small circle on his bare skin. She took in another deep inhale, holding back the hurt, holding in the emotion as she let out the words in a flat breath; a breath cold, unfeeling, already dead: "I love you."

A/N: I'm praying that you all understood what just happened. But if I were to flat-out tell you with exposition, it would ruin the writing. I hope you guys liked this one, and I hope this chapter seemed more…me.