"Will you tell me about your family?" Enjolras asked as they sat down to dine together.
Eponine paused in front of her chair, caught off guard by his question. She hoped to avoid such delicate subject matter for as long as possible, but now that the question was out, how was she to evade it?
Eponine took her place across the table from him, careful to keep her focus on her food instead of his quizzical stare. Biting her lip, her mind buzzed as she tried to come up with some sort of lie to feed him, but the moments passed and the silence grew heavy as he waited patiently for her answer. But why should she lie to him at all? She needn't say anything serious about her family. After all, there would never be a time for him to meet them, to raise any suspicion about her family and her past. She looked up at him, his eyes blinked into a smile.
"We lived in Montfermeil before we lost it to bankruptcy." She started slowly, forming the words in her mouth, testing them, hoping nothing too concerning would slip. "We moved to Paris hoping to start a new life there. But Paris wasn't any help to us. We struggled."
"I am aware," Enjolras said plainly, "your father joined the Patron-Minette."
Eponine's eyes widened, and the warmth in her cheeks faded, "You knew?"
His eyes were stern though not angry as she expected. Then he shrugged, his face relaxing to calmness, "Marius told me before we moved in together."
She still felt uneasy, waiting for him to express his disappointment for her family, for her.
"He took up the alias Jondrette, he committed petty robbery, and escaped from jail." Enjolras spoke without emotion, simply stating facts. "I know all of this, Eponine. That doesn't matter to me. He's not you. So tell me about your family. You were close, I assume, but were you happy?"
Her food remained untouched as Eponine's mouth hung open, unable to create words or even thoughts. How could he not feel betrayed by her? Why was he not shocked or angry with her for keeping quiet?
"I helped him," the words tumbled out.
At this he raised an eyebrow, "Did you?"
"I did whatever my father asked." She answered.
"Willingly?"
"Yes."
Enjolras stared at her, his eyes narrowed as he rested his arms on the table leaving Eponine feeling cold and naked. She gulped, dropping her gaze from him.
"I did as he asked because we were desperate for money."
Enjolras nodded in understanding as he leaned back in his chair. She could see his mind was working, piecing words spoken and not together like a puzzle.
"Your sister did too, and your brother?" He asked.
"Yes my sister did, but Gavroche didn't live with us." Eponine said, "He didn't want anything to do with us. But I did what I could for him whenever I saw him. He was my brother after all."
The room became silent as thought back to her family, but she didn't see Paris. She saw Montfermeil and the fireplace and the little doll she and Azelma shared, back when they were almost happy. A small smile tugged at her lips.
"I loved my family when we lived Montfermeil." Eponine said, "But Paris changed that. The love I felt for them was of nostalgia. I hoped that we would go back to Montfermeil so I could feel that sense of family again. My father even promised us that we would return, that one day all of our bad luck would change. But Paris eventually changed him. He no longer cared about me or Maman or Azelma. He did whatever he could to survive. And he warped that promise too. We would return to Montfermeil if trouble came. That's what the promise became, and when that happened, my hope was gone and Montfermeil tainted. It no longer felt like a home. That lie he constructed pained me most."
There was a pause before Enjolras spoke.
"Did he hurt you in other ways?"
The question was sudden, a rock plummeting into the calm water, sending rings and ripples from the center of the splash. How did Enjolras even come to such a question? Were there hints she had accidentally given? It was so sudden that Eponine couldn't come up with a lie to hide from his pity and the rage he would feel towards her father. So instead, she did not speak at all. Enjolras leaned forward again, stretching across the table to take her hand in his, and Eponine could see that he understood more than she conveyed. She breathed deeply at his touch, and for a while, neither said a word.
After dinner, the two retired to Enjolras' bedroom as snow fell in the dark outside. They faced each other, his arm at her hip as they lay naked together under the warm blankets.
"You didn't have to tell me anything, you know." Enjolras stated.
"It wasn't anything you didn't already know." Eponine replied, unhappy to be back on such unpleasant conversation.
"You know that isn't true."
Closing her eyes in an attempt to hide her frustration, she said, "Please Enjolras, no more."
He shifted in the bed and moved closer to her as his hand wrapped around the small of her back. Gently he kissed her forehead, a quiet apology and rested his chin on the top of her head.
"Have you finished your book?" He asked.
Eponine smiled; she loved talking about that Greek Mythology book.
"I'm rereading the myth about Apollo and Daphne." She said.
"Again?" He teased.
She placed her hand on his chest, admiring the smooth skin as she lazily searched for his heartbeat. Her hand rested against the spot when she found it.
"Yes again. I can't accept the idea that she feared him."
"You think something different?"
She snuggled closer to him, burying her face into his neck, "I think they loved each other."
"Tell me." His voice was tender with the unmistakable hint of seduction as he ran his fingers through her hair.
She smirked, kissing his neck as he felt his heart beat faster.
"Apollo loved Daphne from afar, and she too adored him. But he made a foolish mistake by making fun of Eros. And just as Apollo and Daphne were about to profess their love, Eros shot Apollo with his arrow."
Eponine pushed him on his back, looped her leg around him as she lay on top of him. She lavished his neck with kisses, softly biting his jugular every so often, feeling his body grow tense. Her thigh gently rubbed against his phallus, and he sucked in a breath.
"Yes, yes, you told me this," he hissed impatiently as his hands groped her rear.
She lifted her head, raising herself up over him to look down into his eyes. His cheeks were the softest tint of red, his eyes sparkled up at her, and he smiled. His breathing began to ease as gazed back t her, his fingertips lightly touching her bottom lip and rose to stroke her cheek. She ran her fingers through his golden hair, marveled by how quickly his sexual side turned to sensual. He was beautiful.
Eponine continued on with her story, "Daphne fled in fear of Eros' curse. She loved Apollo and did not want to live without that love in her heart. She couldn't let Eros take that from her. When Apollo chased her, Eros was always near, threatening to shoot his arrow, and she feared Eros so much she begged her father to save her from such a fate."
"He turned her into a tree." Enjolras said.
Eponine smiled, rolling her eyes at how bluntly he put it. Even so, she kissed him anyway, a short yet loving kiss.
"I believe Apollo and Daphne loved each other, and Eros made her afraid."
Enjolras awoke in the middle of the night to quench his parched mouth. The house was cold and he shivered as he drank down the water before returning to his room. The snow stopped falling and a sliver of the moon shown, sending its cool white light through the window of his bedroom. Eponine laid asleep, her arms stretched out over her head and under the pillow. In sleep the blanket had descended to cover her hips and below. He admired her, his eyes follow the curve of her flank, her navel, the dips in her ribcage, her breasts,—a pleasant size, neither too big nor too small so that they may fit in his hands— and the sharpness of her collarbone. She was skinny, but not enough to appear frail. She was beautiful and equally so with the strands of hair in her face as she slept.
Slowly and as quietly as he could so not disturb her, he climbed into bed, lifting the blanket over him and her. He wrapped his arm around her midsection, and she stirred then, her eyes opening lazily. She turned to him and smiled, taking her hand from underneath the pillow to touch his cheek. He shivered lightly at her touch, but nevertheless welcomed it. He placed his hand over hers. Her hands were always so cold.
In the dark and under the moon, drowsily, she called him "My Apollo".
A smile reached his eyes, and his heart melted.