Chapter Thirty Seven
Inconsistencies
Éponine found herself sitting bolt upright in bed, her limbs weak and shaking, the darkness feeling like it was closing in around her. Panic clawed its way down her throat, tightening her airways and closing around her lungs. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling her heart hammering away against her palm; she tipped her head forwards, and it swam and spun. She closed her eyes, leaning so far forwards now that her head pressed against her knees which she drew up to her chest.
Her body was covered in sweat, having cooled against her skin so that she felt icy cold; at some point during her nightmare she had kicked off her duvet so it lay in a heap on the floor, exposing her body completely.
It took a few moments for her to regulate her breathing and for her heart rate to slow. When it was over, she felt weak. With a trembling hand she hauled the duvet off the floor and draped it over her legs and feet, and then switched on her bedside lamp. She was grateful for the soft yellow light that the lamp poured around the room, far more comforting than the oppressive blackness of nighttime.
But not even that could drive away the memories from her nightmare. It was all a mess, really; a mess off months ago with Claquesous, of being tied to his bed and his voice snarling through a phone, to a few years ago, of missing teeth and a mouthful of blood. And then Combeferre, who she had never expected to see in a nightmare, not ever, his face cold and expressionless and entirely unlike him, telling her he didn't want her.
She pressed her hands to her face once more and groaned, trying to block all of these images out of her head. When they wouldn't go away, she kicked her duvet off herself once more and swung her legs out of bed. Snatching up a stray hoodie from where it lay on the floor and her phone off the bedside table, she hobbled her way into the living room. She fumbled for the light switch and flopped down onto the sofa, shrugging on the hoodie as she curled up in the corner.
She needed noise, she decided, and switched on the television with the remote. Turning the volume down so that it was just a pleasant mumble in the background, she flicked through her contacts on her phone and weighed up who it would be best to phone. She already knew, really, who she was going to call. Seeing his face in a nightmare had been a shock to the system and as much as she hated admitting it she wanted reassurance that he didn't hate her.
Combeferre answered on the fourth ring, and his voice was thick and sleepy. "'Lo?" he mumbled.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't...I didn't mean to wake you." Except she did.
"Éponine?" He sounded a little more awake, now, and then when he next spoke his tone was thoroughly worried and nearing towards panic. "Is everything all right? Have you fallen again? Is it your ankle –?"
"I just had a nightmare," she said. "I'm just..." She touched a hand to her forehead. "I just needed to speak to someone."
"Do you want me to come over?" he said, immediately, and she heard the sound of fabric rustling, like he was either getting out of bed or putting clothes on.
"No," she said. "Don't trouble yourself."
"It's no trouble," he insisted.
"I don't...I just needed to hear your – someone's voice," she said. "It wasn't a very fun nightmare."
The rustling sound stopped, and she could just pick up the sound of his breathing before he said softly, "They never are, really."
"You were in it," she confessed. He didn't speak. "You didn't...You didn't want me."
"Oh, Éponine." More rustling. "Are you sure I can't come over?"
She thought about it. "I don't need you to," she said.
"I know," he said. "But do you want me to?"
She thought about that question. She did, she absolutely did, except that she really didn't either. She knew she wanted company, and noise, and she probably wanted a hug, too.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. She'd had nightmares in recent weeks, too, she'd just forced herself to carry on. Tonight was different, though, what with the new addition, and maybe it was worth rewarding herself...
"Okay," she said, at last. "Come over."
"I won't be long," he promised, and then hung up.
OOO
He was there within fifteen minutes, a comforting form in baggy grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt and hoodie, his hair ruffled from sleep and glasses slightly askew. He enveloped her in a hug almost as soon as he walked through the door. She didn't mind, because his body was warm and big against hers, and she hadn't realised how long she had gone since a proper hug.
They ended up sat on her couch, her legs hooked over his and his arms around her. Her face was pressed into his neck and his cheek against the top of her head. The television still murmured away in the background, but neither of them paid it any attention.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Combeferre asked, his voice a gentle murmur.
"Not really," she said, and they lapsed back into silence for a few moments, before she explained. "It was just – you were very...cold. I'm not used to you being cold. And you just kept on saying you didn't want me and everything else was going on, too, and it just – it scared me a lot, the whole thing. I know we're not...We're not in the best of places, right now, but you...I don't want you to ever be like that with me, because..."
"I wouldn't," he said. "Éponine, I wouldn't."
"Please don't," she whispered, into the crook of his neck. "Please, I couldn't – I couldn't bear it. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise," he said. "You have nothing to apologise for."
"I'm all over the place," she said, pulling away from him. "I'm – I'm telling you I'm not interested one minute and the next –"
"Still nothing to apologise for," he reassured her. "I'm...I'm ready for whatever decision you make, Éponine. I don't want to put pressure on you at all, not for anything, so don't ever feel like you have to apologise to me."
He dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "It's fine," he said. "And, for the record...I do want you."
She tipped her head forwards so that her forehead rested against his shoulder, and she smiled against his skin. "Thank you," she murmured, and closed her eyes.
OOO
The following day, after Combeferre had left, Éponine sat by herself and thought.
She thought long and hard about everything to do with Combeferre, about how she had felt back then and how she felt now, and she made a decision.
She sent Combeferre a text asking him to meet her at the Musain, and then showered and dressed quickly as she waited for a response. When she hobbled back through to the living room, she had a text waiting for her.
Just got some things to do but I could meet you at about 1.30? x
She shot back a text saying that would be fine, and then she waited.
OOO
She got to the Musain at twenty-five minutes past, ordered herself a hot chocolate, and sat on their sofas. They were unusually unoccupied, but she was prepared for the eventuality of Jehan creeping out of the toilets or Bahorel bursting through the door.
Combeferre was a minute late, by the time on her phone, and he dumped his bag on the sofa next to her before going to order himself a drink. She watched him as she waited, drumming her fingers on the heated ceramic of the mug in her hand. He looked tired – he hadn't slept much that night, she didn't think – and his hair was damp around the ends, so he'd probably showered. She didn't recognise the pale green sweater that was stretched over his torso, so she figured that was new. It was a nice colour on him, she decided, as she took a sip of her drink.
He came over and sat on the armchair next to the sofa, placing his cup of coffee on the table. Then he straightened up and looked at her. His face broke out into a smile.
"What?" she said. "You're looking at me funny."
"You've got cream on your nose," he said, and then leaned sideways, towards the table of condiments nearby, and pulled some paper napkins from the dispenser. He balled them up in his fist and gently brushed them over her nose, then let the napkins drop onto the table.
"Oh," she found herself saying, stupidly. She stared down at the rapidly thinning layer of whipped cream on top of her hot chocolate.
"So," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Oh, right," Éponine said, clearing her throat and leaning forward to put her mug down on the table beside his. "I was thinking..."
"Hmm?" He cupped his chin in his hand, elbow resting on the arm of his chair as he watched her and waited for her to continue.
She took a deep breath. "Do you want to go out with me?" she said. "As in – I mean – on a date. Not as boyfriend or girlfriend, but – like a date."
Surprise registered very clearly on Combeferre's face. Whatever he had been expecting her to come out with, it was definitely not that. "A date?" he said, carefully. "Me and you?"
"Well, yeah," she said. "I'm not asking anyone else, am I?"
"No," he said, dragging out the one syllable. "But – are you sure? I mean, what prompted this?"
"I've been thinking," she said. "And, I think, I think I might be ready to start...well, dating, I suppose. Nothing serious," she added, as an afterthought, holding her hands up with the palms facing outwards. "I just mean, like, a dinner or some drinks, or something –"
"I understand," he said, "I'm just trying to make sure it's what you actually want."
"Why wouldn't it be?" she said, cocking her head to one side. "I'm asking you, aren't I?"
"Éponine," he said, pushing a hand through his hair. He paused for a few moments, his face thoughtful as he tried to think of the best thing to say. "I don't want you to feel like you've been pressured into making this move."
"I haven't," she said. "It's just, last night made me realise that I miss you a lot, and whilst I'm not necessarily ready for an actual relationship I think a date might be quite nice." She reached out for her hot chocolate and grasped the handle of the mug tightly, raising it to her mouth and taking a gulp. It wasn't hot enough that it burnt her tongue, but she wished she hadn't drunk such a big mouthful.
"I think it would be nice, too," Combeferre said, softly. "But..."
"I know why you're worried," she said, licking traces of chocolate from the corners of her mouth. "I do. I get it. I've not exactly been consistent with some of my decisions lately. But this...This feels right. I asked for some space, and I've had it, and I realised the other day when we were having lunch that I really enjoy spending time with you, and last night made me realise I don't want to lose you...And I still have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. So I'm not sure that trying to be just friends would work, but if the date doesn't work out then that's always an option, right?" She was aware she was probably rambling, but Combeferre made no moves to silence her, letting her speak.
"Yeah," he said, eventually. "That's an option." Like her, he reached out to pick up his mug of coffee, blowing on its surface before taking a cautious sip. Then he lowered it, so that it rested on his knee. "A date," he said, sounding all the world like he was testing the word in his mouth, to see if it tasted right. He gave her a sort of wry smile. "We've never been on a proper date before."
"It'll be a new experience," she said. "Completely new, for me. I'm not sure I've ever been on a proper date with anyone at all, not just you."
"Well, then, I'll try not to disappoint you," he said. "As long as you don't mind me arranging it?"
"No," Éponine said, a little surprised. "I – I don't mind. I didn't have any ideas in mind for it myself, so..."
"Well, I'll let you know the details," he said. "When I've thought of them, of course."
"That'd be very nice of you," she replied, with a small roll of her eyes. "I'd be very grateful."
They both smiled at one another, both of their minds racing over the decision that had just been made.
OOO
"Well, I for one am proud of you," Musichetta said, lounging on the sofa and squinting at a glass of white wine.
"It's just a date," Éponine sighed, before gently brushing mascara onto her eyelashes as she peered into the mirror. She was sat on the floor whilst the other two occupied the sofa, using a small handheld mirror to look at herself.
"It's not just a date," Cosette objected. "This is Combeferre."
"I've seen him naked," Éponine said, pointing the mascara wand over her shoulder. "Done things to him that would probably make you blush, Cosette, so forgive me if I'm not –"
"Stop pretending to be so calm about this," Musichetta interrupted, sipping her wine.
"I am calm about this," Éponine insisted, although her hands were shaking a little and her heart was probably beating a little too fast. She hoped she was talking convincingly enough, because she probably was a little nervous. But there was no point in blowing this out of proportion, especially if tonight didn't go as well as planned. She turned her attention to her other eye, and then screwed the wand back into place and dropping it into her make up bag. She looked into the mirror and saw Cosette topping up her glass of wine behind her. "You do realise that Combeferre is going to be here in fifteen minutes?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "You'll have to drink that fast."
"That's fine," Cosette said, waving a hand dismissively. "Marius is going to pick us up in a bit after we've had our Chinese."
"I don't even remember agreeing that you guys could come over," Éponine muttered, retrieving a tube of lipstick from her bag and then zipping it up and putting it back down on the coffee table. She put the mirror down, and used the sofa to haul herself up into a standing position. "I'm just going to get changed," she said, hobbling over to her bedroom.
"Need any help?" Cosette called.
"I'll be fine," Éponine shouted back, shutting the bedroom door behind her.
On the bed lay the dress she'd decided to wear. It wasn't in the style she'd normally go for, and it was one she'd filched from the shop, figuring Cosette wouldn't notice (she was wrong, as it turned out, but that didn't matter). It was made from dark red velvet, and was skin tight, with no sleeves, falling to just below her knee. It went on easily enough, probably because it was a size larger than she'd normally wear.
She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror, wondering whether it actually suited her. She hated the fact her ankle and foot were still bound up, because it ruined the image in front of her, but she was more or less happy with what she saw. Yeah, the material clung in a few places she wished it didn't, and the top half didn't cling at all because it was obviously designed with someone with a larger chest, but it would do.
Then she threw on a plain black blazer, adjusted the collar, and turned towards the door. She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not to throw on some jewellery, but decided against it. As she passed through the door, she pulled her hair out of the ponytail she had thrown it up into as she did her make up, running her fingers through it to work into a more reasonable style.
"Does this look okay?" she said, pressing her hands to the front of her dress as she twisted to one side to show her two friends what she was wearing.
"Ooh, that's pretty." Cosette's eyes narrowed and she pointed at Éponine with the wine glass in her hand. "And familiar, Éponine, did you pay for that?"
"Shush," Éponine said, flapping a hand. "Musichetta?"
"You look nice," Musichetta said. "It's a nice dress but not...too nice, you know? Not too much. And I'm sure it'll look brilliant on his bedroom floor."
She cackled at her own joke, and even Cosette sniggered (possibly as a punishment for the filched dress).
Éponine shot them both very pointed looks. "I don't know why I keep you two around," she said. "And can I just clarify, I don't plan on sleeping with him?"
"Did you plan on doing that in the first place?" Musichetta countered. She pressed her mouth against the side of her wine glass for a few moments after she finished speaking before removing it with a loud smacking sound.
"No," Éponine said, "But I especially don't tonight. It's not what I'm –" At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
All three girls stared at it, and then Cosette moved to stand up. Éponine held out a hand. "I'll get it," she said, limping past towards the door. "Ugh," she muttered under her breath. "I hate this fucking thing," she added to herself, meaning the cast still on her foot.
Combeferre was stood in the doorway, wearing a pale blue shirt and lace up shoes, a thin tie around his neck. He gave her a nervous smile and pushed his glasses up his nose.
"Hello," he said, and then glanced past her, towards where Musichetta and Cosette were still curled up on the sofa. Some surprise flitted across his face.
"It was kind of a spur of the moment thing," Éponine explained, and at her words the two girls jumped off the sofa, collecting their coats together and abandoning their half-drunk glasses of wine on the coffee table.
"We were just leaving," Cosette said, shrugging on her coat.
"Getting a Chinese," Musichetta added, sweeping past them and dropping a kiss on Éponine's head as she passed.
"Have fun!" Cosette threw over her shoulder as she ducked out of the door. The sentiment was followed by a shouted, "Be safe!" from Musichetta from somewhere down the corridor.