Éponine woke up slowly, snug and cosy; the way you wake up when you've been sleeping for just the right amount of time. Realising she was lying on a chest, she looked up, to see Enjolras fast asleep, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Unable to contain herself, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. He woke with a deep breath, furrowing his brows and opening one eye to look at her groggily.
"Morning" he whispered huskily. God damn, she thought you are sexy in the morning. Grinning at him, she replied "morning" and shuffled up the bed to kiss him again. It started gently - a sweet display of affection – but as it always did with them, it grew: a slow building of burning passion that filled their whole bodies and set them on fire. Before they knew what was happening, Enjolras was sitting up and Éponine was straddling his lap; their hands were everywhere at once, blazing trails across each other's' skin like wildfire. Enjolras' shirt was off first, then hers, the cool morning air tickling her bare skin before it was replaced by Enjolras' big, warm hands, then his soft lips. She became very aware that her bra was nothing special – just plain white, a slight trim of lace decorating the edge. Once she was out of the moment and in her head, the nerves grew: she felt exposed, like Enjolras would suddenly see her for what little she truly was, like every scar was suddenly burning white-hot across her skin and attracting his attention. She felt his nimble fingers stroking the skin just above her pyjama pants and the panic set in; this was too fast, she wasn't ready for this…
"Stop" she mumbled, breaking the kiss and leaning back. "Hang on a second"
He stopped, searching her face for an explanation "are you ok? Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice full of concern.
"Yes… No! No… I'm sorry, I'm…. It's… I'm sorry!" Éponine realised she was making no sense but couldn't get her words straight. She moved back so she was on the bed again, her legs curled in front of her, feeling suddenly very small. He's going to be mad, he'll think I don't want him, he won't want me anymore…
"Don't be sorry… 'Ponine, are you ok?"
"I'm fine, I just… can we kind of slow down? I don't… I just…" She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I'm not really ready to get too physical just yet. I'm really sorry; I know I'm letting you down…"
"Hey, hey, hey!" He put a hand on her cheek and turned her head to look her straight in the eye. "You're not letting me down; you don't… owe me anything! You don't have to do anything you're not ready for, ever."
But isn't that the point of me in whatever this is? Am I doing something wrong, why doesn't he want me to…?
It was as though he read her mind. "It's not that I don't want to… just that we aren't in a hurry, are we? I mean, I can't speak for you, but I feel like this is… good. Like good enough to last."
Her heart skipped a beat: she hadn't realised why she was scared until he said it. She was scared of not being a good… whatever she was; scared of letting herself be open with him and then getting hurt… ultimately, she was scared of losing him. She wasn't ready to lose him just yet. "I think so too" she said with a small smile.
Enjolras leaned in to give her a soft kiss. "I'm not going to hurt you, Éponine. I promise."
And that was all she needed to hear.
She tried to sleep back in her own bed the next night, but the dreams returned and she woke up sweating, jumping out of bed and padding through to Enjolras' room as silently as possible. After that, it was surprising how quickly it became a routine; their evenings were basically the same, with the Musain, nights in with Gavroche and Jacques, Musicals nights, Disney nights, study nights, hour-long arguments about politics or society or The Real Housewives… but they always ended up safely wrapped up together in one bed or another by the end of the night. They were good for each other's sleeping pattern: she put a stop to his caffeine-fuelled all-night studying sessions, and as long as Enjolras was with her, Éponine's night terrors left her well enough alone.
The only exception was the night before Azelma's funeral. They'd argued earlier on about it, whether it was a good idea or if it was just asking for trouble ("We both know your father'll come after you for this, Éponine, and it's giving him a prime opportunity!" "I don't care, I'm burying my baby sister properly!"), and though they'd calmed down enough to go to bed together, Éponine's mind was still whirring, going over the possibilities in her mind over and over. The combination of an over-active mind and a heavy heart meant sleep was impossible, and she started to feel claustrophobic, trapped by the weight of it all. So she did what she always did when she felt trapped; she slipped out of bed, grabbed her shoes, and left the apartment for the starlit streets of Paris.
It was drizzling as she wandered, heading as she always did for the river. Crossing the bridge, she sat on the damp floor against a bench in the square outside Notre Dame, gazing up at the quiet, regal majesty of the cathedral. She thought of her sister; the way she always knew when Éponine needed company and when she needed to be alone, how they'd laughed together at the drunks in the inn and made up backstories for unfamiliar customers, how they'd spent what little childhood they had together, playing in the sun. Then she thought of how Azelma never understood Éponine's anger and bitterness at their usually-absent mother, how she never stood up for her, how she'd accepted their lot without question, naively assuming a parental fondness existed where Éponine knew it didn't, how she'd stood by as Gavroche ran away, then Éponine. How she'd longed for attention, for love from their parents, from Montparnasse… how she'd never got it, not really.
She'd felt so guilty and frustrated at Azelma for so long, she'd forgotten that they were close once. The young girl's death had brought it all back, and the emotions were complicated. She almost wished for oblivion; all the pain gone, all the heartbreak and guilt out of her mind forever. Blissful nothingness.
She hardly noticed herself start to sing quietly as the rain grew heavier.
Life's too short to even care at all, woah-oh
I'm losing my mind, losing my mind, losing con-trol-ol
These fishes in the sea they're staring at me, woah-oh, woah-woah-oh-oh.
A wet world aches for the beat of a drum, woah-oh, woah-oh.
If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away
To some fortune that I-I should have found by now
I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down.
Enjolras heard the door to the apartment close and knew immediately what was going on. A glance out the window confirmed his suspicions and he let out a groan. What is it with this girl and walking in the rain?!
He dressed quickly and headed in the direction of the river. He didn't know how he knew where he needed to go, but he saw her curled against a bench over the river before he had time to question his instincts, and he moved closer quietly. He heard her singing, as he knew she would be; a soft and mournful ballad he'd heard before… it was a favourite of Grantaire's, he seemed to remember.
Life's too short to even care at all, woah-oh
I'm coming up now, coming up now, out of the loop ho-oh-ole
These zombies in the park, they're looking for my heart, woah-oh, woah-woah-oh-oh.
A dark world aches for a splash of the sun, woah-oh, woah-oh.
If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away
To some fortune that I-I should have found by now
And so I run now to the things they say could restore me
Restore life the way it should be
I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down.
Life's too short to even care at all, woah-oh
I'm losing my mind, losing my mind, losing con-trol-ol.
He waited for her to finish, then went and sat beside her, a comforting arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything. She didn't want him to.
Thénardier bared his teeth at the prison guard in a deliberately malevolent grin.
"It's been a while, Thénardier. Almost thought you'd gone straight for a minute there… come on then, what've you done this time?"
"Nothing, nothing… just visiting this time. Picture o' innocence, me."
The guard narrowed his eyes. "Hmm. She'll be through in a minute."
Thénardier cocked an eyebrow in false thanks, and made to walk past the guard, who held out a strong arm to stop him. "I don't think so. Arms out and feet wide apart, please."
Five minutes later, he was led into a room where his wife sat waiting, a khaki-beige smock and loose pants hanging off her skeletal frame. His heart sank as he saw her cough, wracking her entire body with shaking spasms. It's no' gettin' better.
"Alright love?"
"Here 'e is. Does this mean I'm in 'ere longa? What've yer blamed on me this time?"
"No, not this time… I've er… got some news from young Montparnasse."
Madame Thénardier's eyes lit up at the mention of the handsome assassin. "Montparnasse? What's he sayin'?"
"It's Azelma… she er… bit it."
"She's dead?!"
"Yeah."
Mme Thénardier visibly shrunk with sadness, sinking lower into her chair. But they'd been pretending too long to be anything but tough about things now. "Shame. Actually liked that one."
"Yeah. The other'n ain't been nothin' but trouble recently. Still whoring herself out to those fancy blokes."
"They'll get bored of 'er soon enough, she never did learn how to keep customers for long."
"Aye."
"That's your time." The guard cut in, hauling Mme Thénardier to her feet.
"Bye, anyway. Try not to get caught for anythin' else until am out."
Thénardier smiled. He knew pain in his wife's eyes when he saw it, no matter how unfeeling she pretended to be. He thought she probably thought the same about him.
Éponine avoided the eyes of the small, black-clad congregation as she finished her song, Courfeyrac strumming his guitar beside her.
If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away
To some fortune that I-I should have found by now
And so I run now to the things they say could restore me
Restore life the way it should be
I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down.
One more spoon of cough syrup now, woah-oh.
One more spoon of cough syrup now, woah-oh-oh.
She stared with glassy, tear-filled eyes at the wooden box which now held her little sister's body. It didn't feel like enough, somehow; in an isolated corner of Père Lachaise cemetery, a small headstone and a pot of flowers were all that remained to show that Azelma had ever existed. Éponine supposed it was poetic that someone whose life had been so full of pain and loneliness should be lonely and cold in death, too. For the second time since Azelma died, Éponine wished she was more convinced by the concept of heaven.
Holding her hands as steadily as she could, she threw a handful of dirt into the hole, and helped Gavroche do the same, then Jacques. She wanted to stay while the hole was filled in completely, but when Cosette whispered that it wouldn't get any easier, each shovel of dirt would only hurt more, she knew she was right. So when Sylvie and Cosette each took one of her hands to lead her away, she walked away with her head held high, never looking back.
Enjolras watched her walk away, chin defiantly raised against grief. Not for the first time – or, he imagined, the last – he was endlessly impressed by the Thénardiers' strength: Éponine's graceful shouldering of the burden as more and more of her family left her, Gavroche and Jacques hardly seeming weighed down by their sadness at all, determinedly carrying on as normal. Looking around, he caught a glimpse of movement in the dark under a tree and focused on it. Something told him he knew exactly what that tall, thin shadow was doing there and he raised an eyebrow in its direction. Not as heartless as you might have people believe, then, Montparnasse he thought to himself. Interesting.
Not entirely happy with this one, sorry guys! Let me know what you think please? :)
