Éponine hurried up the stairs of the Gorbeau House, her sister trailing behind her.
"Would you quit looking at me like that?" She snapped at Azelma.
"Sorry, I just—"
"I said I'm fine. Just leave it."
"But aren't you gonna tell him?"
Éponine stopped mid-step and turned to properly face her.
"Tell him? Why would I do that? There's no way it was anything more than a one time thing... He... He doesn't feel that way about me, 'Zelma. I know that now."
"But—"
"Look, we were both drunk. It was a mistake; that's all. 'Zel, girls like us don't get guys like him."
Azelma looked affronted. "Well, I don't see why not."
"He's a different social class, 'Zelma. He's got a rich grandfather and, you know, prospects. He goes to school, 'Zelma. He can speak German and English, and he's gonna be a lawyer one day. You and I? We're gutter rats. That's just how it is; it's not gonna change."
"He lives in this shit hole, same as us."
"It's different, Azelma."
"Not really. Besides, we weren't always poor like this. If we can fall down so low, can't we also rise back up?"
Éponine laughed bitterly. "It's a lot easier to fall down than to climb up."
"But not impossible," Azelma maintained stubbornly. "What about Cosette? That old man took her away. Do you think she's still a gutter rat?"
"I don't know and I don't care. It's not like we're about to be adopted by some wealthy relative. We're poor and I really don't see that changing, and Marius deserves better."
"I still think you should tell him what happened last night."
"Why bother? What do you think the outcome would be? Because I know what would happen: he'd stutter out an apology, and then he'd be nervous and embarrassed every time he's near me. Things would never be the same. Our friendship would be over... I couldn't bear it if that happened. I'm not going to tell him and you'd better not either."
"'Ponine..."
"It is what it is, Azelma. Just... leave it."
"... Fine."
Éponine continued up the stairs and to the door of their apartment. She pushed it open and walked inside, Azelma following.
"So yeh've come back," their father said in way of greeting.
"Yeah," Éponine replied. Arnaud Thénardier stretched out his hand and Éponine dug into her pocket for the money she and Azelma had nicked. Instead she found a hole.
"Well?" Her father demanded.
"I gave it to mum when I came home this morning," she lied. The madame withdrew from her own pocket the money Azelma had stolen the night before and handed it to her husband.
"Four francs, 15 sous," he counted with a scowl. "That it?" He looked to Azelma. "You?"
"Th-That's from b-both of us," Azelma stammered. Thénardier's face was growing red and he raised his hand to smack her, but Éponine stood in the way.
"It's not Azelma's fault!" She said quickly. "I'm the one who barely brought anything back. But we can still afford some bread and butter, maybe even a few scraps of meat."
"That so? Well, yer mum, yer sister, and I will enjoy that. Yeh can go without, since yeh don' feel like contributin' to the fam'ly, 'less yeh wanna go down to the docks tonight."
Éponine flushed angrily. "I will not."
Thénardier glared at her. "Yeh'll do as yer told."
"Not that."
The back of his hand came down hard on her cheek, and she was knocked back and onto the ground.
"Get out," he growled, "an' don' come back until yeh've done something useful."
She glared at him and got to her feet.
"I won't be back," she spat. She turned to her sister, "'Zelma, come with me."
"'P-Ponine, I—"
Thénardier roughly grabbed Azelma's wrist and pulled her toward him. "She's not goin' anywhere!"
"Don't you fucking touch her," Éponine hissed. Thénardier backhanded her a second time, but she stood her ground. "Let go of her!" She tried to claw at him, but he punched her hard in the stomach and she dropped to her knees. He started to kick her. She tried to back away, but he knocked her to the ground and landed a heavy kick to her face. She felt her nose break.
"'Ponine, forget me! Get outta here!" Azelma pleaded.
"Let 'er go, Arnaud," Madame Thénardier spoke up. "Jus' let 'er go. S'not worth it if yeh kill her." Monsieur Thénardier begrudgingly ceased with his attacks. He spat at his elder daughter and then backed off.
"Go."
Eyes watering and blood rushing freely from her nose, Éponine hastily got to her feet and staggered out of the apartment. Leaning against the wall for support, she made her way to the stairs and then slowly sank to the ground. She laughed humourlessly.
"Fucking stairs," she muttered. She closed her eyes as the room started to spin. No, no, no... I can't pass out here, she thought. I am not about to be stymied by stairs. She tried to stand, but found that it simply could not be done. She groaned. I can't stay here. She crawled closer to the top step and grabbed onto the railing, using it to pull herself to her feet. Leaning heavily on the rail, she slowly made her way down the stairs. Black spots had begun to cloud her vision. She was only halfway down the stairs when she slipped away into nothingness.
...
"Éponine... Éponine..."
She knew that voice, knew its warmth. Everything was white, as though covered by a thick fog. She could see nothing else and yet, she did not feel afraid.
"Éponine..."
Was this death? Everything was so warm and soft. Éponine felt light, weightless. If she flapped her arms, perhaps she would fly. As it was, she felt sure she was floating. Oh, to stay here forever. There were no doubts, no worries, no pain... Surely this must be heaven. She was dead and now she would rest eternally, forever in peace. That didn't seem so bad. She would stay, then. She didn't want to go back.
"Éponine..."
And that voice. She could listen to it forever. That voice meant safety. Everything would be all right as long as that voice remained. Éponine would just float here and listen for the rest of eternity. Yes, that sounded nice.
"Éponine..."
There was a tone of panic to the voice now. But surely that couldn't be right, not if this was heaven. But Éponine was starting to feel heavier. The light was dimming and pain was returning.
"Éponine..."
No! She didn't want to go back. She wanted to stay... Please...
"Éponine?"
Her eyes fluttered open and she found she was in a dimly lit room that she didn't recognise. Everything hurt and a groan escaped her. She felt a hand seize her own.
"Oh, Éponine! Oh, thank god! I... I was worried you might not... It doesn't matter. You're awake now and you're going to be okay."
"Marius?" She turned her head to the side and her eyes fell upon him. She tried to sit up, but he gently pushed her back down.
"Woah, take it easy," he murmured. "You fell down the stairs and hit your head pretty hard. Combeferre says you've got a concussion and a few broken ribs, but you're going to be okay."
"Where are we?"
"Combeferre and Enjolras's apartment. They have three rooms, so you can stay here while you heal. This used to be Courfeyrac's room, but he was always bringing girls home, so he ended up getting his own place. But don't worry, I can let your family know you're safe."
Éponine scoffed.
"That'll just depress them." Then, she added: "Well, maybe let Azelma know."
Marius frowned. "Did you have another fight with your parents?"
"Something like that."
"I'm sorry, 'Ponine. Is there anything I can do?"
"No, you've done enough," Éponine said sharply, before she could stop herself.
"What do you mean?" Marius asked, a little hurt. Éponine sighed heavily and closed her eyes.
"Nothing. I'm sorry. Brain injury, y'know..."
"Is there anything I can get you? Tea or... or soup or something?"
"I... I think I just want to be alone right now..." She said, turning away from him, even though it hurt to do so.
"O-Oh. R-Right. Of course. I'll... uh... just let you rest then." He turned and began to leave, but paused in the doorway. "... Feel better, 'Ponine." Then he was gone.
Tears stung Éponine's eyes. It was like kicking a puppy, sending him away like that, but she didn't think she could bear being in the same room as him just then. Soon the tears were running freely down her bloodied and bruised face.
"Damn it," she whispered. She closed her eyes and tried to stem the flow of tears. I don't love him. It can never be. I don't love him. But she knew that no matter how many times she told herself this, it wouldn't make it true.