A/N: This has been edited. It is perfect. It is amazing. I USED GRAMMAR AND SPELL CHECK.
A cold breeze made Eponine long for her coat. Threadbare as it was, it still deterred a bit of the icyness of the night. And so did a certain friend's arms. Sniffing, she blinked back tears before they could form. She had done her duty, why did she not return to Marius? Because 'e doesn't love you. She bit her lip, drawing blood. She knew it was true. Yet she didn't want to believe it; she wanted to believe there was some way, some chance for her to be with Marius. A sob rose in her throat, but she choked it back, ending up coughing and letting tears creep out. Why did she continued to pine after someone who barely noticed her existence?
The moon glinted dimly off a dirty puddle in the street, rippling like liquid silver. Gazing into the small pool, Eponine saw her shadowy reflection. She kicked a stone into the water, marring and distorting the image before walking again. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of Montparnasse's borrowed trousers, nearly pulling them off. Funny, how people change. A scowl crossed her face, creating dark lines upon her forehead. Montparnasse had never acted out against her before. No, he had always been a shoulder to cry on or someone to take her anger out on or a hand to hold. He was always there to take some sort of beating or another. And what of Marius? She loved him. But did he ever offer solace? What did it matter? Love was blind. And she would love Marius until the day she died, living her fantasies in dark corners and decrepit alleyways. She coughed again, now letting the tears flow freely and allowing heaving sobs to control her.
"'is world is full of happiness. I've jus' never known tha' world. Never will..." her voice, hoarse from crying, drifted off. No. Love and joy were things her life had never given her. She had been born into conniving and suffering and greed and had known nothing else. She had grown up learning to steal, not innocent even her her childhood. More burning tears spilled out from her eyes; she wiped at her face, rubbing it red. How could anyone love her? Such an ugly, wretched creature as herself. And yet there was Montparnasse. Eponine gritted her teeth, pushing the thought to the back of her mind. No. No one loved her. And no one ever would. So she ran, the icy air biting at her skin and tugging at her hair as she sprinted back toward the barricade. She needed to see his face again, just once more. Hear his voice speak about a woman that wasn't her. She wanted to be hurt by him, to feel sorrow and grief. Because she loved him. She loved him.