Eponine tapped her foot repeatedly against the bathtub.
She couldn't believe she'd been so stupid. Of all the dumb things she'd done in her life this definitely topped the list.
When she thought about it, this whole thing was really Grantaire's fault. It had been his ingenious idea to drink the whole bottle of Jägermeister between the three of them, and if he hadn't gone and passed out then she would have never ended up drunk and alone with Enjolras.
Enjolras.
Of all the people in all the world he was literally the last person she ever imagined ending up in bed with. In fact, up until 6 weeks ago she was pretty convinced that he'd never even looked a woman directly in the eyes before.
They hadn't told anyone what happened, they'd barely even spoken about it themselves. They had engaged in a highly awkward 45 second exchange the next morning, during which they agreed to blame the whole thing on their inebriated states and act like it had never happened. Not that that was a hard ask of either of them, they hadn't exactly been BFFs before.
The alarm on her phone buzzed, signaling that her last moments of obliviousness were over.
She tried to tell herself that maybe this would all just turn out to be a false alarm, maybe it was just God's way of trying to teach her a lesson. She tried to live in hope that she'd end up laughing about this someday.
But she knew this was all just wishful thinking. If Eponine was anything, she was realistic. She was nearly 2 weeks late, she'd spent the majority of the past week with her head in the toilet, and her tits were so sore she'd actually cried on the Metro 2 days earlier when a guy with a backpack had accidentally knocked into her.
She sighed as she picked up the little white stick she had so carefully balanced face down on the edge of the sink, took a deep breath and flipped it over.
Positive.