CHAPTER THREE | HER WAY AROUND
Éponine was not afraid of the nighttime.
The stars were out, which had to be a sign that something good would happen, and as she stared up at them, she took a sip of the brandy held in her lap. In her other hand, an expensive cigarette was lit and wafted smoke into the fabric of her clothes.
Her legs were crossed, out in front of her with all their longevity. Both ankles felt the chill of the snow on the ground, and her open palm started to burn it was so cold.
That was the funny thing Éponine had learned about things: if you can allow yourself to experience something wholly, it can, in fact, become something entirely different – or perhaps you just didn't notice it all so much. Like with the snow, or even more, with her poorness. Shirts with holes, smelly hair, and dirty fingernails all made her feel like garbage, and yet, it was because of all of those things that she could see the beauty of herself.
Not that she was in any way externally beautiful – in her own eyes, anyway. But the rough exterior made it easier to get through to her insides.
"I can be funny," Éponine said to no one, taking another sip and another puff. "I can make 'em laugh when I want to, if they don't have their heads shoved up their asses too far!" And then she began to giggle, making her own self laugh when no one else was around to do so. "And I can also make Monsieur Marius laugh."
Then she thought his face, bringing it forward in her hazing mind. His bright eyes, the warm smile, the feel of his hands when he held hers – in a friendly gesture, of course – and the way he could make things seem not so lonely.
Marius Pontmercy was a pretty thing.
She stopped talking. Her mind was getting foggier by the minute, but her grip on the bottle never diminished. The girl with a face that was too thin and devastatingly small wrists fell onto her back. Her matted hair, which had not been washed in a week, was covered immediately in snow. It was a peaceful thing, she thought, that snow which was white and pure and good also fell in her yard. No one was special because it happened to everyone, so people took it for granted. Éponine still loved the snow; there was a certain peacefulness to it that was inexplicable.
After a few minutes of lying there, she sat back up before standing and walking toward the back door. On her way back in, she glanced through the gate in the alleyway to see a man staring back at her. She would have jumped, too, if she hadn't been expecting it just a little.
"Evening, sir," she said politely as she started for the house. In her stomach was a strange guilt.
"Hello, dearie," the man replied in a mangled tone. He had white hair which had been dirty so long it formed unintentional dreadlocks. "Spare a franc for a starving man? Please, I just need to buy some food for dinner."
But she could see it in his skin, in his eyes, in the way he stood – he was aching for her money in a way that even a starving man could not. It was a dirty wanting, which could only mean that his intentions were for drugs of some sort. Perhaps an acid, or a pill, or a poison. It didn't matter much what it was for, money was money.
"Don't got any for you," she replied sadly, sliding open the door and quickly entering before she heard any protests. Money didn't grow on trees, and even if it did, there were enough mouths to feed in her family that there still would be no room to share.
Her back thudded against the door, and when she saw in through the dimly-lit room, she noticed her father's friends hanging about at the dinner table (which was usually covered in layers of dust and unpaid bills because they never used it). They were sitting around, playing cards as the cigarettes in their hands cast a mean fog in the air. Éponine felt the smoke in her eyes, and she had to squint to see clearly.
"There's the old girl," the robust voice of Claquesous came. "'Ey, 'Ponine, grab me another beer?"
She rolled her eyes. "Grab it yourself. Lord knows you need all the exercise your fat ass can get."
The other men laughed, cheering to it as they swigged down sips of Budweiser. Éponine really didn't think much of these men, as they were all of the same rotten sort as her father, but because she didn't have to deal with their drunken stupidity and wandering eyes on a daily basis, she tried not to hate them completely – as much as she wanted to, at times.
Only one of them gave her that strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one with the dark brown hair and the squinted eyes that always followed her around, the one with the good looks and the terrible act.
Éponine got up and left the room, and Montparnasse was quick to follow. No one noticed.
She went to her room, listening for the sound of the footsteps that often came; she was silent as he entered and placed his hand on her arm, grabbing it roughly. Murmuring, he spoke in barely distinguishable words against her ear, something about her skin. His breath was hot and smelled like alcohol. So did she.
Unmoving, Éponine followed his motions like a little doll. In her mind, she was still the child who played dress-up, Daddy's little girl, with the frilly frocks and pretty hats. However, there was a darkness to her now that no one knew, the dark she kept a secret inside the walls of her mind.
Dark eyes, rough hands, Éponine thought slowly, sorrowfully. This isn't Monsieur Marius.
"Okay," she said abruptly, his hands still all over her but nothing more. His lips were against her neck and she could feel the grime of his touch beginning to cover her. "That's enough."
He continued kissing for a moment, but eventually they began to slow and he removed himself from her skin. "You can be such a tease," he laughed, his finger slipping down underneath the collar of her shirt.
Éponine shrugged him away, standing from the bed and pulling at the bottom of her shirt. "I said no more... Another day." The door closed quietly as she headed out, leaving him to the darkness of her bedroom.
Montparnasse sat still on her bed, which was worn deeply with holes throughout its quilted cover. His eyes fell to the floor, staring at his shoes, completely alone once again. She always left him wanting more.
Éponine didn't bother telling anyone where she was going. Her mother and father were nowhere to be found, and the men playing cards at the table likely didn't care where she was headed. Carefully, she pulled her coat on and slipped out the front door this time, not bothering to look back at the dilapidated apartment building.
The streets were bustling at night, just as they always were – particularly tonight, as it was the Friday just before Christmas Eve and most people were out running errands, buying gifts, enjoying the nightlife of the French city. There were mostly tourists as she made her way toward the center of Clamart. It wasn't the same as Paris, which she was positive was a crowded mess on this wintry evening, but it was near it and that was good enough for most people.
Again, Éponine noted the looks and demeaning "P.U."s of those around her; they flapped their hands under their noses, circulating the air as she walked by. They probably wouldn't smell too good either, if they lived like I did, she thought defensively. But everyone was rich – at least, richer than she was – and they didn't understand what it was like to have to wonder if you would make enough to last the week.
She continued weaving her way through the crowd, serpentining through people who didn't walk fast enough, until she found herself on the outskirts of Clamart, nearest Vanves. The crowd seemed to grow even bigger as she found herself in the district of corporations and fashion and newness. Éponine knew to stay in the shadows as often as possible to avoid conflict as well as the slew of judgements just waiting to be passed by those in this expensive city.
It didn't take long for her to find the building. Briefly, she wondered to herself what she was doing in a place like this so late at night; it was nearing eleven o'clock and she needed to be to work in the morning at six. Still, that deep longing holding onto her stomach seemed to squeeze tighter as she neared her destination, dragging her faster and faster until she finally let go of caring and broke out into a sprint.
Vanves City Apartments loomed overhead, and she had to be buzzed in by a long row of numbers along the front of the place. Please don't be busy, she thought desperately, although why she was so desperate, she wasn't sure. Beneath the tattered coat, she shivered, and it was not due to the cold.
After a moment of silence spent waiting agonizingly outside, she heard the familiar click emit from the small speaker at the bottom and then the even more recognizable sound of his voice.
"Hello?"
"Bonsoir, Monsieur," Éponine grinned. "Care to let me in?"
She could almost feel the smile in his voice. "I don't know, Mademoiselle. It's quite late, it might be wise to head home instead."
"If you don't let me in, I'm never talking to you again," she laughed. Then came the loud buzzing of the door being unlocked, and with a quick spin on her heel she entered the fancy hall of the apartment building.
There was a large crystal chandelier that hung in the entryway and the room was all aglow in a cascade of bright hues. Éponine's face turned upward, admiring its beauty briefly, then straightened to the staircase. With legs that felt weak from a day's worth of standing, walking, and lifting, she made her way up the five flights and waited at the top a moment, her narrow chest heaving slightly. It wouldn't be wise to allow Marius see her in such a state.
When she finally got her breathing under control, she pressed her shoulders back, her chest out, and her chin up. Her knuckles rapped three times on the door, and after a moment's wait, the sound of the lock being pulled sounded.
Marius stood before her, a kind smile on his face, one hand on the door frame with the other at his side, content and warm and comfortable. If she didn't know better, Éponine might have thought him expecting her.
"Éponine," he grinned sarcastically, stepping out of her way. "How nice of you to stop by."
Marius was the only boy like him in the world – of this, Éponine was absolutely positive. He was gentle and sweet and very nice to look at. But what made him so different was how he did not judge her for what she looked like, and instead treated her just as he would with anyone else.
The place was warm. "Nice fire you have going, Monsieur," she said, raising her eyebrows before smiling a little. "Trying to keep yourself warm with your wood, rather than a lover, it would seem."
He laughed loudly at her perversion. "There you go, always teasing." Suddenly, he turned very serious. "I'm glad you stopped by."
Marius may have over-thought her blush had the place not been so warm, and had the outdoors not been so cold. Éponine moved across the room, drawn toward the sleek, ebony piano that sat in the corner of the apartment; it was always closed because Marius couldn't play, and as far as she knew, he didn't know anyone who did. Still, it was certainly nice to look at, and sometimes she needed a tool of distraction from the boy who made her cheeks flush.
"Play me a song," Marius instructed, heading to the kitchen to grab two beers. "Or, try to."
"Chopsticks is all I know," she said, a bit embarrassed. She flipped up the black cover that hid the bone white keys and let her fingers rest upon them. Picking random notes, she trickled up and down the keyboard playfully and with an innocent curiosity. "Maybe you should think about getting lessons, or something," she thought aloud, "so this beauty doesn't go to waste."
"It isn't wasted," he said, walking back in through the room, handing an opened bottle to Éponine who stopped playing to grab it from him. Her elbow pressed down on a few keys as she leaned into the piano, sipping the beer with a certain backward tilt of her head. A pounding sound of mid-notes thudded through the surrounding air. "As long as someone is around to enjoy it."
She stood from the bench, flipping the lid back down over the keys, and crossed the room until she reached the two double doors that led to the outside terrace. "Join me for a cigarette?"
Marius grabbed his expensive box of cigarettes and tucked them in his pocket, following her out the doors with the beer still in his hand. "Good god, 'Ponine," he shuddered, plucking a cigarette from his pocket to hand to her. "I don't believe you walked all this way in this cold."
Éponine shrugged, taking the cigarette between her lips before having Marius light it for her. On her breath was the familiar taste of nicotine often given to her by her bourgeois friend.
A breeze blew between them, drifting a few flecks of snow with it. Marius looked up to find it just beginning to snow; with a sigh, he leaned against the terrace balcony and let the flakes hit him.
"Want to know something?" he said suddenly, to which Éponine nodded. "I hate my job."
She almost laughed. Wonder what you'd think of mine. "Why's that, Monsieur? Thought you were turning into a great lawyer of some kind in the big city."
"I've been a secretary for them for months. Do you know how emasculating that is? Girls are secretaries – I want to be doing something out there. Working with the people instead of just in the back room."
Her mind flashed to the homeless man begging for money in the alleyway near her house and she sighed, meeting his eyes tiredly. "Think of it this way: at least you have a job."
Marius laughed. "I'll drink to that."
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Their night passed quickly, as it often does when in the company of friends. Marius played loud rock 'n' roll on the record player, air guitar included, and Éponine drank him out of house and home. There had to be twenty beers on the countertop by the time they finally retired, with over half of them belonging to the misfit girl. Marius had always been a sloppy drunk. Éponine, on the other hand, could better hold her liquor.
There was an unspoken agreement that whenever she came around to visit, she was made a bed for on the couch because he couldn't get her to take his. When it was so late at night, and when they were both so drunk, it was easy for her to fall asleep in the warm comforts of his apartment.
Éponine tried not to think of working the next day. She tried to hold on to every shred of happiness and joy in these fleeting moments with Marius before drifting off to sleep, into a day of hating and pain. But here, in the comfort of Marius' home, she was safe for the night.
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Enjolras was restless. For hours, he tossed and turned in the Queen-size bed, thinking of tomorrow and the day after that and the week, month, year after that. A certain feeling of futurism seemed to overcome him in the moments between awake and asleep.
Eventually, at around 2 am, he rolled out of bed and tugged on the slippers sitting on the floor. His eyelids were halfway open, and upon leaving his bedroom, he realized just how tired he really was. This didn't seem to deter him from staying awake. Instead, it seemed to propel him through the house, willing him to unshackle his mind from the chains of sleep.
The small gray cat was asleep in the corner, and it did not stir as he walked up beside it to look out the window. His own balcony was covered in the snow that still fell from the sky, drifting down upon Paris like a cloud.
Something weighed heavy in his chest as he put his coat on, opened up the double doors to the balcony, and leaned over it to look upon the city below. He was on the sixth floor which felt like a long ways up from the top, but tonight made him feel even more insignificant from such a great height.
Besides the cold, Enjolras was content. He was perfectly comfortable with his life, right in that moment. And all he could think of, was if there was someone else in Paris that felt like he did, maybe someone else that was sitting on their balcony on a sixth floor, wondering about the future and trying not to think about the past. Maybe they sometimes had strange anxiety, or breakdowns when they thought about all the terrible things they'd done, and maybe they liked the way the snow felt when it landed on their cheeks.
Somehow, the thought made him feel less alone.