Ch 6

Éponine found herself lying on a bed much bigger than one she'd ever slept in, with sheets and blankets and pillows much softer than she could imagine. The bed had a canopy, its curtains light and sheer, white and soft. She was in a room she did not know, but her mind knew it, claimed it as her own. There was a sense of familiarity in this room she did not belong to, in this room she'd read about, the room rich women owned. And yet, she could not decipher anything specific about the room, other than the moonlight through the window and the orange glow of candles alit in her peripheral vision. The bedroom door, her door, opened, and she sat up, staring as Marius walked in. His grin was charming as he made his way to her, his hair curled, lighter than his hair had any right to be. He climbed into bed with her, and she felt herself smile, catching sight of red fabric and a golden ring that matched hers. He lifted her hands above her head and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Éppie, let me fight for you," he rasped, and Éponine woke feeling more at ease than she had in years. And then that tranquility dissolved into disappointment; her waking world seemed to relish in her misery as she submitted again to her reality.

The day was long and slow, and Éponine had decided against returning to the café—a wariness and empty feeling kept her away—not even to see Marius. She wanted familiar company, missed and wanted for something, but what it was she could not say. And as nights passed and customers came for her, she rejected each one, having no desire to work, to degrade herself. It did not escape her that Enjolras had not returned to her since the night he came to her room. Nor had he sent any sign, money or anything else that he was thinking about her. Was he avoiding her? She considered going to the café again.

The night was just as slow and just as quiet, the red light district unnaturally hushed, and the tension had yet to fade since the robbery. Hours went by as she stood on the streets. Potential customers approached her, but she turned every one away just as she had been doing the previous nights. She didn't know why she was out here. What she was doing was dangerous, foolish, a whore for show that would only serve to frustrate and infuriate clientele, but it did not matter to her. She didn't care for money anymore. She didn't care for her hunger, her exhaustion. The angry glares from passing men did not faze her, nor the Madame, or any other woman she worked with. But maybe if she stood out there long enough, Enjolras will search her out again.

She leaned against the building, her arms folded across her chest, her mind blank as she stared at nothing in particular. And as time went on, men ogled and hooted, and she rebuffed each every one—risking her safety in the process—she noticed Cerise a few yards away trying to attract men. Her eye was blackened still, and she walked with a limp. She avoided eye contact with Éponine, never spoke to her, and Éponine understood and hardly cared.

"Did your handsome client find someone better? Did he get bored of your yammering?" Abella walked up to Éponine, her snide comment hanging in the air as she showed off her body to the men passing by.

Éponine's teeth bared and eyes burned in a fiery glare, "He would not do that to me."

"No? Then where is he now?"

Éponine said nothing and picked at her nails, loathing the smug look Abella wore as she tossed back her hair.

"He obviously wasn't as taken by you as you are with him," she grinned.

Éponine turned cold, all warmth within her stolen by the cruelty of Abella's words. "I'm not enamored with him." Her voice was quiet and broken in her throat, as if it had been forcibly sucked from her.

The redhead's smile held, "Then you won't mind if he shares my bed tonight now will you?"

So quick, like instinct was her reaction as she slapped Abella, her hand stinging from the connection, but in her fury Éponine hardly felt it. The force of contact was hard enough to cause Abella to yelp and stumble back as she cupped her reddened cheek. She stared at Éponine in shock and horror, and she glared back in turn, a ruthless ferocity burning in her eyes.

"He'd never fuck you." Eponine hissed.

She brushed passed her and walked with no care for direction. She did not return to the brothel; she walked familiar streets and not with no destination as she struggled to curb her rage. Enjolras would never sleep with a whore. He's too honorable. He'd never betray her like that, not after what he said that night. Éponine stopped suddenly, her heart pounding. Why would he not return to her? He left her terrified and confused, his face, his warmth, his words at the forefront of her mind.

I can keep you safe.

She breathed heavily and wrapped her arms about herself.

I can protect you.

She smiled lightly, but her eyes were grave, sorrowful. She thought of her dream.

Éppie.

The nights have been colder than they should be so late in the spring. She wished for his coat.

She walked even as her feet began to ache, her eyes growing heavy. How long had it been since she had decent sleep? She continued on, her mind wandering back to that night, picking apart Enjolras' words, memorizing the sound of his voice. She imagined him walking beside her, repeating to her over and over all he had said.

I'm jealous.

They echoed in her ears, in her mind, and she remembered his anger, his hurt. He had frightened her. But it was his words now that concerned her.

But how can I not be when you could never see past him.

Enjolras was jealous of Marius. For how long? She chose not to think of his feelings, uncomfortable at the thought of unmasking his true emotions. She didn't want to know. Not when she still felt something for Marius. She still desired him, there was still hope for her, wasn't there? Éponine looked up from the ground and was mildly surprised to see the Café Musain before her; the dark building that had once welcomed her now seemed to threaten to deny her entry. She hadn't realized how far she had walked and how cold she was. Candlelight shined through the window. Would Enjolras be inside? Or Marius?

She went inside despite the Musain's warning and walked up the stairs, her heartbeat slowing. Cautiously she looked up past the railing as she walked up the stairs and exhaled as she stepped up to the second floor. Disappointment washed over her. Enjolras wasn't there. Instead Combeferre and Courfeyrac stood leaning over the table, their hands flat on it, what appeared to be a map of Paris beneath their palms. Both of their expressions were grave, mournful.

"They caught Jehan." Combeferre's voice was low.

"How?"

"He took the fall so we could get away."

"If we aren't careful, we will meet the same fate." Courfeyrac hesitated. "What will they do to him?"

They knew the answer just as she knew it. And then the two men noticed her and straightened, displeased at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here?" Courfeyrac asked, his tone sharper than usual.

"Marius isn't here," said Combeferre.

"And Enjolras?"

Courfeyrac blinked and his expression turned to bemusement just as his friend's did. They glanced at each other before the curly haired revolutionary said, "We haven't seen him since yesterday."

Her heart dropped, "He's gone?"

Combeferre shrugged, "He's probably meeting with the other leaders."

Éponine felt foolish then for thinking he was avoiding her. Nothing meant more to him that dear Patria. But what if he too has been caught? She dared not ask, afraid of the possible answer. So she left the café and headed in the direction of the Rue Plumet. It wasn't too late. Marius should be there with Cosette. And she needed to see him. He'd ease her panic and relieve the weight of what concerned her. The night sky began to drizzle, a mist of rain, and she hugged herself as her hair gradually began to stick to her face.

She stopped at the corner of the Rue Plumet, the drizzle had turned to a light rain, and she could see the gated garden. Éponine's head rested on the corner of the wall, leaning forward just enough to watch as Marius gently opened and closed the gate. He stood, staring momentarily. He must have been watching Cosette retreat from their meeting place and into the warm, dry shelter of her house. Marius walked in Éponine's direction, his head down as the rain dusted his hair like dew on grass. He turned the corner, passing her by unnoticed.

"Marius." She stepped away from the corner. Marius turned, surprised to see her. She smiled at him.

"Ah, um, Éponine." His voice was quiet, and he did not look at her. He looked distracted and upset, his eyes glossy, red, and lids swollen. Had he been crying?

"Marius?" She stepped forward to place a hand on his shoulder.

He glanced at her hand and then down at the puddle on the ground, and she dropped her hand and stepped back. She waited for his rebuff to dig into her heart, but there was no sting. She scratched her fingers.

"Cosette will be leaving for England. She overheard her father talking to their maid." Melancholy dripped with every syllable he spoke. "She could not tell me when, only that she will be staying at the Rue de l'Homme-Arme in the meantime."

"Oh."

It was all she could say. She had imagined it so many times, the chance to admit her affections to Marius. Cosette could not interfere now. But instead as she looked at his grief stricken face, she felt no elation, hope for herself. She felt empty but not for him.

"I do not know what I am to do." Marius said woefully, "My life is nothing without Cosette. She is the only light of my life. I'm lost without her."

So he wil never take me then, she thought to herself. Éponine could feel her voice turn weak, "What will you do?"

He shook his head, turning back to look towards the gardens. Éponine watched him carefully, but found no words, nothing to comfort him or herself.

"I haven't the money for England. My grandfather has denied me my inheritance." He paused and still did not look at her. "My friends will need me."

His tone was that of a defeated man. She had heard it before in others, even from herself at one point. But there was some hope still in his eyes. That was more than she had.

"I fight for her now." His voice lightened, the hope seeping through, "And after we win, I shall prove my worth to her father. I'll marry her. By God, I will." He then glanced at her, his sullen expression returned, and he muttered a farewell before leaving her to stand alone in the rain.

She remained there, unsure of what to do, where to go, how to feel. She had been in love with Marius. Hadn't she? But she had her moment to confide in him her feelings, and she didn't. She didn't want to. Why not? She was not even happy to know Cosette was leaving. Marius could be hers if only she told him. But she didn't have the heart to, she did not know her heart. The love she felt for him had been replaced by pity and nothing more, and she could not understand why. All she knew was her yearning for dear Marius had faded.

Soaked and shivering, Éponine returned to the brothel and went directly to her room, closing the door behind her. She stripped out of her velvet confines, allowing sopping red to pool around her feet in a heap. She stood in the middle of her room naked and cold, hugging herself as bumps rose by the little hairs of her skin. She eyed the trunk that held her few other garments, but more importantly his jacket. She walked over to it, knelt down and opened it. She rooted through the trunk until she found Enjolras' coat and stood, feeling the thick fabric in her hands. She sniffed it, inhaling deeply before wrapping herself in it. Éponine then crawled into bed and curled into herself, his coat covering her. She exhaled. Something felt broken. She stifled her tears and pulled the coat tighter. It would be long before she had any sleep, but perhaps she will dream again.