He opened his mouth to protest and her hand flew to his lips, pressing down on them firmly.
"No, 'Taire," she said. "You could make it worse. 'Zelma and I – this is our life. We know how to navigate it. If you screw around with things though, that's like sending us curveballs we haven't learned how to dodge. Promise me, 'Taire, you'll let it alone."
Grantaire gazed at her with tortured eyes. He lifted a hand to her face and brushed the back of it ever so gently along the faded bruises.
"Who is it, Éponine?" His voice was a strangled whisper. "Who hurts you?"
Éponine shrugged. "It's not one person. My father. 'Parnasse. The other men I have to screw."
Grantaire's eyes flashed with pain and his grip tightened on her hand.
She sighed and nudged his tense arm with her elbow. "It's just the life of a gamine de Paris, 'Taire. It can't really hurt you if you don't know anything else."
She didn't like lying to Grantaire (though she never gave lying a thought with other people). But he was so asinine that it was often necessary.
"You can get out," Grantaire urged, leaning closer to her. "I told you, you can come live here. Azelma too."
"'Taire." Her voice was severe enough to shut him up. "I'm telling you: let it alone. You can't hide from my father. You definitely can't hide from 'Parnasse." She shuddered.
"Who the hell is Parnasse?"
Éponine shook her head. "Nevermind. Just – promise me you won't meddle and f—k things up. Okay?"
She had him by both of his shoulders now, locked under her ferocious stare.
"I..." Grantaire sputtered weakly.
"Promise."
"Éponine, you can't –"
"I can. I know what's best for me and 'Zelma in our situation."
In reality, Éponine wasn't worried only about herself and her sister. She also didn't like to think what her what her father, or God forbid Montparnasse, might do to Grantaire if he got in their way. But she didn't figure this would be a winning angle with her obstinately solicitous friend, so she chose not to raise it.
Grantaire was staring at her, eyes ravaged and helpless, mouth twisted and silent.
Éponine broke eye contact to turn and glance out the window. Observing the fading light, she grimaced.
"Damn it, 'Taire. You're going to make me late for the first punter."
Grantaire let out something like a sob. Éponine gripped his shoulders more fiercely, her fingers digging into him like little claws.
"This is exactly what I mean," she snapped. "You put up a fight and make me late, my father gives me a beating. Just like I told you – you screwing around only makes things worse. Hurry up, 'Taire. I'm not leaving til you promise and you don't want to see my face tomorrow if you delay me."
The strangled groan that ripped from Grantaire's lips was both anger and despair. He tore away from Éponine's grasp and covered his face with both hands.
"I promise. Go."