Éponine had told Grantaire she needed to go home. And she did need to. But there was one stop which was even more urgent.
When Eponine stole out of Joly's flat in the wee hours of the morning, she immediately set out towards Montparnasse's hide-out. In her mind was emblazoned the image of Montparnasse's face, twisted in jealousy, as he looked back and forth between her and Grantaire. She knew that face, and she knew its consequences.
She needed a plan. She needed a bargaining chip to use with Montparnasse. Some way to convince him to take Grantaire off his hitlist (for surely Grantaire was on his hitlist now).
She already gave her body to Montparnasse on a regular basis, so she couldn't bargain with that. What else did she have?
Éponine drew her coat closer around herself and shuddered.
F-k 'Taire… She'd been playing things so well before he'd exploded like a loose canon… She'd had Montparnasse wrapped around her finger. That delighted smile that lit his face when she kissed him — why, he practically looked like a schoolboy in love. He'd been more than appeased… Until f-king 'Taire forced her to drop her façade and turn 'Parnasse's own knife on him.
God…
Éponine pressed the heels of her palms to both temples as she walked, thinking.
Montparnasse had really looked like a schoolboy in love. It had surprised her, to be honest. If he really was fond of her — if he regarded her as more than a conveniently available f-hole — then shouldn't that give her some influence with him?
She knew it would take more than batting her eyelashes to get him to leave Grantaire alone… But surely there must be some angle… some way she could tap into her influence…
Patron-Minette's code knock sounded at Montparnasse's door. He tucked away the knife he'd been twirling between his fingers, pushed himself off the sofa, and sauntered over to answer it.
Upon opening the door, he flushed red. Then he paled. Then, finally, he collected himself and adopted a lazy, lecherous grin.
"'Ponine," he drawled. "What a pleasant surprise."
Indeed, Montparnasse was surprised. But he wasn't sure he would call it pleasant… Not after the humiliating events of last night, when Éponine had threatened to kill him to protect that ugly oaf she was with. (He'd have to get rid of him.)
Éponine nodded at Montparnasse and stepped through the doorway, without waiting for an invitation. Montparnasse sneered at her back as she walked into his living room, but followed her without protest. His eyes traced the length of her body and remarked only the bandages on her hands as a sign of injury. He knew where those came from.
"You haven't been home yet," Montparnasse stated.
Éponine stopped walking and turned to face him. "Hm?"
"Your Pa hasn't tended to you yet."
"Ah." Éponine nodded.
She seemed utterly unphased by Montparnasse's allusion to the beating coming to her. Montparnasse couldn't help but admire that. Of all Éponine's qualities, it was perhaps her unflinching hardiness before suffering that drew him most to her. Montparnasse had turned to crime because he was lazy, entitled, and unwilling to endure any measure of physical hardship. Éponine was his antithesis. And despite Montparnasse's narcissistic adoration of himself, he couldn't help but be maddeningly attracted to the opposite of himself that he saw in Éponine.
"Have you come here asking me to shield you from your father?" Montparnasse asked. He wouldn't do it if she had. The b*tch deserved a good beating after pulling that stunt last night. Anyway, he enjoyed seeing Éponine hurt, so long as it wasn't so bad that she couldn't recover. It only gave him further opportunity to observe that marvelous hardiness which he adored in her.
"No," Éponine replied simply.
Montparnasse cocked a handsomely shaped eyebrow. "Well then, what brings you here 'Ponine?"
Éponine said nothing in response. Instead, she slipped her hand into the waistband of her skirt. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding Montparnasse's knife — the one she'd wrested from his grip the night before.
Montparnasse paused a moment, torn between snarling and smirking at her. He went with the latter.
"Oh Éponine," he lilted. "So good of you to return my knife. Would you believe it, some wh*re snatched it right out of my hands last night." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Can't think what possessed her to do such a thing. Can you?"
Montparnasse reached out to take the knife from Éponine, but she stepped out of reach. Montparnasse's eyes narrowed dangerously. But he didn't try to wrestle it from her. Instead he watched, waiting for Éponine's next move.
Éponine appeared to examine the knife thoughtfully, holding it close to her face. "This is a handsome knife, 'Parnasse."
Momtparnasse continued watching her with narrowed eyes. "Indeed. It's my favoured knife."
She lifted her gaze slightly and fixed it on Montparnasse. Her eyes were impassive. "I think I might hold onto it for a little while."
An ugly sneer twisted across Montparnasse's beautiful features. "Threatening me again, 'Ponine?"
Éponine shook her head. "No. Not exactly." She raised the knife and brought the tip of it to touch lightly against her own throat. "How much do you think I value my own life, 'Parnasse?" she asked, her voice level and calm. "Do you imagine I have much of a life worth living?"
Montparnasse's hands clenched at his sides and his eyes flashed. "What are you talking about?"
"Tell me. Would I have done what I did last night if I was afraid of dying?"
Montparnasse snarled, baring his teeth. "'Ponine, give me back my knife." He reached for it again, more aggressively.
This time when Éponine stepped back, she pressed the sharp tip harder against her throat. A tiny spot of blood began to appear, bright red against her sallow skin.
Montparnasse froze and pulled his hands back to his side. He eyed Éponine carefully for several breaths. Then: "What do you want, 'Ponine?"
A flicker of hope lit in Éponine's stomach at Montparnasse's question, but she carefully maintained her neutral expression. She lifted her chin and fixed him with a hard cool stare. "I want you to promise to leave my friend alone."
"Your friend," Montparnasse said sourly. "The hideous one from last night."
Eponine chose to ignore the insult. "Yes. He's my friend, 'Parnasse. You understand that? We're not involved. And I've no wish to be. You needn't be jealous."
Montparnasse's lip curled.
Éponine didn't seem to be lying about her platonic relationship with the ugly oaf… But after her games last night, he was no longer confident in his ability to discern her sincerity. At any rate, if the bastard was only a friend, did that make this situation better or worse? True, he needn't be jealous on account of Éponine having romantic feelings for another man… But this was perhaps even more humiliating.
Montparnasse ran his tongue over his lips in a brooding manner. When he spoke, his voice was bitter and dangerous. "You have very little regard for me," he said slowly, "If you're willing to kill me over a mere friend. "
Until then Éponine had been doing a marvelous job of maintaining outward impassivity, despite her raging inner turmoil. But at these words, she finally flinched. The flicker of hope she'd felt a minute ago sputtered, and for the umpteenth time that morning, she silently cursed 'Taire in her mind.
With effort, Éponine managed to re-assume her cool air. "And you have very little regard for me, 'Parnasse, if you're willing to kill my only friend."
Montparnasse leered. "Come now, 'Ponine. Don't be unfair. You know I adore you."
Eponine stared at him, long and hard.
Was he being sincere in his profession of adoration? If so, what did that even mean? What did it mean for someone like Montparnasse to adore her? Could she lean on that, press on that?
She would have to... She had no other option.
"You adore me, you say?" Éponine let her gaze drop down to the knife at her throat, aiming to re-announce it's presence. "Then I suppose the question isn't how much I value my life... It's how much do you value my life?"
Montparnasse was silent. He looked down at Éponine's throat, then back up at her face. His nostrils flared. "So you want me to promise not to kill your ugly friend, and in return you won't slit your own throat? That's the deal on offer?" He strove to sound as sarcastic as possible, as though the proposal was ridiculous and not worth considering.
Éponine's stomach twisted at his tone, but she managed not to flinch again. "Correct," she nodded. "Further, I want you to tell Patron-Minette and my father that my friend is untouchable territory."
Montparnasse barked out a harsh laugh. "Now you're giving orders to all of Patron-Minette, are you? Cocky b*tch."
Éponine shrugged. "It isn't an order. I'm just presenting you with your options. What do you want more, 'Parnasse? For my friend to be dead? Or for me to be alive?"
She pressed the knife yet harder into her throat. Montparnasse started and lunged toward her — again she nimbly evaded him.
Montparnasse stared at Éponine, breast heaving, eyes wild. Then his face twisted in contempt and he growled at her.
"Fine," he spat. "Keep your ugly friend. And keep your life."
Éponine stared. Montparnasse's words sunk in slowly, as though registering in her brain one syllable at a time.
Then relief broke through like an avalanche, and she had to turn away to hide her face.