Éponine hurried up the stairs of the Gorbeau House, her sister trailing behind her. Azelma kept trying—and failing—to strike up a conversation about what had just come to pass. She couldn't find the right words, it seemed, and she could only stare at her sister with compassionate eyes, which the older Jondrette mistook for pity.

"Would you quit looking at me like that?" She snapped at Azelma.

"Sorry, I just—"

"I said I'm fine. Just leave it."

"But aren't you gonna tell him?"

Éponine stopped mid-step and turned to properly face her.

"Tell him what exactly? No, really, what do you expect me to say to him? 'Oh, hey, by the way, we fucked last night.' Yeah, that would go over well. Don't be stupid, 'Zel. There's nothing more to say."

Azelma flinched at her sister's harsh tone, but Éponine seemed not to notice.

"I'm such an idiot," Éponine continued, laughing unhappily. "I ought to have expected this. But I wasn't thinking. Neither of us were, evidently. No, it's better to just forget this ever happened. I'll just push past this."

"But—"

"It was just a drunken mistake. He'd probably be ashamed if he did remember. It was stupid for me to expect anything to come of this. Look, just forget it, 'Zel. It was never meant to be. Someone of his station…"

Azelma looked affronted. "Well, I don't see why not."

"We're not the same, he and I. I've always known that, yet I dared to dream. He has a future, 'Zelma. He has his whole life ahead of him. We don't. You know that. It's simple facts."

"He lives in this shit hole, same as us," Azelma countered.

"Azelma, grow up. He does this because he's made the stupid decision to slum it" Éponine explained, her voice full of acid. "You know as well as I do that he could show up at his grandfather's anytime he wanted and be welcomed back with open arms. You know he receives a monthly allowance, right? He sends it back because he's also an idiot, but he has means—whether he chooses to accept them or not. He's not the same as us."

"But 'Ponine, we weren't always poor like this," Azelma replied. "If we can fall down so low, can't we also rise back up?"

Éponine laughed bitterly. "It's a lot easier to fall down than to climb up. You're too naive for your own good.

"But it's not impossible," Azelma maintained stubbornly. "What about that stunted little runt? You remember her, don't you? That one who lived with us however long ago? That man took her away. He bought her that beautiful doll… Surely, she must be better off than she was, don't you think?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Azelma, there's nothing more in this life for us. It's not like we've got some wealthy relative to take us in. It's not like anyone is going to come and adopt us or carry us off to some shiny new life. Accept what we are, 'Zel, or you're just fooling yourself. We're a dead end, and there's no use in bringing Marius down with us." Éponine laughed again, that same humourless laugh. "I'd taint his reputation, me being what I am."

Azelma frowned. "We may be poor, but I hardly see why that should be of any bother to him."

Éponine shook her head. "How little you know."

"I still think you should tell him what happened last night."

"Why bother? What do you think the outcome would be? Because I know what would happen: he'd stutter out an apology, and then he'd be nervous and embarrassed every time he's near me. Things would never be the same. Our friendship would be over... I couldn't bear it if that happened. I'm not going to tell him and you'd better not either."

"'Ponine..."

"It is what it is, Azelma. Just... leave it."

"... Fine."

Éponine continued up the stairs and to the door of their apartment. She pushed it open and walked inside, Azelma following.

"So you've come back," their father said in way of greeting.

"Yeah," Éponine replied. Arnaud Thénardier stretched out his hand and Éponine dug into her pocket for the money she and Azelma had nicked. Instead she found a hole.

"Well?" Her father demanded.

"I gave it to mum when I came home this morning," she lied easily. The Madame withdrew from her own pocket the money Azelma had stolen the night before and handed it to her husband.

"Two francs, 15 sous," he counted with a scowl. "That it?" He looked at Azelma. "You?"

"Th-That's from b-both of us," Azelma stammered. Thénardier's face was growing red, and his daughters could see the great fury building within the small man. Éponine put herself between him and her sister.

"It's my fault," she said quickly. "I didn't earn enough on my errands. But we can still afford some bread and butter, maybe even a few scraps of meat."

"That so?" Thénardier grunted. "Maybe I haven't made myself clear enough on just what your responsibilities are. Maybe if you're not making enough when I send you to these well-to-do houses, I ought to be more blunt and send you to service the rest of Paris. You know just where to go."

Éponine flushed angrily. "I will not."

Thénardier glared at her. "You'll do whatever I fucking tell you to do."

"I won't."

The back of his hand came down hard on her cheek, and she stumbled back but maintained her footing.

"Get out," he growled, "and don't come back till you've made yourself useful."

Éponine glared at him. "I won't be back," she spat. "See how well you do without your precious letters sent out. She turned to her sister, "'Zelma, come with me."

"'P-Ponine, I—"

Thénardier roughly grabbed Azelma's wrist and pulled her toward him. "She's not going anywhere!"

Madame Thénardier stood up in protest. "You're hurting her wrist!"

"Don't you fucking touch her," Éponine hissed. Thénardier pushed Azelma behind him, and she was caught by the Madame, who cradled the girl's wrist.

Thénardier's hand closed into a fist, and he struck his eldest a second time, but she stood her ground.

"She's coming with me!" Éponine insisted. She tried to claw at her father, but he punched her hard in the stomach, and she dropped to her knees. Just as she tried to rise, he aimed a heavy kick at her chest, and she collapsed. He kicked her several times in the stomach then square in the face, and she felt her head jerk back and her nose break.

"'Ponine, forget me! Get outta here!" Azelma pleaded.

But Éponine was not willing to leave her sister, the dearest person in her entire world—dearer than even Marius. Despite the dizziness, the gushing blood, the nausea, and the feral cry that tore its way out of her chest, Éponine lurched to her feet. She affixed her father with wild eyes, and he pulled a switchblade from his back pocket.

"Let her go, Arnaud," Madame Thénardier spoke up. "Just let her go. S'not worth it if you kill her."

Monsieur Thénardier begrudgingly put the knife away. "Go," he ordered, but Éponine didn't move. Her eyes focused on Azelma as best they could.

"Not without her."

"Go," her mother insisted. Still, Éponine wouldn't budge. Her eyes filled with tears.

"'Ponine, please," Azelma pleaded. "I'll be okay." I'll meet you as soon as I can, she mouthed. Finally, the eldest nodded.

Eyes watering and blood rushing freely from her nose, Éponine staggered back. She kept her eyes on her sister. When she felt the door behind her, she turned the knob and backed out of the apartment.

Leaning against the wall for support, she made her way to the stairs and then slowly sank to the ground. She laughed that same bitter laugh.

"Fucking stairs," she muttered. She closed her eyes as the room started to spin. No, no, no... not here, she thought. I will not be beaten by stairs. She tried to stand, but found that it simply could not be done. She groaned. Anywhere but here.

She crawled closer to the top step and grabbed onto the railing, using it to pull herself to her feet. Leaning heavily on the rail, she slowly made her way down the stairs. Black spots had begun to cloud her vision. She was only halfway down the stairs when she slipped away into nothingness.

...

"Éponine... Éponine?"

She knew that voice, knew its warmth. Everything was white, as though covered by a thick fog. She could see nothing else. Fear coloured her thoughts. Where was she? Whence did this voice call?

"Éponine..."

Was this death? Was death meant to be so inviting? She had expected darkness—black, inky clouds. A void, perhaps. Yet she saw only light. Éponine felt light, weightless. If she flapped her arms, perhaps she would fly. As it was, she felt sure she was floating. Oh, to stay here forever. There were no doubts, no worries, no pain... Surely this must be heaven, though she couldn't fathom what she had possibly done to deserve it. Perhaps, she reflected, she had rather found the end of a bottle. The sensation was much the same.

"Éponine..."

And that voice. She knew that voice. That voice meant safety. Everything would be all right as long as that voice remained, even if all else should perish.

"Éponine!"

There was a tone of panic to the voice now. Éponine was starting to feel heavier. The light was dimming, and pain was returning.

"Éponine..."

But she didn't want to go back, didn't want to wake. Whether this was death, heaven, nothingness, or even purgatory, she didn't want to return to that other world.

"Éponine?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found she was in a dimly lit room that she didn't recognize. Everything hurt, and a groan escaped her. She felt a hand seize her own.

"Oh, Éponine! Oh, thank god! I... I was so worried you might not... It doesn't matter. You're awake now, and you're going to be okay."

"Marius?" She turned her head to the side, and her eyes fell upon him. He was right there next to her, his green eyes so full of concern, of tenderness. She felt like she could die all over again upon seeing such a look in his eyes. She tried to sit up, but he gently pushed her back down.

"Woah, take it easy," he murmured. "You fell down the stairs and hit your head pretty hard. Combeferre says you've probably got a concussion from the fall, a few broken ribs, and a broken nose, but you're going to be okay. Éponine… You really need to be more careful!"

"Where are we?" Éponine asked, more concerned with the present than whatever future misfortunes might possibly await her.

"Combeferre and Enjolras's apartment," Marius replied. "They have three rooms, so you can stay here while you heal. This used to be Courfeyrac's room, but he was always bringing girls home, so he ended up getting his own place. But don't worry, I can let your family know you're safe."

Éponine scoffed. "Like they care." Then, after a moment of consideration, she added, "Well, maybe let Azelma know."

Marius frowned. "Did you have another fight with your parents?"

"Something like that." She wasn't going to worry him with details.

"I'm sorry, 'Ponine. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, you've done enough," Éponine said sharply, before she could stop herself.

"What do you mean?" Marius asked, characteristically confused and also a little hurt. Éponine sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

"Nothing," she said stonily. She didn't have it in her at present to be sorry for hurting the feelings of Marius Pontmercy.

"Is there anything I can get you? Tea or... or soup or something?"

"I... I think I just want to be alone right now..." She said, turning away from him, even though it hurt—physically and emotionally—to do so.

"O-Oh. R-Right. Of course. I'll... uh... just let you rest then." Marius turned and began to leave but paused in the doorway. "...Feel better, 'Ponine." Then he was gone.

Tears stung Éponine's eyes. It was like kicking a puppy, sending him away like that, but she didn't think she could bear being in the same room as him just then. Soon the tears were running freely down her bloodied and bruised face.

"Damn it," she whispered. She closed her eyes and tried to stem the flow of tears. I don't love him. I don't love him. But she knew that no matter how many times she told herself this, it wouldn't make it true.