A Promise

Chapter Thirty

        I continued to keep a low profile at the barricades, hiding my face from Enjolras whenever he walked by. The National Guard were ruthless in their attacks. We fought battle after bloody battle. When they attacked us once again, we were still tired and in pain. This time, though, there was something different. The first explosion of the battle was much louder than a simple gunshot. It blew up the front of the barricade, causing bits of furniture and debris to fly all over the place.

        "Canons!" Enjolras yelled, his face white. I cursed under my breath. We were barely surviving their guns. How could we hope to survive their canons? The battle was loud and brutal. Debris flew everyone. I heard someone to my left let out a cry of pain, and I turned to see Bossuet on the ground, a large splinter of wood wedged in his thigh. Blood soaked his pant leg. He gritted his teeth in pain, then stood up to continue fighting.

        "No, Bossuet!" I told him. "Go into the tavern. You're not fit to fight."

        "I have to fight," Bossuet replied determinedly. "I can't let mon amis down."

        "Please don't do this," I begged. "Musichetta needs you. If you die she and her baby will have no one left in the world. Go to the tavern and recover."

        "You're right," Bossuet said with a defeated sigh. "But only for Musichetta. I'm doing this for her, not me."

        "I know," I replied. "Now go!"

        He limped away to the tavern, and I let out a sigh of relief. At least Bossuet was safe. The rest of the battle was long and bloody. When the National Guard finally pulled back to regroup, we were exhausted and pushed past our limits. We all shared a mutual feeling of hopelessness. When we found Jehan's body lying bloodied and broken on the ground, we were to weak to cry. Courfeyrac pulled the body away, and Combeferre left to tend to Bossuet's leg. Jehan. Joly. Bahorel. Three dead. How many more would die in the next battle?

        "How do we stand, Feiully?" Enjolras asked, his voice devoid of emotion. "Make your report."

        "We've guns enough, but ammunition's short," Feiully replied. Silence settled in. Where were we going to get more ammunition?

        "I will go into the streets," Marius volunteered. "There are bodies all around. Ammunition to be had. Lots of bullets to be found."

        "Let me go!" Valjean called out. "He's no more than a boy. I am old, I have nothing to fear."

        "You'll need someone quicker! I volunteer!"

        I turned to see who had volunteered, and my heart stopped. "Gavroche, no!" I screamed, not caring about whether or not I blew my cover. "Stop him!"

        I rushed forward to stop my brother, but it was too late. He had already climbed over the barricade. "NO!" I screamed, rushing up the barricade to stop him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me back.

        "Eponine, what are you doing here?" Enjolras' voice demanded. "You promised you'd stay with 'Chetta!"

        I ignored him and continued screaming for my brother. "Let me go!" I begged Enjolras. "Please, let me go to him!"

        Enjolras ignored my request and kept me in his firm grip. Tears poured down my cheeks. "Gavroche!"

        Then a loud bang filled the air, and the world seemed to stop. The only sound was my brother's voice, ringing out loudly despite the obvious fear and pain he was experiencing. "And little people know, when little people fight, we may look easy pickings, but we've got some bite - AH!"

        "Gav!" I sobbed as another gunshot echoed in the air.

        "So never kick a dog. Because he's just a pup... We'll fight like... twenty armies... and we won't give up... So you better... run for cover... when the pup... grows-"

        BANG! Then silence. 

        I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't think. I couldn't understand. Where was Gavroche? Why wasn't he coming back over the barricade with the ammunition? Where was he? Why wasn't he back yet? Why? Deep inside, I knew the truth, but I refused to believe it until I heard the sound of Courfeyrac's sobs. Gavroche is dead, a voice in my head said. "No," I moaned. Then, Courfeyrac's sobs were drowned out by a much louder noise. It sounded like an animal wailing. It took me a few seconds to realize the sound was coming from my own mouth.

        "Gavroche!" I screamed. "GAVROCHE!!"

        "Eponine," Enjolras said softly, still holding me tightly in his arms. "He's gone. Gav is dead."

        "NO!" I screamed even louder. "Please no! GAVROCHE!"

        "Eponine, I'm sorry," Enjolras said weakly. I pushed away from him, tears pouring down my cheeks.

        "This is all your fault!" I yelled. "You were the one who let him fight. You killed my brother! You murderer! This is your fault, Enjolras!"

        "It's not his fault," Marius said, trying to play the role of the peacemaker. 

        "No, she's right," Enjolras said, looking down at his hands. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have let the child fight."

        I could hear the guilt in his voice, but it only made me angrier. I needed someone to yell at, to blame, but I couldn't scream at Enjolras if he was not fighting back. "Look at me!" I yelled. Enjolras looked up, his eyes full of guilt. "This is your fault!" I repeated. Still, he didn't fight back. "Fight me!" I screamed. I couldn't understand why I wanted him to fight me so badly. All I knew was that I needed to let out my emotions, and fighting was the only way I knew how to do it. "I hate you!" I declared. I could see the pain in his eyes as these words escaped my lips. I felt guilty for causing him this agony, but my emotions were building up inside of me, and Enjolras was simply the unlucky victim of the flood of anger and sadness that was pouring out of me. Then, in my grief, confusion, and anger, my fingers flew to my throat and tore off the chain around my neck. "Here!" I cried out. "Take back your stupid ring! I don't want it anymore."

        "Eponine," Enjolras protested weakly, looking at me with a pitiful expression.

        "Take it!" I demanded, tears burning my eyes. Enjolras bowed his head and accepted it meekly.

        "Eponine, calm down," Grantaire said, walking up to me and putting an arm around my shoulder. At that moment, my wall of anger came crashing down, and I leaned helplessly against Grantaire, sobbing. "He's dead," I cried. "He's gone and he won't come back."

        "I know," Grantaire said, stroking my hair in a comforting manner. From the corner of my eye, I could see Enjolras looking at me with pain in his eyes. I wanted so badly to run to him and wrap my arms around him, but my pride and anger prevented me from doing so. In my grief, I needed someone to blame, and no matter how unfair it was, Enjolras was that person.

        "Why would they shoot a child?" I wondered aloud. "What kind of sick person kills a child?"

        "That's the kind of injustice we're fighting against," Grantaire told me gently.

        I wiped a tear from my eye. "It hurts so much," I said in a hoarse voice.

        "I know, Eponine. Believe me, I know." Grantaire pulled a bottle of alcohol from his coat and pressed it in my hand. "Here," he told me. "Drink this. It dulls the pain."

        I looked at it skeptically. "You promise this'll help?" I asked.

        Grantaire gave me a cynical expression. "No," he replied.

        I stared at the bottle for a few more seconds, then shrugged. What have I got to lose? I thought as I took a large swig of alcohol.