VIOLET EYES | LES MISÉRABLES

chapter four

Sonnet did not leave the house for two and a half weeks after that night. Partially because she did not want to be seen in public with a large bruise upon her delicate cheek, and partially because Javert grew increasingly worried about her safety. But in these circumstances, her sanity was on the line.

To fill her time Sonnet read novels and cooked, although both tasks were hard to accomplish without hurting her healing hands. Occasionally her thoughts would linger over to Les Amis and Courfeyrac and Belle, the two who dared to show friendliness towards her. But she was determined to push them out of her mind; analysing their cause could have bad consequences.

Outside of the Javert household, tension started bubbling on the streets of Paris. It was not yet a cause for concern, but just enough for it to not go unnoticed by those who lived there. So Javert came home from work every evening, and his expression became gradually more stony. He often mumbled about the 'meddling students' and 'wretched street scum' over supper. Sonnet pretended not to hear.

One morning, Sonnet rose to the sound of a gentle knocking upon her bedroom door. Sitting up, she stretched and yawned.

"Come in." She croaked sleepily, flopping back down onto her soft mattress.

Not surprisingly, the presence at the door was Javert. He chuckled softly to himself when he saw Sonnet sprawled across her bed, tangled in white bedsheets. She lifted her head and smiled to acknowledge her father, and shielded her eyes from the bright light that streamed into her room once the door was opened fully.

"My darling, you must get out of bed." Javert said.

Sonnet groaned in response, and Javert noticed the dog-eared copy of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley lying open beside her head. Quite advanced reading for a now eighteen year old girl, particularly because it was written in English, but still one of her favourites. "Stay up reading again?"

"Oui." Sonnet decided to try sit up again, stretching as did so. She swung her bare feet over to the edge of the bed, and there she sat.

"You should go outside, Sonnet. You have not left the house in two and a half weeks. Your birthday was yesterday and you still did not leave." Javert noted.

"I do not mind. If I stay at home, I read more books and fully enjoy myself. And you know how much I used to hate reading, Papa. I believed that going outside was much more fun. And who needs birthday celebrations Papa? I will have more birthdays." Sonnet retorted, smiling innocently at her father. In that moment, with her messy red curls and her childlike smile, Javert saw the young child he had given a home to.

"Reading won't suffice for what Paris has to offer." Javert was not one for the novels Sonnet immersed herself in, but appreciated her interest in literature. Then he coughed, remembering the message he had been asked to pass on. "One of the officers wishes to take you out for the afternoon, and I've said you'll go."

Both Javert and Sonnet flushed at the topic; Sonnet's love life (or lack there of) had never been addressed between the pair, despite her being of marrying age.

"Is it Jacques? Thanks, but no thanks." Sonnet broke the silence, curling her nose up as she thought of the man.

"Non, it is one of the new officers. His name is Sébastien, and is only a few years older than you. He is the son of Jean-Pierre, if you remember him." Javert corrected her. Sonnet nodded, still skeptical about the arrangement. The face of disinterest gave Javert selfish hope that she would, in fact, not be leaving him any time soon.

"I do suppose some fresh air would do me good." Sonnet said, although the words sounded more like they were supposed to be kept inside her head. "What time is he coming?"

"He said he will collect you at two o'clock." Javert said, his stone heart sinking a little. Sonnet knew that this was the end of their conversation for the day, and rose to hug Javert. She embraced him, and Javert placed a fatherly kiss upon her mess of curls.

"Be careful, Sonnet." Was all he said before he disappeared out the door.

Sonnet lay back down on her bed, relishing the feeling as she sank in the mattress. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, for she had never formally had a man take her out.

When it came to love, Sonnet did not know where she sat. She wasn't someone who waited desperately for her Romeo, but didn't mind the idea of falling in love. In her short eighteen years of life she had never seen a romantic couple, and therefore did not know what it would be like to be loved in such a way. At some point she knew she had to get married, but the groom was still a mystery. Perhaps Sébastien had the power to woo her.

Sonnet filled her time by bathing and reading her book, and carefully selected her outfit for the day. She chose a pink dress with puffed sleeves and a cream shawl, a combination that emphasised her youthfulness. Letting her hair down in its naturally loose waves, Sonnet secured a bonnet around her head, and by the time she was satisfied with her appearance, a knock on the door echoed through the house.

Sonnet's stomach was fluttering with nerves as she flew down the stairs. She tried to calm herself with a deep breath, closing her eyes before carefully unlocking the door.

Before her was a man that had to be Sébastien. He was incredibly handsome, with dark curly hair neatly tied back and brown eyes that sparkled flecks of gold when the sun hit him just right.

"You must be Mademoiselle Sonnet. Bonjour, it is an honour to be in your presence." Sébastien bowed, taking Sonnet's hand in his own. His lips pressed against her knuckles, and when he pulled away his hand still gripped hers.

"You too, Monsieur." Sonnet smiled, glancing down at their hands. It felt awkward, so she pretended to play with her hair as she tugged her hand away.

"Where are we heading, Monsieur Sébastien?" Sonnet stepped inside to adjust the shawl on her shoulders.

"I was thinking we could take a walk through the gardens. They are rather beautiful, much like yourself." Sébastien grinned, and Sonnet giggled at the compliment.

She took his arm after locking the front door, and together they walked away from the bustling streets of Paris. Sonnet made polite small talk, to which Sébastien would smoothly reply.

The gardens brought a wave of interest for Sonnet, as they usually did, but this time she restrained herself. Her date seemed far too formal to discuss flowers.

Still linked, the pair passed blooming hydrangeas and chrysanthemums and roses painted in glorious colours. Whether they be brilliant and bright or soft pastels, Sonnet was captivated by them all.

The only moment Sonnet tore her eyes away from the flowers was when she noticed a boy, not much older than herself, crouched down in front of a bush dotted with pink roses. He was staring intently at a book and the roses, and Sonnet couldn't draw her eyes away. He was dressed badly, almost comically. But it only made Sonnet more fascinated by him.

His dusty blonde hair flopped messily upon his head, and their relatively close proximity meant that Sonnet could very nearly see his sparkling blue irises.

This was the kind of boy that novelists gushed about and romanticised. He was perfectly imperfect.