In My Life

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"Eponine!"

"Coming, Papa!"

I rush down the stairs. I know Papa hates waiting; I've learned that the hard way. I finish arranging my torn up clothes so that they at least fall correctly on my body as I arrive on the first floor.

It's the end of Spring, which means people should start coming in for the Summer. And that means loads of new people to scam this season. I know Papa can't wait.

"Eponine!" he shouts again.

"Yes!"

I rush down the hall, heading towards the study. I can see the light coming in through the uneven pieces of wood making the walls. I turn left as I hear him shout again.

"Ep-"

"I'm right here, Papa."

He looks down from the piece of paper he was looking at and stares at me.

"Oh, sorry, didn't see you."

I roll my eyes.

"You called?"

"Yes, well, we've got a problem."

I hunch my shoulders.

"Look, if it's the rats again, I swear I did everything you-"

"No, no, it's not the rats."

He signals me to approach him with his finger. I bend down slightly and suddenly I receive a slap straight on the face. My head flies to the left as I can already feel my cheek burning.

I want to fight back, as I want to everytime he does something like this, but I know I can't. Because of him, I at least have a roof over my head. I can't afford to lose that. So, I just stand still. As usual.

"I've heard some things," he starts.

He slowly folds the piece of paper he's holding and sets it down on the table. He removes his glasses and starts cleansing the lenses with a corner of his shirt.

"You see," he continues. "News spread fast in this neighbourhood and I believe you know exactly what news I'm talking about."

"Papa, you don't understand. I-"

"I don't want to hear it! Look, who raised you?"

I look to the ground.

"You, Papa," I mutter.

"And who makes sure you have something to eat? Who shelters you? Who takes care of you?"

I bite my bottom lip. I don't want to answer that last question.

"Listen, Eponine, you're one of us. You've always been one of us. We steal. We break. We even kill. But we don't return stuff we've stolen. We don't go soft! What's the matter with you? Snap out of it!"

"But, Papa-"

"Enough!" he shouts. "I'm a Thénardier. You're a Thénardier... Start acting like one."

And with that he leaves the room, leaving me alone. I look behind me, but he has already disappeared around the corner. My hands turn into fists by my side.

Montparnasse. He had promised. He promised me he wouldn't say a word. No, it can't be him. He would never do that to me. He knows what Papa does when he's mad.

I grab a piece of fabric and toss it around my shoulders before heading outside. The weather's cool, reminding everyone that Summer hasn't quite reached Paris yet. I cross my arms over my chest as I make my way towards the market.

To my surprise, the market's loaded with people buying or exchanging stuff. People are chatting amongst themselves, making the most of their afternoon.

I love coming down here. It changes from seeing only gloomy places and dark, sad faces. People seem actually happy here. Of course, they're surrounded by goods they can actually buy.

I pass by a stand selling bread and subtly get close enough to steal a small loaf, half burnt, pushed away to the side.

I am a Thénardier. I steal. I am not weak.

Yet why do I feel guilty? I steal all the time. Why now? Why today? My Papa's words resonate through my head: "I'm a Thénardier. You're a Thénardier... Start acting like one."

"But maybe I'm not like you," I whisper under my breath.

And that's when I feel a small tap on my shoulder.

"I saw that," a voice says.

I turn around and instantly drop the piece of bread on the ground. I can't believe it. It's... him.