beauty and a barricade || enjonine

11: a most peculiar fondess

I'm at a loss for words. I don't even know what to say: but you deserve the truth. Perhaps you recall how I told you that I didn't want to tell you my last name? That is because my name is Éponine Thenardier. One of the men who tried to rob you last night was my father, and I was helping him. I have been trying to detach myself from him recently, for reasons hopefully evident. I left for good last night after he harmed you so horribly. There's no real need for me to tell you that, but I can't live without your trust.

You are in the hospital because of me. I am so sorry.

If I say nothing more, this letter would be quite depressing; therefore, I shall mention that I received a letter from Grantaire earlier. It was peculiar, to say the least.

I still want to be part of the revolution, and now that I am no longer associated with my parents, I have even more time to devote. Would you tell me about your plans? And who is Lamarque?

I pray that your wound is not too serious, and that you will forgive me. At least you now know the truth concerning my identity.

- Éponine

enjolras carefully blinked, straining his eyes to read the letter, but his vision blurred whenever he attempted to focus on a word. he believed he had a decent idea of what the letter consisted of: the truth about who she was, her apologies, wanting to be involved in the revolution and then something about lamarque and grantaire. he sighed and folded the letter. he would have to read it when he wasn't so dreadfully dizzy.

a nun had placed the letter in his keeping perhaps an hour ago: she informed enjolras that it had been delivered by a street girl who had asked to come in to the hospital, but the nun denied her entrance. it could have only been éponine— enjolras was relieved that they didn't allow her in, because he couldn't bear to appear so terribly weak in front of her.

the laudanum the nuns had given him earlier in the day was now wearing off and his pain was hastily returning. he hated laudanum; he hated the hospital; he hated the way he currently felt. he decided to put on a brave countenance so that the nuns would permit him leave. he could cope with the pain later.

enjolras glanced at the wooden chair by his bedside where his waistcoat and cravat were elegantly draped. he carefully sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath before rising to his feet.

he was immediately struck by a combination of dizziness and nausea, accompanied by a sharp pain, but he did not sway in his attempts to stand. he adjusted his shirt, averting his eyes from the massive bloodstain, and reached for his coat, which had a wonderful hole ripped into it, presumably from the knife. as he was adjusting his cravat, a nun entered the room.

"monsieur, you should not be moving in your condition! back in your bed at once!"

enjolras winced at the sensation of lifting his arm as he was putting on his jacket, and subtly leaned against the bed in an attempt to stabilize himself. "i feel well, and i cannot stay. i will return saturday with a payment and—"

"today is saturday, monsieur," the nun said.

enjolras paused. "what?"

"today is saturday," the nun repeated.

"how can that be? i arrived thursday night—"