"Scoundrel." "Street rat." "Thief." "Filthy." Liar." "Dishonest." "Jondrette Girl." "Thenardier."
The people of Paris bombard me with these insults every day. I ignore them. Words cannot hurt me. In a way, they are right. I am a Thenardier, and that means a life of cunning thievery and dishonesty. And of course a reputation. Oh, that reputation. I am the girl driven by a lust for money. I am the girl no one wants to associate with. I am the girl young men would never bring home to their mothers. I am Eponine Thenardier. I am untouchable. Or so they all think.
What they don't see is the scared little girl hiding beneath this tough outer shell. The girl who cringes at their insults. The girl who sometimes just wants to curl up into a ball and cry. The girl who longs for someone to love her, to hold her, to tell her that she is not completely worthless. But here's the thing: There is no room for that sort of vulnerability and weakness in this cold unfeeling world. That's a lesson I learned a long time ago, when my parents used to beat me for crying. So I put on a brave smile and pretend like their insults don't sting.
As I walk down the street, ignoring the glaring faces and the mothers pulling their children away from me, I notice Marius walking by. The sight of him makes my face light up. My heart does a little somersault, and I am about to wave at him when I notice he is not alone. On his arm is a beautiful blonde girl with long curls, sparkling blue eyes, and a pink lacy dress. She looks like a real-life doll. Perfect. Too perfect. I instantly dislike her. Then Marius turns and does something completely unexpected. He plants a kiss right on her mouth. Their lips linger together for a few seconds before they break apart. I've changed my mind. I don't dislike her. I HATE her.
Marius happens to glance in my direction, and our eyes meet. He smiles and waves at me, but I can't take it. If I have to look at her ogling up at him for one more second I might be sick. I turn around and bolt away.
Fortunately, I know my way around quite well. I take a few turns and find an empty alleyway where I can brood in peace. I sit down, lean my back against the wall, and let my tough outer shell crumble away. A tiny gasp escapes my lips and tears flow from my eyes. Great, now I'm crying. Thanks a lot, Pontmercy. You're the only one who can render me so weak and helpless.
"Eponine?" a groggy voice says. I jump, startled. Okay, so maybe this alleyway isn't as empty as I thought. I look closely at the source of the voice. A devilishly handsome young man with dark curly hair and a lopsided grin stares up at me, a bottle in his hand. I know him. He's got a reputation too. He's a drunkard. Never sober. Never takes anything seriously. Coasts through life like its a game. He's the kind of boy that if a girl took him home, her mother would faint. Everyone knows he is bad news, but that doesn't stop some girls from batting their eyelashes at him whenever he walks by. As I said before, he is devilishly handsome.
"Grantaire?" I say, quickly wiping my tears away. "What are you doing here?"
"Same thing as you," Grantaire says with a dry smile. "I came to sit here and feel sorry for myself."
"I am not sitting here feeling sorry for myself!" I snap defensively. "I'm just... sitting here."
"Uh-huh," Grantaire says, taking a swig from his bottle. "Then why were you crying?"
"I wasn't crying!" I protest. "Don't you dare accuse me of being weak. I am Eponine Thenardier! I am tough, I am strong, I am..."
"Lonely?" Grantaire suggests.
I shoot him an icy glare. I want to protest, but I can't. It's true. I am alone. My own family doesn't even care whether I live or die. And now Marius, my only friend, the love of my life, is in love with some bourgeois two-a-penny-thing. Grantaire is right. I am lonely.
"Why do you care?" I sigh. "You're just a drunkard." I'm teasing him, but he doesn't smile. He looks at me with this mournful look in his eyes, and for the first time, I wonder if his reputation secretly hurts him the way mine does.
"Just a drunkard?" he says, taking a step closer to me. "You hide your sorrows behind that tough outer shell of yours. I drown mine in a bottle. What's the difference, really?"
I am speechless. He is the first person I've ever met to see past my strong, tough mystique. Not even Marius has ever noticed that behind all this toughness is sorrow and a broken heart. But Grantaire, the one they say doesn't care about life, the one they say doesn't understand anything important, has seen past my mask in mere seconds, right down to the vulnerability I try so hard to hide.
"I know what you feel," Grantaire says. "I feel it too. The world won't let us feel sadness, so we try to cover it up the best we can, you with toughness and strength, me with drinks and jokes."
"What else can we do?" I ask. "What's the use of crying out if no one cares enough to listen?"
"Do you really believe that?" Grantaire asks me. I ponder that question for a moment.
"I've never met anyone who cares enough," I reply with a shrug.
Grantaire looks down at his hands. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then shakes his head and takes another swig out of his bottle. Some of the alcohol misses his mouth and trickles down his chin.
"Okaaay, I think you've had enough to drink," I say, and reach out to take the bottle from him. Our hands meet, and he freezes at my touch. I suddenly feel heat rise to my cheeks. Am I blushing? No, no, no, I don't blush. Then why is my face so warm? And why is my heart doing somersaults? I've only ever felt this way with Marius...
And then I look into his eyes. Behind them I see a familiar look. It's the look of vulnerability. The look of someone who has lived a life of pain and suffering but tries hard to cover up the scars. The look of someone who has to deal with the trials that come with a bad reputation. The look of someone who just wants someone else to reach out their hand once in a while and offer love and comfort. I know the look in his eyes very well. It's the look I see every time I glance into the mirror.
Then I do something that surprises us both. I lean forward and press my lips gently on his. It's awkward at first, and this time I know for sure that I am blushing. I can taste the alcohol on his breath and I want to recoil, but then he starts kissing me back and the world around us melts away. His lips are surprisingly soft and sure. He puts his hand on my back and pulls me closer to him. I run my hand through his dark curls. Then we break apart.
Neither of us know where to look. His face is brick red, and I am sure mine is a similar shade. Did I really just do that? I pinch my skin to see if this is really just a bizarre dream. Ouch. Nope, I'm awake. I look into his eyes and he smiles at me tentatively. I smile back and take his hand. Both of us are broken and badly damaged, but maybe together, we can become whole again. There will be some trials along the way, and maybe some scars will never heal, but with Grantaire by my side, it won't be as difficult a journey. With him by my side, I know I can overcome whatever trials life my throw at me, because, for the first time, I am not alone.
