My Moon: An Enjolras Love Story

she will not be betrayed

SÉRAPHINE POV

I spent the rest of the day reading my book in peace. Despite my deep love for socializing, I sometimes feel the need to reflect upon my day, to introspect and ponder in my own head. It was easy and difficult to concentrate on my reading, all at once: easy because I find it easier to concentrate when I am at peace of mind, as I was as a result of making successful friendships; difficult because part of me was focusing on the next day's meeting with the boys and Éponine. Even so, I had almost gotten through the entire novel by the time I felt sleepy. I placed the book down at a very early hour -- six thirty in the evening -- and dozed off for the night.

The next morning, I awoke with the sun as I always did. This was fortunate, because that morning I had work whereas the previous morning I was only meeting Éponine in the square. I ensured that I would not be late for the day's duties by washing up immediately after I woke up. Then, I put on a light green frock, similar in style to the red one I had worn the previous day. I put on the same shoes as I had worn the day before and began heading out to work.

Even before I arrived at work, I found myself eager for it to end so I could go to the park with Enjolras, Éponine, and the others. I particularly needed a nice distraction, because the people I would be working for were never my favorite clients. The man of the house (and the father of the child I would be babysitting) gave me an uneasy feeling. His name was Gilles Lavoie, and I did not very much like him. I found his actions and intentions sneaky. Thankfully, I never had to spend much time with him, save for before he left the house and after he returned. There was a silver lining to the situation, though: his five-year-old son, Thierry, was a delight. I wondered how a shady man could have such a sweet and adorable child.

Once I arrived at the Lavoie residence, I left three staccato knocks in succession at the door. No more than a few seconds later, Gilles opened the door, almost as if he had been waiting for me. Of course he was expecting me, but it was almost creepy how quickly he opened the door.

"Miss Beaulieu! How are you, my dear? Come in, come in," he said, grabbing me by my shoulders and leading me into the house. "My Thierry is thrilled to see you."

As if on cue, Thierry came rushing in, hugging me by my legs and yelling my name.

"See, he's enthralled," Gilles remarked, his hands still touching my shoulders. "Well, I have a lunch date, Miss Beaulieu. A dear friend of mine is back in town. I should get going out, now. Goodbye, lovely."

I shuddered slightly at the adjective he had used to describe me. "Um, yes. Goodbye, sir. I'll take good care of Thierry."

"You always do," he winked. "He raves about you, darling. You should know that. You'll be a splendid mother one day."

I cringed again, feeling again a sense of uneasiness that was typical for any encounters I had with Monsieur Lavoie. He had always been a figure of mystery to me, someone I had never felt comfortable around. I only stayed working for him, in fact, because of the money and because of how dearly I liked Thierry.

"Thank you, sir. Have a lovely lunch," I said, trying to subconsciously persuade him to leave. My good fortune was evident as he nodded at me and opened the door, letting himself out of the house and into the world around us.

"Miss Séraphine! Miss Séraphine! I've missed you!" Thierry cheered, letting go of my legs and jumping up and down.

I chuckled, rustling the child's hair and picking him up. Thierry always made me smile and laugh; his childish innocence and utter trust in everything around him was something I missed. As one grows older, he loses the curiosity and purity that comes with being of young age. I dreaded the day Thierry grew up and lost the brilliant light that he radiated: in a country of omnipresent chaos and political corruption, Thierry seemed to me the only real, genuine good in France. He was the one thing I thought of or looked to in times of desperation. He reminded me of my younger brother, Verdun, who lived with my parents up north.