In My Life

Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I look at the dangling sign with the word 'open' painted on it in bright red and sigh. I shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't.

"Hey," a voice says from behind.

I spin around and find myself head to head with Adam. I back up in a flash, raising my hand in front of me.

"You," I say. "Don't come close to me."

"Or what?"

"Freaking asshole," I snap.

"Hey now, I'm not that bad."

"Just shut up."

"But, Eponine, I-"

"No. Just shut up. I knew I shouldn't have come."

"Well, I'm glad you came," a voice behind Adam replies.

I glance over his shoulder to see Montparnasse arriving with the rest of his gang.

"Get this jerk away from me or I'm going to punch him in the next few seconds," I tell him.

"Alright, alright," Adam says, raising his hands. "I thought we were just having a little fun."

"Usually, for something to be fun, the feeling has to go both ways."

"Like you weren't having fun..."

"Just shut up or I'll do it for you."

"Okay, okay," Montparnasse says, stepping in. "We've got something to do, so if you guys can stop bickering, that'd be great."

"But, I-"

"Yes, I'm talking to you, Adam."

Montparnasse passes his arm around my shoulders and pulls me away from the group.

"I honestly didn't think you'd show up," he says.

"I told you I'd be here."

"Still, with what we talked about and all..."

"I mean what I say, 'Parnasse. You know that."

"And I do too."

He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me slightly away.

"Wow, look at you," he exclaims. "You look..."

"... awful?" I finish for him.

"I was going to say amazing, but okay, we'll go with yours."

"Hey!"

I smile and slap him on the shoulder.

"Ouch!" he protests. "But for the record, you do look great."

"Not sure I believe you, but thanks... And don't ever say that again."

"Mademoiselle Eponine is not fond of compliments?"

"Mademoiselle Eponine is going to punch Monsieur Montparnasse if he doesn't stop talking like this."

"Alright, fine. But we do have a job to do."

He turns around and starts to head back towards his gang as I firmly grab hold of his arm.

"Wait," I say. "'Job'?"

"Umm, yeah..."

"Job for who?"

"'Ponine..."

"No, I'm serious. I want to know. Is it your uncle? Your neighbour? That guy you owe one hundred francs to?"

"No, not exactly..."

"Then, who-" And then I realize. "Wait. You... You're working for my papa?"

"'Ponine, listen, I-"

"I'm leaving, Monsieur."

I let go of his arm and start marching in the other direction.

"Oh, come on. 'Ponine!"

He runs after me, catching up a corner away. He grabs me by the arm, but I just shove him off.

"'Ponine!"

"Stop calling me that!"

"That's how I've always called you..."

"Not anymore. We're done, Monsieur."

He walks in front of me and looks down. And that's when he realizes I'm crying.

"'Ponine, I didn't mean to..."

"No, of course not."

I wipe a tear with my arm and look at him in the eyes.

"You betrayed me," I tell him. "Of all people..."

"I didn't betray you."

"Okay, so how did you end up working for my papa, huh? I bet you just accepted the job for the cash, right? I'm right, aren't I? You're all in this for the money, all of you. I thought you were better than this, Monsieur. I thought that, for once in my life, I had found someone that valued me more than money. But I guess I was wrong..."

"'Ponine, let me explain."

"I'm leaving, Monsieur," I tell him. "And I don't want to see you ever again."

"But, 'Ponine..."

"Adieu, Monsieur."

I walk pass him, volontarily bumping into him, and head out throughout the streets of Paris. I keep walking, without looking back, worried that if I do, I'll just break out into tears. But I'm stronger than this. I'm Eponine. I'm not weak. And yet, right now, I really wish I could be.

I suddenly hear the church bells ring, indicating that General Lamarque's funeral has just ended. Wait. Didn't Enjolras talk about General Lamarque's funeral? Something to do with the revolution... Oh well, what better way to find out than to go check it out?

I pick up the pace and turn left in the first alley I see. I have to get there in time. Whatever's happening there, I want to be there at the first gunshot.

At this point, I don't care if I die. Everyday after today won't seem worth it. Maybe I just don't have the strength to fight anymore.

Either way, I'm going. And if I die, so be it. Grantaire was right; my death means nothing at all. It will mean nothing to the rest of Paris. It will mean nothing to those I once cared about.