Marius knelt in the street, supporting Eponine's body. The girl was like he had never seen her before: broken, bleeding…vulnerable.
This couldn't be his 'Ponine. The girl who stood up to anyone. Who never cared how improper it was to tag along with a young, unmarried man like Marius without proper escort. Who never backed down from a fight, even if she had nothing to gain from it. Who was a spitfire with an untamable wildness that was somehow oddly endearing. Who was his best friend. This beaten and battered body couldn't belong to that selfsame girl. It just couldn't. It wasn't possible.
And yet, it was her. Scarlet blood welled up from her chest, soaking her dirty, mended chemise. It spread over to Marius' shirt, and he felt the hot blood against his skin.
She convulsed from a wave of pain, and his hand sought hers. He gently squeezed it, to reassure her, to let her know she wasn't alone.
A wave of guilt washed over him. As she struggled for breath, the air rattling around in her chest as she gasped for oxygen, he knew it was his fault. He had made her take the note to Cosette.
To anyone else, it wouldn't have seemed that way. He had requested that she deliver the message, but Marius knew better. He had known for a while that Eponine carried deeper feelings for him, feelings that weren't platonic. And he had exploited them.
When he had pressed the paper into her hand, he had known she wouldn't refuse. That she would do whatever she had to in order to fulfill his desire. And it had cost her her life.
Marius tried to make her more comfortable, cradling her closer to warm up her cold body as she shuddered in agony, curling up into a ball. He stroked her hair, murmuring soft words to her. He would have done anything to take her pain away. To let her rest peacefully before she died; he knew she would. With her injuries, there was no chance that she could survive.
When she took her last tortured breath, securing a kiss with the final reserve of her strength, Marius tried to comfort himself. He tried to tell himself that he had done all he could. That she had at least died a little happier than she could have. That she had at last gotten what she wanted.
But it didn't do much to relieve his guilt. Deep down, Marius knew that in all honesty, his actions were too little, too late.
Not really much of a plot there I suppose…just drabble…oh well! Please review!