Eponine Thenardier

Then you’re wrong. Me? After, I don’t feel empty. I feel alive. My heart beats so hard I know I am alive and sometimes, I used to wonder if I had died in my sleep and not noticed, and was a ghost for how I was ignored. Every bone aches. There are bruises and maybe blood, but - but it’s okay. I’m lucky. See how much time he spent with me to give them? See how he gave me a bed? And food? And the name calling. He’d say slut and whore and vile names, cunt and cock sucker and whatever else. But he could have had any slut, any whore. There were so many girls, but he chose me. He wanted me. I was his special girl. He were like a husband and love? No. I didn’t love him, but… love is for nice people, not me. Soft love and soft beds aren’t for me. They’re for nice people. Me, I must feel alive and that is enough. I want the shouts and the arguments. I want the extra slap to my face or my ass for arguing. I want my hands behind my back whilst I suck his cock. I want a knife to my throat whilst I’m fucked. I want tears. I want to feel it. Is that so bad?