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daughterofawolf[dated to June 5th]
It's a Friday, so there's school today, but Eponine is pretty certain the second-last week of the semester, with no tests scheduled for today, isn't all that important to actually attend. (Her teachers might say she doesn't find much of school important to attend, but that's not precisely the truth: she's done a lot better this year than the last, and her grades reflect it, it's just that it's hardly the most important thing.)
She sleeps through her alarm, and she doesn't bother calling in with an excuse, though she does smile at the idea of calling in dead for school for a couple of minutes.
It's not even that she's upset. She's not sad, exactly; that's not quite right. She's not sure there is a word for what it feels like to know that it's the anniversary of your death, because there shouldn't need to be one.
Eponine texts Grantaire, after she lies around for a while, but he doesn't answer her, and she assumes he has his own ways of distracting himself, or he's at work like a proper adult, maybe. The apartment is too-big and empty and quiet, the city too-noisy and modern outside her window. She finds herself looking at one of Marius's poetry books and feeling a little unmoored.
So she messages Ellie. It's a thing that doesn't need as many excuses anymore, asking for some company, though she still finds herself rephrasing and wryly rolling her eyes at her own self-consciousness before she hits send.
Hey.
Do you want to, I don't know - go for a drive, or a walk somewhere, together?
It's all right if you can't. I just -- I need to get out of my head.
It's a Friday, so there's school today, but Eponine is pretty certain the second-last week of the semester, with no tests scheduled for today, isn't all that important to actually attend. (Her teachers might say she doesn't find much of school important to attend, but that's not precisely the truth: she's done a lot better this year than the last, and her grades reflect it, it's just that it's hardly the most important thing.)
She sleeps through her alarm, and she doesn't bother calling in with an excuse, though she does smile at the idea of calling in dead for school for a couple of minutes.
It's not even that she's upset. She's not sad, exactly; that's not quite right. She's not sure there is a word for what it feels like to know that it's the anniversary of your death, because there shouldn't need to be one.
Eponine texts Grantaire, after she lies around for a while, but he doesn't answer her, and she assumes he has his own ways of distracting himself, or he's at work like a proper adult, maybe. The apartment is too-big and empty and quiet, the city too-noisy and modern outside her window. She finds herself looking at one of Marius's poetry books and feeling a little unmoored.
So she messages Ellie. It's a thing that doesn't need as many excuses anymore, asking for some company, though she still finds herself rephrasing and wryly rolling her eyes at her own self-consciousness before she hits send.
Hey.
Do you want to, I don't know - go for a drive, or a walk somewhere, together?
It's all right if you can't. I just -- I need to get out of my head.