So this is a fanfiction about what happened after Satine's death, before you see Christian writing their story. I have not yet decided how long it will be but there will be chapters after this one. Also I do not intend to make any profit from this and the characters and original story comes from the brilliant mind on Baz Luhrmann.
Please review! Critic is appreciated if it's constructive. ^-^
The most difficult part is not to die; it's to be left behind.
It was as if Christian's life stopped at that moment. When he saw her eyes drift away, when saw the life disappear from them, when he no longer felt her pulse. The panic rose inside him.
No.
It couldn't be.
It wasn't.
It was all merely a mean joke, wasn't it? Merely an awful nightmare. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. How could something so surreal possibly be real?
But he still knew it was real. He had an awful, penetrating feeling that it was in fact horribly real. How else could it hurt so much?
He held on to what used to be the body of the one he loved above everything, above life itself, and cried out loud. In his arms he held the only thing that was left of her, the only part that hadn't flown away. The rest was gone. All that actually was Satine, her laughter, her voice, her emotions, her love, her pulse, her breath, everything was gone.
He didn't want to think of it, he couldn't bear to think of it. But it was filling up his mind like thick, black smoke and sent pain through every cell of his body. It was more than he could possibly stand. And he felt so utterly, terribly helpless. There wasn't anything he could do at all. He didn't understand how he still lived, why he didn't die on the spot. Didn't his body understand that everything was gone, that it had no more reason to function?
Suddenly Satine moved. Confused his eyes searched for whatever made her move. A slight hope lit up inside him. Could it be her? Could it…
No, it wasn't her. Someone was loosing Christian's grip on Satine and trying to take her away from him. When his smoke-filled brain had caught up with what was going on, the person was already about to lift her up and carry her away.
"What are you doing?!" he heard himself half say, half yell.
The person didn't answer, but simply carried her away.
"You can't do this! You can't take her from me!" He yelled through the tears that flowed down his face as he watched the meaning of his life being carried away from him, dead. He wanted to run after her, to scream and yell until his voice couldn't take it anymore.
"You can't–"
But to what purpose? She was dead. It wasn't her they carried away. It was merely an empty body, a shell. Everything it had contained, what gave it life, was gone. Satine wasn't anymore. She didn't exist.
He fell down on the floor, but barely noticed it. The pain grew and grew inside him to that point where what he earlier had though was more than he could possibly stand seemed like only a little. And the pain didn't stop growing there. Everything stopped exist to him. He could barely see or hear anything. He felt dead inside. He didn't even register his own actions. Was he still, was he moving? Did he scream, did he cry, was he silent? Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought was like a stab, a stab of hopelessness, meaninglessness and pain.
Let me fly away with you, Satine, like we decided to do. Why did you leave me behind?
Why am I breathing, while you are not? What point is there in my breaths?