Title: I Know
Author: mao
Disclaimer: The idea of Moulin Rouge! belongs to the incredible Baz Luhrmann and his staff. I am eternally indebted to him. The clip of lyrics at the beginning comes from the song "I Know" by the divine Placebo.
Author's Notes: A brief piece concerning love and its conditions. First time I've ever really been sympathetic to Satine. Hm.
Warnings: None really, just a bit depressing.
Wrapped together in the moonlight, the heat of August oppressive in the dark. I think it may be worse than in the daytime, even though I'm naked now and the sun has been gone for several hours. In daytime, at least, there is a distraction.
His arm is across my shoulder, holding my back to his chest, and I can feel his breath on my shoulder, the only movement in the dizzying heat of the room. It actually feels cool, compared to the rest of the air, but perhaps that's only because it's in motion while nothing else is. A few strands of his hair are touching my neck. At first they tickled, but we've been lying this way for so long that I can barely feel them now, except for the occasional moment when they catch the breeze of his breath and move silently across my spine.
He says he loves me.
He loves me?
I don't know if I believe him. I mean, why should I? A lot of men love me. That is, a lot of men think they love me, and at least as many simply say it in an attempt to get a free ride. I don't want to believe him, because they never seem to mean forever.
Why am I lying here? Why am I so still in the night, holding my body in place to keep from disturbing his sleep - why am I doing this? Where did my sense go?
I don't believe this.
There's motion in the alley below - vendors coming before sunrise to set up their wares in the market, preparing for the day ahead with fish and apples, pottery and silk ribbons spread on tables like exotic treasures, ready to be bought by anyone with the right amount of coins.
"You're so beautiful," he said softly as he lowered himself into me. His smile was wide, infectious, and I grinned with joy as he kissed my lips, my ears, my neck. Then afterwards, as he wrapped an arm around my waist, he murmered into my ear.
"You're amazing. Your singing...your dancing...I saw you up there and it was just-!" He ran his hand through my hair, looking at it as if he'd never seen it before. "You're like a singing, dancing fire."
Singing.
Dancing.
These things aren't me.
"God I love you," and he settled his head against the rumpled sheet, skin white against the deep vermillion bought to match my hair.
I breathe in slowly, trying not to move to much, and he sighs softly in his sleep. Runs a hand down my side, resting it against my hip, his fingers in the hollow of my waist. Watch the vendors through the window, see the glint of white silk and shimmering fish in the early light, and think of singing and dancing and know -
don't you dare say it!
- this isn't love.