It was only
5 months after Satine's death, but it felt like years to Christian. Everyday
was like living in a constant hell. He couldn't even breath without thinking of
her, and how it could have been different. He had blamed everyone for her death
that he could think of. He had blamed Satien for not seeing a doctor sooner, he
had blamed the Bohemians for letting her live the life that she did, he had
blamed Harry Zediler, the Duke, and even himself. He knew deep down that
nothing anyone had said or did would have saved her, but Christian felt the
blame had to fall on someone. Most often, he chose himself to be the barer of
the burden. After a while, Christian began to feel numb. His heart was cold,
his brain was constantly thinking of the worst memories he had, and he became
completely unaffected emotionally.
Toulouse
sat up stairs in his small apartment. For almost a half a year now, he had
watched a man that was once so lively and full of passion and innocence, so full
of warmth and love… completely deteriorate and become a shell, with no feelings
or emotions. Occasionally he got a word with his once so beloved friend, but
mostly it was merely a simple hello when he went out to but alcohol and
occasionally some food. Christian's attitude toward life had effected more
people than he could know. The Boho's stopped publicly preaching their ideals
and drank more and more. The diamond dogs had tried to help, but he had turned
them away with a cold shoulder. Many of them quite dancing, some left, but
others stayed around being denounced to little more than ragged hores. Even
Harry Zediler had lost all heart when Satine died and then Christian had
stopped writing. He had left Montramer to try and find solidarity in some other
life, and Toulouse hadn't heard from him since. As for the Moulin Rouge, it was
now gathering dust and was only home to rats and spiders. It was no longer
filled with lively music and laughter, no longer did the lights blare across
Montromere welcoming all to its heaven of sin, no longer did it serve as a home
and sanctuary to all those who had lived for the revolution and for the Moulin
Rouge.
Toulouse
sighed and threw his empty bottle of Absinth into a corner where a few previous
bottles had already accumulated.
"Ah
Criwstian," he said shaking his head and going in search for another bottle
that had even the slightest drop of the green liquid in it.
Christian
found life would have been entirely impossible without the help of the green
fairy. He seemed to drink so much that he had substituted it for most of his
meals. After her death, he must have easily lost 40 pounds, and hadn't gained
any since; not to mention he hadn't shaved either. His beard was long, scraggly
and quite disgusting. Breadcrumbs and spilled Absinth resided in its innermost
reaches, and he hadn't bothered to take a bar of soap to it in a few months.
His skin was a sickening pale color, mostly from the effects of the bottle. He
couldn't remember a morning where he didn't wake up with a splitting headache
from his constant hangovers, but he seemed to be getting used to it by now. As
for his writing, he had occasionally (when sober) tried to put his story down
in words but had failed at each attempt. He would always tear out the sheets of
paper he had written and would through them into the fire watching it with a
resentful guilt as the fire engulfed the memories. Consequently this would
plunge him into an even deeper state of depression, for he had promised Satine
that he would write their story. It was five months later, and he still hadn't
done it.
The light
shown through the window where the partially torn drape couldn't prevent it, as
the sun rose high into the sky. Christian rolled over in bed and groaned in
pain. As the stubborn shaft of light refused to reside from shining right in
his eyes, Christian sat up in bed, but almost laid back down as his head went
swooning in dizziness and pain. When his eyes were able to focus, Christian
looked down at his thrashed undershirt.
"Fuck!" he
cursed allowed as he realized that the shirt was covered in a sickening
yellowish vomit. He quickly pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor. The
then raised a slightly shaking hand and felt his face, which was covered in
crusty vomit as well.
"Ah, I need
a shower any way. So Christian, how long has it been now?" he haphazardly said
in a mocking voice to himself. " I
think about a few weeks Christian. But who cares, there's no one hear to smell
me." He chuckled at his own joke, but it was more of a cruel, mocking, cynical
laugh than one filled with warmth.
He rose
slowly so not to set his head pounding again, and stumbled over to a pile of
clothes on the ground. He grabbed another shirt, a pair of pants, and the
cleanest pair of underwear he could find. He crossed over to the desk, and
pulled a slightly damp hand towel from off the back of the chair that was along
side the litter strune desk. On his way out the door, he doubled back and
picked up as much of the dirty cloths he could hold. He would wash them with
the bar of soap in the shower, because this was the only way he could do
laundry without paying for it. A couple of the cloths feel back on to the
floor, but he didn't bother bending over to pick them up. He didn't think his
head could take it. He yanked open the broken door to his room with some
difficulty, and dropped a pair of pants in the process. He cursed loudly and
shuffled through the opening trying to navigate the bundle of clothes without
dropping any more. Out in the hall, he hooked his foot on the edge of the open
door and pulled it forward so it would shut behind him. The door didn't
completely shut, but he had nothing of value for anyone to steal so he headed
off down the hall to the bathroom. He had his own small water closet in his
room, but it was way to small to fit a shower in, so instead he had to use the
one at the end of the hall.
Using the
bundle of clothes to push open the slightly ajar bathroom door, Christian
managed to get himself inside. He dropped the bundle of close off to the side
and shut the door behind him. He wondered if he was being rather rude by taking
a shower this early in the morning, because everyone in the whole building
could hear when the water was coursing threw the pipes. But he was covered in
sweet and vomit, and decided that they probably need to get up by now anyway.
Christian stripped the remainder of his clothes, and stepped into the bathtub.
He turned a handle and waited as the water made its was to the showerhead
before spitting it at him. The water was absolutely freezing; it hurled at his
body like a thousand knives and made his breath catch in his chest. He quickly
backed up out of the stream of water as much as possible.
"Jesus!
That's cold!" He exclaimed as his body began to blossom with goose bumps. His
teeth started to shake, and soon his whole body was uncontrollably shivering.
"Come on!
Come on! How long is it going to take to warm up!" He said while sticking a
tenitive in the stream of water. As soon as he had touched the water, he pulled
his hand back in recoil for it was still frightfully cold. If it didn't warm up
soon, he was going to just get out. This was one of the rooms that the
wintertime most affected. The heater in there had been broken ever since
Christian had moved in, and it was towards the outer part of the building
meaning that every crack let in a draft of the cold winter air.
"Christ,
the pipes must be frozen. I just ought to get out." He mumbled to himself. He
turned sharply to steep out of the lip of the tube, which was a mistake. One of
the main problems Christian experienced with his Absinth infatuation was that
the next morning, he would usually get dizzy, and sharp movements didn't help
any. As he tried to get out, his head began to spin. He tried to steady himself
by putting a hand on the tub edge, but seeing blurred, missed. He felt his feet
slip out from under him on the wet tub floor and stuck out a hand to brace his
fall. He felt his hand grasp the side, but a moment later the wait of his body came
crashing down upon it. In a wave of anguishing pain, he felt his arm crack and
his body smash against the tub floor. Sprawled out on the floor, getting pelted
with the icy water, head blurry and hot tears streaming down his face he let
out a cry in anguishing before completely collapsing into a dead faint.
