Without You
by chandlove7
Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge, etc…although having Christian would be really nice…I also don't own "Without You" – it belongs to the amazing group Dixie Chicks.
A/N: This is a songfic…(I've gotten hooked on these sappy songfics…sorry..) It takes place after Satine has told Christian that she is staying with the Duke.
She left me. For him. Toulouse says she really loves me, but I don't think I can believe him. After all, she went back. She went back to the Moulin Rouge – to that awful Duke. Didn't she know? Didn't she know that by choosing the Maharajah over the sitar player, she would go on living her same life? The Duke wouldn't provide her with what she needed. Of course, he would give her material things – all the clothes and diamonds she could ever want. He wouldn't make her an actress; he would trick her into staying every bit the courtesan she ever was. She would be his most prized POSSESSION, and in turn, she would never love him. But the important thing was, she had left me.
I've sure enjoyed the rainBut I'm looking forward to the sun
You have to feel the pain
When you lose the love you gave someone
The night before, the two lovers had chosen to go away together. To leave "Spectacular, Spectacular!" behind them and begin a new, happier, simpler life together. To get away from the bordellos and bars of Montmarte, and to grow old together. And for her to "fly away" as she always sang. But only today, this horrid dim, dark, day, did Christian realize that today was the day that dreaming ended. In a way, it was his dying day, because he could not live without her. He had to get away from Montmarte, because he knew she would always be there – with HIM.
I thought by now the timeWould take away these lonely tears
Hope you're doin' fine all alone,
But where do I go from here?
He glanced around his room, which was in utter disarray. In his angry frustration, he had flung empty Absinthe bottles against the wall, not believing what she told him was true. As he looked at his typewriter, he began to sob. The angry, hurt sobs shook the body of this penniless poet. His body convulsed as he thought of her – the first time he had seen her, hanging above all the greedy men's heads, her sweet, seductive, sultry voice taking hold of his soul. Only, he thought bitterly, to rip his heart in two.
'Cause without you I'm not okay,
And without you I've lost my way
My heart's stuck in second place, ooh
Without you
He looked out his window and saw the Moulin Rouge glittering with the excitement and hustle and bustle of opening night. Funny, that the show he had put so much feeling and love into (in the script at least) would be performed without him there to see it. That the perfect plan of the two lovers had come to a screeching halt when Satine had gone back to get her belongings. "Come what may…" he sang through tears, his voice cracking and wavering. It didn't mean anything to her though. All of her confessions of love; it had only been an act. And that's what she wanted to be: and actress. Well, she was damn good at it.
Christian sobbed as he began to pack his things. He couldn't stay in Montmarte a moment longer. He picked up his copy of the "Spectacular, Spectacular!" script and thrust it angrily into his bag. But as he did this, he realized if he took it with him, he would always be reminded of her. He reached back in and grabbed the script out of the bag. Then, with two hands, he flung it out the open window, the sheets fluttering down to the dingy streets like snow, covering the ground with a blanket of words.
He picked up his final belongs and looked around his shabby apartment one last time. This was it – he was leaving. As he walked out of the apartment, he took care to go as quickly past the Moulin Rouge as he could, for fear that he would lower his guard and go in, just to see if what Toulouse had said was true. But he did not go in. He rushed on towards the train station, where only weeks earlier he had arrived as an innocent man ready to become a Child of the Revolution. The train station was surprisingly empty for the time of night, but as he thought, he realized most of the people would be at "Spectacular, Spectacular!". He bought his ticket – he was going back to England. His father had been right – he'd had a ridiculous obsession with love. But he had been cured. He boarded the train and took a seat by the window, and noticed that it was beginning to rain. This only added to the already somber mood the day had had. The drops only reminded him of falling diamonds…Satine.
I never thought I'd be Lying here without you by my sideIt seems unreal to me
That the life you promised was a lie
You made it look so easy
Making love into memories
Guess you got what you wanted
What about me?
The drops fell slowly, gliding down the window with a graceful ease. It reminded him of a dance, a dance of sadness. And that was what his life had become. Sadness. Not only sadness, but despair, anger and hurt. He missed her so much – why did she have to go to the Duke? That conniving, slimy scumbag that had to get the deeds to the Moulin Rouge and had to have written ownership of Satine so that he would feel good about himself. He was a terrible man, and now he felt he had never really known Satine, that it had all been another fabulous act of hers.
'Cause without you I'm not okay And without you I've lost my wayMy heart's stuck in second place, ooh
Without you
Somebody tell my head
To try to tell my heart
That I'm better off
Without you
'Cause baby I can't live…
Christian reached into his bag, searching for something – anything – to eat. He had very little money, and he couldn't risk buying something to eat on the train. As he reached in, his hand brushed up against a piece of paper. What was in there? Had he written a letter and forgotten to send it? Had it been in there on his way to Montmarte? He pulled it out and gasped – more like choked on a heavy sob, as he realized what it was.
"Magical sitar: the greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return."
That was all the paper said. It was one of the sheets from "Spectacular, Spectacular!". Of course he hadn't gotten them all – that was how fate worked, wasn't it? But as he realized what this meant, he also came to the saddening realization that it was too late. He looked out of the window and saw they were pulling into a train station. As the meaning sunk in, the conductor called out, "London! London!".
Without you I'm not okay,
And without you I've lost my way
My heart's stuck in second place, ooh
Without you…without you…
the end