Title: Loved and Lost
Category: Angst
Summary: Christian lives through the pain of living without Satine, but can he get the strength to write his story for her?
A/N: While writing this story I am trying to have Christian go through the steps of grieving. Those steps are:
1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Loneliness
6. Acceptance
7. Hope
He is currently at Denial.
Chapter 2:
~☆~
1 week later:
Toulouse watched as Christian ambled back towards his garret. He walked alone, ahead of the rest of the group, his shoulders hunched forward. The chill winds of early December made Christian's coat billow slightly. The going was slow and there was a feeling of heaviness about the group of Bohemians. Most of them felt a sense of closure. They had just returned from Satine's wake. The funeral had been small and simple. Satine's figure had been clothed in her simple cream suit. Her auburn hair had fallen loose about her shoulders.
Christian had held himself well. He hadn't spoken since her death, but as he had walked towards her casket he sang Come What May quietly to her. Everyone around him had noticed a slight change in the wording of the song. As Christian had sung it; he neglected to finish the chorus with the usual 'until my dying day.' Everyone had known why.
Now, as the group walked back towards their building, Toulouse attempted to talk to him. "Chwistian," he called. Christian turned slowly toward Toulouse, but did not speak. "She died happy, you know." Christian looked down at his friend, and again turned his back to him. Christian continued walking.
The group watched him as he walked through the front door of their dwelling. "You can't stay wike this foweve', Chwistian," mumbled Toulouse as he started towards the building again.
~☆~
Inside his garret Christian sat on his bed. His coat lay shed on the floor. He stared around the small apartment, and a lone tear crept down his cheek. He felt drained, emotionally and physically. He felt desolate, separated from the rest of the world. All that was left of his youthful dreams of truth, beauty, freedom and love lay scattered about the room as pieces of paper. He just stared. He didn't move or speak. An expression of shock crossed his face. The funeral had been painful, his heart ripped to shreds upon seeing Satine in her coffin. So delicate, so frail, so beautiful. But still, he couldn't believe it. His heart still wanted to believe that she was alive. He could still feel her tepid, silky skin against his. His mind knew she was gone, but every other part of him screamed that she wasn't. And Christian lived by his heart, not his head.
His bleary eyes came across a small bundle across the room. It glinted red in the light of the tiny lamp. It was Satine's red dress. Most of Satine's belongings had been sold when the Duke had shut the place down 4 days ago, but Christian had begged Harold to give it to him. It was what she had been wearing when they spent their first night together, and it was the outfit he felt closest to. He picked it up, and brought it to his bed. He closed it to his chest. There was still a faint smell of Satine's perfume upon it. Christian's breath caught, and he threw the dress down.
He began to sway again, his knees pulled up to his chest. He hugged his body. He wanted to put his arms around something; he wanted to embrace Satine again.
Christian remained like that for several hours. When he finally jerked into reality, he found that the real world was just as painful as the imaginary one he had just left. His mind was full of nothing but Satine. He saw her eyes staring back at him when he closed his own. He could hear her singing in his ear. It was torment. He had to find some way to escape. Life was too painful. He searched around his apartment, as if hoping to find some means to end his life, but found nothing. Feeling lost and hopeless he ran out into the street, snow filling his shoes and the wind whipping his dark hair. The night surrounded him. He staggered through the snow that was building up. He was without his jacket, which was still on the floor in his room, but he welcomed the cold. A few passers by stared at his as he ran through the street. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care.
When he finally stopped running, he looked up to get his bearings. He found that he was only a couple blocks from the darkened Moulin Rouge, whose wings were motionless. He also saw that he was standing in front of a small, local tavern: Le Bar Absinthe. It seemed as though fate had shown him a way to escape.
Without a second thought he walked into the bar. A few of the patrons nodded in his direction as he entered. He hesitated for a moment, and went up to the bartender. "Absinthe," he commanded.
"That's all we sell here, Laddie," said the bartender, and he handed Christian a glass full of the emerald liqueur. He drank it down in one gulp. The fiery liquid burned his throat, but the stinging lasted only a moment. His vision blurred as he felt the alcohol begin to take effect. In the back of his mind he heard her. Not Satine this time, but a welcomed guest. The fairy had come to visit him. He saw her dance across his mind, taunting him, and whispering to him.
"I believe you were expecting me," the fairy mocked in his ear. And, in the same manner his last love affair had begun, Christian delved into another one, just as strong, but much more deadly.
/chapter 2
A/N: Whoa! Crazy metaphorical things going down in the land of Montmartre. Let's hope Christian learns to deal with himself before he does something really stupid. Chapter 3 is being written as we speak, and will be up shortly. As always, I'll leave you with a quote:
Across town, the sun's rays made their way into a small apartment. A golden beam glinted off an empty bottle, casting an iridescent reflection onto the wall opposite. A soft hiss was heard.