First one in Christian's POV.

All I knew was cold. Cold and wetness. But mostly cold. Not only was my body chilled to the bone, but my whole mind had frozen over. I did not feel the pavement beneath me. I did not feel the rain pounding on my back. I did not feel the pain of my cheek where it had been hit. All I could feel was the gnawing, numbing ache of abandonment that was throbbing in my chest.

I did not hear the whinnying of horses, nor the clatter of carts. All I heard were the same words echoing maliciously inside my head.

The truth is I am the Hindu courtesan and I choose the Maharaja.

I heard it over again and again with different inflections and tones, trying desperately to see some truth that was hidden in the sentence, proof that what was said wasn't real. It was repeated so many times that I forgot the original heartache and watched as it was slowly replaced by resentment.

I hardly registered the gentle hands that picked me up and carried me to shelter.

Sometime later, minutes or hours, I did not know, nor did I care, I woke up. Whether from sleep or just numbness, I awoke. I sat up against the headboard of my bed and I glared out of the window at the part of the windmill I could see. It had stopped raining, but it was dark. I stiffly turned my head. Toulouse was sitting nearby, gazing at me anxiously. I looked away from him, back out at the dark night.

Toulouse stood and waddled over to me. Grasping the headboard, he leaned over me, smiling.

"Things aren't always as they seem."

His cheerfulness, for once, disgusted me.

"Things are exactly the way they seem," I said, contempt marring my tone.

"Christian, you may see me only as a drunken, vice-ridden gnome whose friends are just pimps and girls from the brothels," he started. I almost agreed with him before he went on, "but I know about art and love… if only because I long for it with every fiber of my being. She loves you, I know it. I know she loves you."

I could not take him standing there, happily spouting lies about things he thought he understood.

"Go away, Toulouse. Leave me alone," I said, not moving an inch.

He didn't move either. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him looking at me pityingly.

"Go. Away."

No change. Suddenly, anger and hate boiled up inside me and I exploded.

"GO AWAY!" I shouted. He jumped, shocked and hurt.

He backed away and gathered up his coat. I returned to my stare out the window. I heard the door open and close but I didn't acknowledge it.

Now a new statement was ringing in my head.

She loves you, I know it. I know she loves you.

Toulouse didn't understand. What would he know?

She loves you.

But I desperately wanted it to be true.

I know she loves you.

How could I believe anything he said when Satine had so thoroughly convinced me otherwise? Even thinking her name filled me with rage.

She loves you, I know it. I know she loves you.

I wanted to shut out what Toulouse had said. But he had filled me with doubt. And there was only one way to be sure.

Making up my mind, I forced myself out of bed and flung the blankets wrapped around me onto the floor. I looked around at my handful of possessions. I quickly concluded that the typewriter was the most valuable thing I owned. I kicked the ladder that was propped into the hole that led to the Bohemians' loft. It crashed down to the floor, scattering hand-typed pages of dialogue and song lyrics. I hastily threw on my old trench coat; it looked like it might snow tonight. Grabbing the typewriter, I scrambled out the door and down the stairs. I didn't think I'd ever be coming back.

Without looking at the electrifying red windmill, I made my way down the street, my back to the Moulin Rouge. I knew I had seen it somewhere near here…

I finally came across the pawnbroker I had noticed once while coming down this street. Of course, that was at a time when I looked reverently on the nightclub highlighting the end of the road. I entered the shop and quickly exchanged my prized possession for as many francs as I could get. Stuffing them in my pocket, I stepped back out of the shop and turned determinedly to face the dazzling windmill.

She loves you, I know it. I know she loves you.

I had to know. So I returned the Moulin Rouge… one last time.

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