Chapter 3

Chapter 3

            Christian slept threw the next two days. He was looking much better though, the color had returned in his face, but they still hadn't moved him or attempted to dress him. When he awoke they would. The doctor had come back yesterday to check on him and gave them more medication. He instructed them to give him some soup when he awoke, and reminded them again that he should only be drinking water. Toulouse had felt very relieved that Christian was going to be ok, but also slightly put down because he thought that Christian had tried to kill himself. Toulouse knew if he was ever going to get through to Christian, to tell him he had to stop living the way he was, this was the time to do it. The way Toulouse saw it, Christian had been given a second chance, and he couldn't screw this one up.

            On the morning of the third day, Christian stirred. He began to groan and tried to pull some of the blankets off. Toulouse who had been drawing out a sketch for his next painting looked over his shoulder in curiosity as Christian blinked his eyes furiously trying to get the room into focus. Toulouse excitedly hoped off his chair and scuttled over to him.

            "Feewing better Chriwstian?" Toulouse asked smiling and looking down at him as he attempted to prop his body up against the headboard. Toulouse assisted him by placing a pillow under his shoulders so he could sit up easier.

            "Huhhh," he said rubbing his head. "I suppose so."

            "Good, now you should eat somesing." Toulouse walked over to the stove and grabbed the can of soup on the counter. Pulling out a pocketknife, he brought it down hard against the stubborn metal top. After several exasperated tries, he was able to poke a decent sized hole in the top of the soup can. Squatting down, he reached below the stove and yanked open the cupboard, and withdrew a pot from within; although it wasn't without some difficulty. He then stood up straight and placed it on one of the burners. He grabbed a matchbox from the table next to the stove and lit a match. Holding the flaming match under the pot, he turned on the gas. The flam exploded singing his eyebrows and the top of his hair. Turning down the flam and cursing under his breath, he grabbed the can and poured the soup broth out threw the hole into the pot.

            Christian watched attentively as the little man work with his back toward him. He felt quezzy as he tried to contemplate the recent events. All he could think of was the searing pain that had begun to shoot down his left arm ever since he had woken up. As everything had come into better focus and clarity, so did the anguish that his arm was inflicting on him. Then he remembered his fall, and how he had landed right on his arm before everything had gone black. He remembered the cold, the freezing cold that had turned his blood to ice. A slight shiver ran down his spin as he laid with mixed emotions thinking about it. Wincing in pain, he pulled out his left arm above the covers. It was twice its normal size and a deep shade of purple. He must have broken it quite badly.

            "Toulouse" he called pleadingly. "I need something for my arm, I… I…think it's broken," he stammered as he choked back tears. Composing himself he asked in a hopeful tone, "do you have any Absinth left, any alcohol at all? Please I really need it." He sounded like a small boy begging for candy at a sweet shop, but that was what alcohol had become to him; he no longer just wanted it, he needed it.

            Toulouse turned to face him, his brow furrowed. "Your awm?" He said inquisitively. As he glanced at Christian, a look of shock and pity swept over his face as he saw the cause of Christians discomfort. "Wwe, wwe had no idea your awm was hurt." He said in a soft caring tone. Then suddenly his expression changed and his face became hard, almost angry. "No, no, no Chriwstian. Yoo can't have any alcohol; the doctor said yoo should have water and swoup only, even if your awm hurts, no alcohol. It could rweelly have a bad effect on you, the medicine and de alcohol wouldn't mix well in your blood, so don't ask me again." He stated, stressing the severity of the situation. Along with his tone and the look of determination in his eyes, Christian realized he wasn't going to change his mind.

            "Well," he said pleading again, "I need something, anything, more medication, I don't care, I just can't stand it, it feels like my arm is on fire." He moaned to Toulouse.

            "Okay, okay, don't worrwey I'll send Jose to get the doctor again." He sighed half glancing at Christian's arm. It did look quite painful he thought to himself. He walked to the other side of the room while the soup was slowly cooking on the stove. The Argentinean was humming to himself, sowing a hole that was present in a pair of his favorite pants.

            "While I cook the swoup for Chriwstian can you…" but he was never able to finish what the Argentinean was to do while Toulouse was busy cooking because at that moment he cut Toulouse off by relapsing into one of his narcoleptic states.

            Toulouse gave an irritated sigh, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do. Instead, he walked back over to the stove, turned down the burner so it wouldn't overcook and looked sympathetically at Christian.

            "I don't know where Setie and the Doc are, so I'm off to find the weal doctor by myself. I'll be back soon and then we can get you somesing for that awm." He added as he began to make his way towards the door.

            "Thanks Toulouse" Christian muttered at his retreating back. With a wave of his hand in acknowledgment to Christian's statement, Toulouse left him utterly alone with his thoughts. For Toulouse and Christian, this was more of a danger than either of them could have anticipated.

            Christian sat in wonderment as he contemplated his life's recent events. Why was he still alive, was someone trying to tell him something, trying to give him second chance? God? No Christian thought resentfully. There was no God, or at least not for him. He still believed in the principals of heaven and hell, but he knew that God had disserted him the day he had killed Satine. In Christian's mind, God wasn't concerned about him. Then what was it? It, it couldn't have been her, could it? A sorrow swept over him like the ocean tide. His dear Satine. Was she trying to reach him? Was she trying to get him to come to heaven with her, was she anxiously anticipating his parting from this horrible world into the next where they could finally be together? I had to have been; that was the answer. He suddenly felt a stab of pain, in the deep recesses of his heart. He had been so close. So close to internal happiness. He wouldn't have had to live one more unbearable day without her. Why, why had fate been so cruel as to deprive him of happiness once again when he had been so close? Then, with a striking realization one name came to him. He could never have imagined the feeling of total loathing that overcame him when he thought of this one name. Toulouse. He had ruined it, he had prevented Christian from being with Satine because he had interfered with Christian's life. He had kept him away from her, from his Sparkling Diamond. Christian couldn't believe the hatred that was blossoming in his inner sole like a cancer, a cancer of darkness; that completely consumed his body and mind. He wanted to hurt, to kill the man that had left him in pain. The man who had deprived him of Satine.  His brow furrowed, he began to curse under his breath as the abhorrent feeling spread to his very toes and fingertips. In an unconscious daze, he felt his legs swing out from under the covers, and his bare feet touch the cold hard ground. As though he was watching someone else control his body, he stood up, completely naked and walked over to the soup that was now boiling very rapidly. Footsteps. A grin of complete maliciousness spread over his face as he grabbed the pot handle knowing Toulouse would be there soon. Not even wincing, hardly even noticing the siring hot pain that ate away the flesh on his palm as he grabbed the burning hot handle, he could only think of Toulouse. He was going to filing the soup right at his eyes and watch, laughing as he struggled against the burning pain and blindness that would soon follow. He heard the door open and Toulouse walk in unsuspecting. He began to speak when his bewildered eyes fell upon Christian. Pale and completely bare, holding the still boiling pot of soup, with a look, a look in his eyes which made Toulouse freeze on the spot in complete horror. Christian was going to kill him. He could tell. He hate that surged through his eyes seemed to be spelling out his certain death. He couldn't move, his legs wouldn't respond. Christian began to slowly advance on him. He began to speak in a low rasp voice that was not his.

            "You have done this to me Toulouse. You are no friend; you are the devils spawn. You probably killed Satine in the beginning; you couldn't stand me being happy. You wanted her for yourself. Desperate, knowing you could never have her; you murdered her so no one else could. Then, that wasn't enough for you. I didn't commit suicide and you knew that. You knew that I would have gone to heaven, and that I would have gotten to be with her. You couldn't even let me be happy in death. You prevented me from her, from happiness, and now you will get to feel some of the pain that you have caused me, you murderer!" He didn't need to shout; his stair was enough to scare Toulouse to death. Hard, fixed and cold; it was like looking into an endless well. He was speaking irrationally, no one had killed Satine, and Toulouse hadn't known that Christian didn't try to commit suicide. He had only wanted what made Christian happy. Christian knew this, he had told him before. Toulouse had been his first friend; he had been the one to welcome him with open arms into the Bohemian revolution. Why, why was Christian doing this? Toulouse realized that he either had to bring sense to Christian, fast, or he was going to be killed. Frantic, not being able to think clearly for he was petrified with fear, Toulouse shifted his mind for the right words. They weren't coming, and Christian was getting closer, beginning to raise his arm. He opened his mouth to speak and nothing issued forth but his shaking breath. He was going to die.

            At that moment, right as Christian was going to fling the sizzling hot soup, the doctor rushed in.

            "So, sorry, I forgot the medicine and had to double back…" but at that moment he rushed head long into Toulouse who had been frozen to the spot in the doorway.

            "Uffff!" he said as he dropped his bag and was nearly knocked on the ground. He straighten up and was about to apologize when, for the first time he was able to properly surveying the scene that lay before his eyes. His cheeks suddenly became drained of all the color that they had accumulated on the journey up the stairs. He glanced, totally shocked and confused from the naked Christian holding the pot as though he was about to chuck its contents, to the terrified Toulouse who stood motionless on the spot. His eyes moved form one to the other trying to make sense out of the situation.

            At the brief moment of the doctor's timely arrival, Christian paused just long enough for Toulouse to find the courage and the right words to say what he had to.

            In a shaky but determined voice, Toulouse quickly shouted, " Who are you?" the simplicity of the question, and the confidence and power in Toulouse's voice took Christian completely off guard. Before he could even respond, Toulouse had begun to continue. "You are not the man that Satine fell in love with. You are not the man that she died pledging her love for. What have you done with that man, my friend and Satine's true lover?" He paused his heart beating rapidly and his mind trying to find more words. He could do it, he thought, Christian needs to hear this, he needs to know the truth. His hands were still shaking and his face was still white, but there was no trace of uncertainty in his voice. "You are a disgrace to truth, freedom, beauty, and most of all love. You are a disgrace to Satine's love, you are not worthy of such a high attribute!" Christian now stood completely motionless in disbelief as the emotion and anger poured forth form the little man. "She asked you to do one thing to prove your love to her, to write your story, and you didn't even do that. Instead you became a filthy, drunken, slob and mocked what Satine died for!" He was now shouting at the top of his lungs. Shouting for he was furious the way that Christian was acting. "You disgust me Christian, and I hope you realize you have failed Satine. You don't love her, if you did, you wouldn't be living and acting the way you do. You would have written your story!"

He finished breathing hard; proud he had been able to conquer his speech without his lisp interfering, and confident that he had finally gotten through to Christian. The doctor stood motionless not issuing a sound. Clink, clink, clink. The pot had slipped from Christian's fingers spilling its contents on the floor. He stood there looking pathetic and bare; simply staring at Toulouse. The anger was gone, there was simply a blankness as Christian began to fully grasp Toulouse's words. As a sudden understanding flicked in his eyes, but it was soon unrecognizable for they began to swell with tears. He sank to the floor on his knees as heart-rattling sobs began to fill the deathly silent room. His whole body shuddered with every sob, as he lay in a crumbled bare heap, completely in hysterics of realization.

            "Whatttt have…what have I… I…I done?" he cried out in between his cries of anguish. Toulouse looked down on his friend as he sobbed uncontrollably with sorrow, for the pain he was going thorough must have been terrible. He had finally realized that he had dishonored Satine's love for him, and his for her, and this was almost as horrible as the day she had died. At least then he had been worthy for her love, but now, even in her death, he had shamed her. 

            How long he cried for, Toulouse couldn't tell. All he could do was to put a blanket on his cold and vulnerable body as it lay on the hard floor still shaking with sobs. The soup lay spilled and cold on the floor next to the pot that Christian had dropped. The doctor had simply sunken into a chair in the corner of the room and hadn't uttered a word since his arrival. Toulouse hadn't done much more, he had simply lain down in his cot and listed to Christian's moans of agony as he stared blankly at the wall. However painful it was for Toulouse to watch his friend in the state he was in, he simply found solitude by repeating "the first step to recovery is acceptance" over and again in his head. After a while, Christian's cries began to slowly get quitter. They then became moans, which follow by mire whimpers. Then there was silence. Toulouse went over to him and realized that his body had just finally shut down. He had been so drained emotionally that his body had just simply collapsed into a dreamless slumber so that it could recover from the trauma it had experienced for the last hour or so. Toulouse sighed and with the help of the Argentinean, who had awoken about half way thorough Christian's devastation, and the doctor, they were able to put him back into bed, but not without dressing him first.

            For the first time since Christian's outburst Toulouse spoke in an unsure tone. "We ought to do somshing for his awm."

            "Ahh, yes" the doctor replied in barley a whisper. "I'll retrieve my materials." He walked toward the door where his medical bag had been dropped when he had run into Toulouse. Until now, no one had even given a thought to it. He crossed the length of the room and back again to Christian's bed side. Laying the bag on the bed and opening the clasp, he began to remove the necessary materials. No one spoke as they watched the doctor remove his things, and fill a syringe of clear liquid from a small bottle. He lifted Christian's arm out form under the covers, and pricked the needle into his vein at the crook of this elbow. Christian flinched slightly, but did not wake up. He then began to wrap his arm in gauze bandages. Next he went to the sink and filled a bowl with water and dumped a pouch of powder into it. Using a sort of spatula he stirred the mixture until it became a thick white past. With great care he slopped it onto the bandages and smoothed it into the right shape. With in minutes after the doctor had applied and molded the past it hardened into a plaster cast. The doctor held the cast in his hand and rapped it with his knuckles testing its durability.

            "Humm" he said thinking out loud. "That looks sturdy enough…" turning to Toulouse he added in a worried tone, "…but it's quite hard, I'd watch out if I were you. That lad doesn't appear to be very stable, you know, up there" he said in a whisper and jabbing a finger at his temple indicating that he took Christian for mentally insane.

            "Don't worwey, I think he's learned his wesson. These past six mounts have been extwemely hard on him, but I think he's going to make it." He said with a certain confidence.

            "I don't know what went on with him, but I'm not one to interfere. You can never be too careful though, just remember that." He added as he began to pack up his things off the bed.

            "I'll keep that in mind sir." Toulouse said as the doctor made his way to the door. Toulouse could tell he purposely "forgot" to mention that if anything else should come up that they should call him. Toulouse didn't blame him as his back went out of view around the corner. Glancing at the sleeping tear streaked face of Christian, he realized that his friendship and loyalty alone could not help him learn to live and properly love again. Christian was going to have to find his way alone, Toulouse could only be the one to hold the light to guide him. He would do it though, Toulouse was sure of it. He would write the Moulin Rouge, and he would learn to open his heart again. Toulouse wasn't so sure he could ever love another women like he had loved Satine, but someone would find a small corner of his heart to occupy.

-Next chapters will be happier, don't worry; this is just setting the stage for later on. Hope you enjoy!

-Bre