The Price of Love
We're creatures of the underworld. We can't afford to love.
~Harold Zidler
Chapter I: All I Ask of You
Satine coughed again, the force of it wracking her body and choking her blood up onto the cloth Christian held near her mouth. Beads of sweat glistened on her grey face, and her eyes fluttered open and shut, as if her awareness was the only thing holding her onto this life. Outside the window, the broken visage of an empty Moulin Rouge seemed to reflect Satine's wavering strength. The Duke had emptied the nightclub as one last, futile gesture against the woman he had longed to possess, leaving Zidler and the dancers destitute on the streets. Zidler, clever as he was, had managed to secure a small sum to provide for himself and the others until the future revealed what it held for them. . .but every prospect looked small and weak.
Christian was desperate to find a cure, even something that would allow Satine to live in relative comfort until the end of her days, had been forced to sell the sparkling diamond's jewels. One by one they passed into the hands of pawnbrokers, who held the chains and pearls up against the brilliant light, squinted, and pronounced judgment on how much money Christian could hand on to the doctors. But Satine's possessions were not so great in number that this could continue long, and Christian owned little more than his clothes and the small, dank flat he lived in.
There is little I can do for her, the last doctor had told him. She needs sunlight, good food, clean air, expensive medicines. . .then perhaps she would have a chance. His own exorbitant bill had plunged Christian into despair. While Satine slept restlessly, he sat by her side, his face buried in his hands. What could he do? The feeling of helplessness consumed him. He had nothing, and his friends had little more.
So the courtesan is dying, a thin, evil voice said from inside Christian's mind. And it appears the sitar player has indeed left her with nothing.
Get out of my head, Christian snarled to himself, his hand curling into a fist. But the familiar voices continued to speak.
The difference between you and me is that you can leave anytime you choose. . .
Once the sitar player has satisfied his lust. . .
Don't, Christian. . .there's no point.
That's real love.
Just leave. . .
Stop it! Christian cried, slamming his hand against the nightstand. The sheaf of papers that rested there fell to the ground in a swirl of white. With a puzzled frown, he bent down and retrieved them. It was the play he had written several years ago--Look to the Sky.
Look to the sky. . . Christian whispered. His father had mocked the play as too romantic, and it was considerably poorer than his more recent works, but--his father?
Christian said. I wonder. . .Toulouse? he called softly, hoping not awake Satine. Toulouse's head promptly popped into the doorway.
he replied quietly and hopefully.
Do you think. . .do you think Satine's well enough to travel? Toulouse shook his head, his brow creased.
No. . .why?
One last hope, Christian said slowly. I suppose a letter will have to do.
A letter? asked a puzzled Toulouse. Christian. . .what do you have in mind? Christian held a finger to his lips and walked over to his typewriter. Zidler had brought it back to him after the first and final performance of the show with a wry smile.
That's quite a story you've created, he'd said. You might want to tell it one of these days.
Christian had not touched it in weeks, but now he pulled the cover off and inserted a sheet of paper. One last hope to save Satine's life. . .
Several hours later, he sat at the desk with the final draft of his letter. He took a brief swallow of water and looked back at Satine. She was sleeping peacefully now, after the vicious attack of an hour ago.
Dear Father,
I am aware that we did not part of the best of terms; indeed, it would be completely understandable for you to forget your son entirely. However, events have forced me to write and beg for your immediate assistance. . .not for myself, but for my wife. I am recently married to a woman who was once of advantageous circumstances, but unfortunately, tragedy has reduced us to our present state of poverty. Normally, we would not disturb you with our troubles, but my wife has become severely ill with consumption and we cannot afford to pay for her treatment. The doctors inform us that her death is sure without removal to healthier surroundings than our Parisian home. Father, I beg that you will respond quickly--the days grow short for my wife and I, and she is not well enough to travel to London, but I feel she would survive the journey to a country house in the French countryside.
I remain,
Christian
Christian wiped his face and looked the letter over one more time. Some lies had been necessary-- his father would have certainly refused to help had he not referred to Satine as his wife, and the advantageous circumstances' would reassure his father that this was not a can-can dancer from the Moulin Rouge. . .how many times had those words echoed in Christian's head! With a brief smile, he sealed the letter and handed it over to Toulouse to post it.
Christian glanced at Satine, still sleeping, and felt the cold touch of fear. His father was not the sort of man to hand over the money with his best wishes-- he would almost certainly accompany any assistance with a demand. Christian was not afraid of leaving Montmartre-- he would miss his friends greatly, but Satine came first in his heart. But would his father demand to meet this new wife of Christian? Almost certainly. . .and, well, the time for that would come. He looked out the window, the broken shadow of the Moulin Rouge, and he began to sing softly.
When this all began
I should have known there'd be a price to pay
Too late now to turn away
I have come too far!
I know I'll find the way. . .
But what's the price I'll have to pay?
Shaking his head slowly, he drew back from the window and caught sight of Satine stirring.
Christian. . . she breathed softly. Good morning. . . Christian sat down next to her and took both of her slender hands in his own.
Good morning, my love, he replied, kissing her palm.
Christian. . . she said softly. I understand. . .what you mean . . .
When this all began
I knew there'd be a price. . .
Christian whispered. Shh. . .don't give up hope yet, darling. . .we have another hope.
Do we? Satine smiled.
Christian said firmly. We do.
A week and a half later, Christian found himself holding a letter from his father. The slender, flat envelope gave no clue to what kind of poison lay between the lines of his father's epistle. He turned it over in his hands, studying it.
What is it? Satine's voice came faintly from the bed, where she sat in her robe, a handkerchief waiting patiently in her hand for its inevitable use. Christian hesitated, but then rose and sat by her. She had a right to know.
It's from my father, he answered, handing her the envelope. Satine raised an eyebrow.
I thought he didn't particularly care where you were after you came here, she said curiously, watching him out of the corner of her eyes.
He didn't, Christian conceded, taking back the letter. I wrote him, asking him for money. . .
Satine began gently.
I told him we were married, he finished quickly, studying the blanket beneath him. Satine drew in a sharp breath, and immediately choked on it. After the coughing subsided, she drew back from Christian's embrace to look into his face.
Is that what you want? she asked softly, refusing to let hope take hold of her heart.
Only if--only if you think you'd want it, too, he said awkwardly, still refusing to meet her gaze. But--Father wouldn't have listened if I hadn't told him--but--I do want to marry you, Satine, if you'd be happy with a penniless poet, he laughed a little on the last words.
Oh, Christian, Satine whispered. At her voice, his head raised to look into her eyes.
Would you. . . ? he said softly, brushing tendril of hair away from her face. Satine brushed away a few tears and began to sing, her voice as sweet and lovely as the first time Christian had ever heard it.
How do I get through one night without you
If I had to live without you
What kind of life would that be?
Oh I, I need you in my arms
Need you to hold,
You're my world, my heart, my soul.
If you ever leave
Baby, you would take away everything good in my life. . .
As he always did, Christian understood the feelings in her heart and put them into words. As she paused for breath, he began to sing for her.
And tell me now
How do I live without you?
I want to know
How do I breathe without you
If you ever go
How do I ever, ever survive
How do I, how do I
Oh, how do I live
Without you . . .
As the last notes of his song filled the room, their lips met, and they were both lost in the sweetness of it. The letter slipped from Christian's hand to the floor. As they slowly parted from the kiss, Satine buried her face against his shoulder, and he held her tightly within his embrace. He did nothing more than hold her, afraid of letting go, afraid of losing her. As Satine fell asleep, Christian whispered a final verse to the song.
Without you, there would be no sun in my sky
There would be no love in my life
There would be no world left for me . . .
He tucked the blanket around Satine's sleeping form, and bent down to retrieve the letter. It was better than what he had expected. Inside lay some bank papers and a short, cursory note telling Christian to keep in touch to discuss his move back to England once his wife had fully recovered. Christian sighed and ran his hands across his face. He looked out the window to the Moulin Rouge, and thought of all the dreams, the passions, the anger, the fear. . .so many memories lived in this place. . .it might have been the underworld, but it was not hell. . .nor was it heaven. Christian shook his head. His home was with Satine--his heart was with Satine, and wherever she went, he would follow.
Satine studied her reflection in the mirror on her wedding day-- her wedding day! The words seemed alien and wrong for her to speak. She was the Sparkling Diamond, the renowned courtesan. She sold her love for the right price. No. . . Satine thought to herself. I sold it for the wrong price. I took cash, diamonds, pearls, roses, favors, but never love. Not that it was ever offered to me. . .until I met Christian, and then he gave it freely. He never really expected anything in return. He just loved me. Had I said no that night on the elephant, he would have turned and left me alone. But I learned from you, Christian. The greatest thing I could ever learn. . .
Satine smiled at herself. The dress she wore was a simple white silk. Christian had insisted on the color, as if Satine was the modest, blushing girl that his wife would have been. It was strangely unreal to Satine, seeing the pure white gown on herself. Her face was pale, but for once, she did not bother with any heavy makeup. She put on some pink lipstick and light rouge, but nothing like the colors she wore in her days as a courtesan. Nor was her figure as perfect, for she had lost weight, and her corset was not laced so tightly as it could have been. But still Christian loved her. Satine took a deep breath and placed the shimmering veil over her cascading red curls. The effect was complete. All traces of the Sparkling Diamond had been erased. In her place stood the woman that had laid buried within Satine for all the years of her life.
I have a gift for you
Something that I've held onto
Waiting for your sweet caress
The ribbon has been on tight
For all that I hold inside
And only you will possess
This heart of innocence.
The Bohemians looked distinctly out of place in the quiet chapel in a simple part of Paris. Zidler had come, but was lurking in the back, as if afraid that he would be contaminated by the world outside Montmartre. Christian stood nervously at the altar, his fingers playing with his coat.
Don't worry, dear boy, Toulouse reassured him. It's just marriage! The epitome of our ideal of love! The Argentinean snorted, only to meet Satie's elbow in his side. Just then, Satine appeared at the aisle. Christian's mouth dropped open. She looked so beautiful. . .his beautiful Satine, the woman who had showed him the most perfect love he could have ever dreamed of.
I understand you've written your own vows, the priest said, eying Toulouse nervously, as if the dwarf would turn on him any moment. You may begin them after the service. The priest's monotone passed by in a blur for both Satine and Christian, who listened only enough to repeat the words required of them. Then the priests's incessant droning stopped and Christian began to sing the song he'd written for this day.
No more talk of darkness
Forget these wide-eyed fears
I'm here, nothing can harm you
My words will warm and calm you
Let me be your freedom
Let daylight dry your tears
I'm here, with you, beside you
To guard you and to guide you.
Satine blinked back the tears in her eyes. This wasn't a dream. . .she would never awake and find herself in the Duke's arms. She was here, and she was being married to Christian.
Say you'll love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summertime
Say you need me with you now and always
Promise me that all you say is true
That's all I ask of you.
Christian remembered seeing Satine for the first time, sitting on the swing in her glittering dress. She had been the most beautiful woman he knew he would ever meet. . .not only in her face and body, but the soul that peered hesitantly out from behind her eyes. Her soul had made itself known to him and he had loved it from the first moment. It was all delicate fire and strength, and he knew instinctively that this was the woman he was meant to love.
Let me be your shelter
Let me be your light
You're safe, no one will find you
Your fears are far behind you.
Satine heard Christian's words and took them into her heart. With him, she would be safe. . .from the shining traps of the Moulin Rouge, from the grasps of the Duke. . .safe in his love.
All I want is freedom, a world with no more night
And you, always beside me,
To hold me and to hide me.
Christian took both of her hands in his own and sang the question that had haunted him from that first meeting on the dance floor.
Then say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime
Let me lead you from your solitude
Say you need me with you, here beside you
Anywhere you go, let me go too
Satine, that's all I ask of you.
Satine answered him, her faith in their love apparent in her voice.
Say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime
Say the word and I will follow you.
Their voices joined together for the first time in the ceremony, remembering the nights and mornings they had spent together in the past, and the ones they would share in the future.
Share with me each night, each morning.
Satine hesitated, and conceded to her fear. She needed to hear it just one more time from Christian's lips. She ignored her next line and gave voice to the lingering doubts within her.
Say you love me!
Christian's response was level, and filled with certainty.
You know I do.
Both of them sang out the final lines of the song.
Love me, that's all I ask of you
Anywhere you go, let me go too
Love me, that's all I ask of you . . .
The song ended, and the priest, visibly shaken, straightened his collar.
I now pronounce you man and wife. You may. . .oh, never mind, he said, seeing Satine and Christian were already kissing each other, as if they had forgotten the guests present.
~-~-~-~
Author's Note:
I don't own anyone or anything (except for the priest), and it's all used without permission, but please don't sue me, as I
need money for college tution and cash to supply my book addiction.
Songs used: (W/out permission, of course)
How Can I Continue On?--Jekyll and Hyde
How Do I Live?--Trisha Yearwood
Heart of Innocence--Jessica Simpson
All I Ask of You--Phantom of the Opera