Christian pulled away when Karrinne had removed his jacket and had begun
unbuttoning his shirt. He turned to the wall and leaned against it, as if
he were doing something terrible and wrong. Karrinne stood still. She had
seen this with customers, the feeling of apprehension and of guilt. She
decided to let him have his moment.
Christian's head pounded. He didn't know what he was doing. He thought he felt something for this poor nineteen-year-old, but . . . she reminded him so much of Satine. Her hair fell in her face just as Satine's did . . . she smiled in the same way . . . her voice . . . the haunting melody floated into his mind, more distant this time:
Seasons may change,
Winter to spring,
But I love you
'Til the end of time . . .
He exhaled deeply. Karrinne straightened up and smiled. But he didn't turn back around.
"Karrinne, I'm sorry," he breathed, "But I . . . can't. I . . . I . . . I still love Satine."
Karrinne's smiled fell from her face. She didn't move, and didn't speak. Christian didn't move, either, but said, "Please, please leave." Karrinne looked as if she would cry, but instead said, "I'll love your memory forever, Christian." She turned and left. Christian stood with his hand on the wall for what seemed like an eternity before returning to his typewriter. He sat down in the chair and stared out of the window, closed now, and silently cried. For one brief moment, he had thought he could shut her out, just lock the window and remove the pain. But kissing Karrinne had brought everything flooding back in a rush, and it was too much to bear. A love as deep as Satine and I's, thought Christian, doesn't ever go away.
Suddenly, Toulouse's words came back to him. "You don't have to stay here. I believe the ones that we love never leave us. She will be with you always."
I have to get out, he thought, I have to leave. He began to rush around, packing up his things. He stuffed them all around his typewriter in the small bag he had arrived with and turned to open the window and escape. For a moment, he paused and debated taking his manuscript with him. His hand reached out for it, and he quickly placed it inside his jacket, as if he would change his mind. He then went and unlocked the window, pulled it open. But before he could run, he saw the delapidated Moulin Rouge staring back at him. Suddenly, it no longer seemed like a sorrowful being, matching him in his emotions. Now, with its huge, motionless wings, the Moulin looked like a hideous demon he had to conquer before he left. His jaw set, Christian put his bag on the floor and walked out onto the balcony. Quietly, he swung himself over the railing and climbed down to the road. Instead of turning his back on it like he usually did, he pivoted to his right, facing it head-on.
Every step a concious effort, he made his slow way back to the place that had started and ended it all. As if reliving the events of a year ago, cheers, laughs, and voices hit him in a wave as he stepped closer to the cause of his pain. Almost unconciously, he began to sing softly:
"Why does my heart cry
Feelings I can't fight?
You were free to leave me
But you tried to decieve me
And tried to forget me when I said
I loved you . . .
Satine."
Before he knew it, and before he was ready, he was at the base of the windmill that had haunted all his dreams. Without even a glance back, he pushed open the doors and stepped back into a time he had tried to forget.
Christian's head pounded. He didn't know what he was doing. He thought he felt something for this poor nineteen-year-old, but . . . she reminded him so much of Satine. Her hair fell in her face just as Satine's did . . . she smiled in the same way . . . her voice . . . the haunting melody floated into his mind, more distant this time:
Seasons may change,
Winter to spring,
But I love you
'Til the end of time . . .
He exhaled deeply. Karrinne straightened up and smiled. But he didn't turn back around.
"Karrinne, I'm sorry," he breathed, "But I . . . can't. I . . . I . . . I still love Satine."
Karrinne's smiled fell from her face. She didn't move, and didn't speak. Christian didn't move, either, but said, "Please, please leave." Karrinne looked as if she would cry, but instead said, "I'll love your memory forever, Christian." She turned and left. Christian stood with his hand on the wall for what seemed like an eternity before returning to his typewriter. He sat down in the chair and stared out of the window, closed now, and silently cried. For one brief moment, he had thought he could shut her out, just lock the window and remove the pain. But kissing Karrinne had brought everything flooding back in a rush, and it was too much to bear. A love as deep as Satine and I's, thought Christian, doesn't ever go away.
Suddenly, Toulouse's words came back to him. "You don't have to stay here. I believe the ones that we love never leave us. She will be with you always."
I have to get out, he thought, I have to leave. He began to rush around, packing up his things. He stuffed them all around his typewriter in the small bag he had arrived with and turned to open the window and escape. For a moment, he paused and debated taking his manuscript with him. His hand reached out for it, and he quickly placed it inside his jacket, as if he would change his mind. He then went and unlocked the window, pulled it open. But before he could run, he saw the delapidated Moulin Rouge staring back at him. Suddenly, it no longer seemed like a sorrowful being, matching him in his emotions. Now, with its huge, motionless wings, the Moulin looked like a hideous demon he had to conquer before he left. His jaw set, Christian put his bag on the floor and walked out onto the balcony. Quietly, he swung himself over the railing and climbed down to the road. Instead of turning his back on it like he usually did, he pivoted to his right, facing it head-on.
Every step a concious effort, he made his slow way back to the place that had started and ended it all. As if reliving the events of a year ago, cheers, laughs, and voices hit him in a wave as he stepped closer to the cause of his pain. Almost unconciously, he began to sing softly:
"Why does my heart cry
Feelings I can't fight?
You were free to leave me
But you tried to decieve me
And tried to forget me when I said
I loved you . . .
Satine."
Before he knew it, and before he was ready, he was at the base of the windmill that had haunted all his dreams. Without even a glance back, he pushed open the doors and stepped back into a time he had tried to forget.