Author's Note-Do I /look/ like Baz Luhrmann to you????
I know, I know. It took me way too long to post this chapter, but. . . I'm
dead. The one I had originally written, I changed my mind on, and deleted
it. And then I just couldn't write one I was happy with. So it took awhile.
I've realized I'm incapable of writing a chapter-story. I'm going to finish
this one, though, even if it kills me. Sowwy. :(
In The End - Of Satine
Days passed by. Still, Satine did not wake. Christian never left her alone for more than a moment, and that was only when it was completely necessary. The doctor had come and gone, each time leaving Christian more and more depressed. He was falling into a hole, and the only one who could pull him out, was laying on his bed, unconscious and dying.
It had been three days since he had found his love unconscious in the bathroom. And his worry was mounting. He couldn't bear the torment of having to watch the doctor return daily, to stick her with needles in order to keep her body hydrated and nourished. He couldn't stand seeing her so pale, so motionless. . . She looked. . . No. He wouldn't think it. Couldn't think it. And yet, the word echoed through his mind, without his consent. Dead. She looked dead.
He had barely slept since she'd lost consciousness. An hour here, an hour there, but that was about it. And even in those rare times he could catch a quick nap, his sleep was haunted by nightmares. Nightmares of the past. . . Nightmares of the future. . . Each one led to him in tears. The Duke was constantly in them, holding Satine, touching Satine. He had dreams of the Duke trying to rape her, dreams of him beating her, and worse. . . dreams of him murdering her.
The Bohemians visited, of course. As did others from the Moulin. Harold and Marie came and went frequently now. . . Marie was such a doll. She offered Christian comfort, as if he were her child. Despite the fact that all attempts she made to comfort him failed miserably, he was still appreciative to the fact that she had made them. Still, nothing made him feel better.
Another day passed. Christian was feeling dead to the world. His Sparkling Diamond still hadn't awoken, and the fear running through his veins was causing him to positively lose it. He'd fallen silent: he refused to talk to anyone, and the only time he would speak was when he's alone, just him and Satine. In those times, he spilled his heart out to her, telling her everything about him, about his past, family, dreams. . . Talking to her, even if she was not responding, not even awake, made him feel better, for some reason.
Currently, he's telling her all about his relationship with his mother, of whom passed away almost two years prior. ". . .I was a momma's boy. Her pride and joy. We shared everything together. . . Even the wrath of my father. . ." His eyes begin watering, sharing with the sleeping form of his beloved something he'd never told anyone. "He beat her. . . She didn't think I knew. But I did. She was scared of him, just like I was. Whenever he'd yell at me, she'd stick up for me. And that's when he'd beat her. After defending me. It was my fault. . ." He wiped his tears away, shaking his head. "That was. . . what, ten years ago? Wow. But then, when Mom fell ill. . . he stopped beating her. She was sick for the longest time. . . About seven or eight years. . . She'd get really sick one month, then the next it'd look like she'd gotten over it. . . But that wasn't the case. . . I lost her, Satine. I lost my mother. I loved her so much. . . I can't lose you too. I can't. . ."
At this point, a soft knocking on the door shut Christian up, and he quickly wiped away his tears. He made no move to open the door. Another knocking came, followed by "Chwistian, I know you'we in thewe. I'm comin' in, 'kay?" With that, the small dwarf opened the door, hobbling in with his cane. "Chwistian? How is she?"
If he expected an answer, he was certainly disappointed. The talkative Christian from before had vanished, now turning into a sort of zombie. He stared, his gaze shifting from Satine to Toulouse, then back to Satine.
"Chwistian, we have to tawk. Something's happened, and. . . weww, it's not good."
Still, Christian said nothing, now not even glancing towards his best friend. Attention is completely focused on the sleeping beauty.
"Chwistian?!? Awe you wistening? This is vewy impowtant! It's gotta do wif Satine! And if you don't wisten, hew wife may be in danger!!!"
At this, Christian looks up, eyes glossed over in anger. "What the Hell do you think is going on? Her life already is in danger! She very well may die! She's been unconscious for four days! Do you think we're in here running through meadows or something? Don't you dare tell me her life may be in danger! I know that!!!!" But with that said, his anger disappears, leaving behind a sad young man. "Toulouse. . . I'm sorry. . . I'm just. . . So scared. . ."
"It's okay, Chwistian. . ."
"Really, though, Toulouse. Please. Tell me what you came to tell me. Is there something else wrong with her? Please, say there isn't. . ." He looks at his friend with pleading eyes, unable to hold back the look of pure dispair.
"No, Chwistian. . . Not that I know of, no. But it's sewious. It's the Duke, Chwistian. He's hewe. In Zidwers office, wight now! He's demanding to see hew!"
Christian's eyes bulge, and he looks as though he's about to fall over in shock. "No. . . No. . ." he whispers, his worst nightmares coming through. "No. . . He can't have her! I'll kill him before he touches her!!!!!"
"Chwistian, we've got to move hew befowe -"
Unfortunately, Toulouse is cut off by a high, nasally-sounding voice.
"Why, if it isn't our very own penniless sitar player."
In The End - Of Satine
Days passed by. Still, Satine did not wake. Christian never left her alone for more than a moment, and that was only when it was completely necessary. The doctor had come and gone, each time leaving Christian more and more depressed. He was falling into a hole, and the only one who could pull him out, was laying on his bed, unconscious and dying.
It had been three days since he had found his love unconscious in the bathroom. And his worry was mounting. He couldn't bear the torment of having to watch the doctor return daily, to stick her with needles in order to keep her body hydrated and nourished. He couldn't stand seeing her so pale, so motionless. . . She looked. . . No. He wouldn't think it. Couldn't think it. And yet, the word echoed through his mind, without his consent. Dead. She looked dead.
He had barely slept since she'd lost consciousness. An hour here, an hour there, but that was about it. And even in those rare times he could catch a quick nap, his sleep was haunted by nightmares. Nightmares of the past. . . Nightmares of the future. . . Each one led to him in tears. The Duke was constantly in them, holding Satine, touching Satine. He had dreams of the Duke trying to rape her, dreams of him beating her, and worse. . . dreams of him murdering her.
The Bohemians visited, of course. As did others from the Moulin. Harold and Marie came and went frequently now. . . Marie was such a doll. She offered Christian comfort, as if he were her child. Despite the fact that all attempts she made to comfort him failed miserably, he was still appreciative to the fact that she had made them. Still, nothing made him feel better.
Another day passed. Christian was feeling dead to the world. His Sparkling Diamond still hadn't awoken, and the fear running through his veins was causing him to positively lose it. He'd fallen silent: he refused to talk to anyone, and the only time he would speak was when he's alone, just him and Satine. In those times, he spilled his heart out to her, telling her everything about him, about his past, family, dreams. . . Talking to her, even if she was not responding, not even awake, made him feel better, for some reason.
Currently, he's telling her all about his relationship with his mother, of whom passed away almost two years prior. ". . .I was a momma's boy. Her pride and joy. We shared everything together. . . Even the wrath of my father. . ." His eyes begin watering, sharing with the sleeping form of his beloved something he'd never told anyone. "He beat her. . . She didn't think I knew. But I did. She was scared of him, just like I was. Whenever he'd yell at me, she'd stick up for me. And that's when he'd beat her. After defending me. It was my fault. . ." He wiped his tears away, shaking his head. "That was. . . what, ten years ago? Wow. But then, when Mom fell ill. . . he stopped beating her. She was sick for the longest time. . . About seven or eight years. . . She'd get really sick one month, then the next it'd look like she'd gotten over it. . . But that wasn't the case. . . I lost her, Satine. I lost my mother. I loved her so much. . . I can't lose you too. I can't. . ."
At this point, a soft knocking on the door shut Christian up, and he quickly wiped away his tears. He made no move to open the door. Another knocking came, followed by "Chwistian, I know you'we in thewe. I'm comin' in, 'kay?" With that, the small dwarf opened the door, hobbling in with his cane. "Chwistian? How is she?"
If he expected an answer, he was certainly disappointed. The talkative Christian from before had vanished, now turning into a sort of zombie. He stared, his gaze shifting from Satine to Toulouse, then back to Satine.
"Chwistian, we have to tawk. Something's happened, and. . . weww, it's not good."
Still, Christian said nothing, now not even glancing towards his best friend. Attention is completely focused on the sleeping beauty.
"Chwistian?!? Awe you wistening? This is vewy impowtant! It's gotta do wif Satine! And if you don't wisten, hew wife may be in danger!!!"
At this, Christian looks up, eyes glossed over in anger. "What the Hell do you think is going on? Her life already is in danger! She very well may die! She's been unconscious for four days! Do you think we're in here running through meadows or something? Don't you dare tell me her life may be in danger! I know that!!!!" But with that said, his anger disappears, leaving behind a sad young man. "Toulouse. . . I'm sorry. . . I'm just. . . So scared. . ."
"It's okay, Chwistian. . ."
"Really, though, Toulouse. Please. Tell me what you came to tell me. Is there something else wrong with her? Please, say there isn't. . ." He looks at his friend with pleading eyes, unable to hold back the look of pure dispair.
"No, Chwistian. . . Not that I know of, no. But it's sewious. It's the Duke, Chwistian. He's hewe. In Zidwers office, wight now! He's demanding to see hew!"
Christian's eyes bulge, and he looks as though he's about to fall over in shock. "No. . . No. . ." he whispers, his worst nightmares coming through. "No. . . He can't have her! I'll kill him before he touches her!!!!!"
"Chwistian, we've got to move hew befowe -"
Unfortunately, Toulouse is cut off by a high, nasally-sounding voice.
"Why, if it isn't our very own penniless sitar player."