Sating sighed and rose from the bed. "Where is my lord? I do remember well
where I should be, and there I am. Where is my Romeo?"
She looked around and found Christian lying on the bed, lifeless. She pressed pale fingers to her lips and reached down to touch his hand, picking up a small bottle from his grip. "What's here?" she whispered. "A cup, closed in my true love's hand?" She smelled it, then put it aside. "Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end." She tilted the vile to her lips without another thought, but it was empty. "O churl! Drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips, haply some poison yet doth hang on them to make die with a restorative." She bent down and kissed him. "Thy lips are warm," she whispered, her chin quivering.
She looked over her shoulder. "Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die."
She reached in his pocket and dug out a pen. "Is this the best you've got?"
Christian propped his head on his arm. "I've got a pencil in there, too."
"Well that's not much better," she whispered, laying beside him and propping up her head.
He traced his fingers along her arm. "It could give you lead poisoning."
She laughed. "Wow, this is the most romantic conversation I've ever had."
"Really?" he asked with fake sincerity. "Same for me."
She brushed a strand of dark hair away from his eyes and stared silently for a few moments.
"What are you thinking about?" he whispered.
"About the play," she said quietly. "I feel so bad for Juliet. I mean, she found her true love, but then it was taken away." Tears began in the corner of her eyes.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Baby, it's just a play."
"I know. . . but it happens. You usually don't hear about it, but it happens every day." She bit her lip. "Christian, do you think we'll end up like that?"
He laughed. "Never."
"But how do you know?"
"Because I trust you." He kissed her. "Because I love you." He kissed her again. "Because there is nothing that could break us apart." He leaned in again, but she pulled away and laid on her back, looking at the ceiling.
She took in a long breath, glancing over toward him. "I do love you," she whispered. "I truly do."
"Then what's there to worry about?"
Satine bit her lip. "I don't know," she whispered. "I guess I'm just being sentimental. . . getting into character. . . whatever you'd like to call me."
"I like to call you mine," he breathed, moving on top of her and kissing her fiercely. Her hands raked through his dark hair as he pinned her on the bed. She started to move her hands down his neck, down his chest, and when she started to fiddle with his zipper, Christian pulled away and sat near the edge of the bed.
"What's wrong?" she whispered, fixing her hair a bit. She walked over on her knees and leaned on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "What's wrong?"
He glanced at her. "I love you."
Satine laughed. "And I love you!" She licked the bottom of his earlobe.
"No. . ." he whispered, standing up and looking out the window.
"Christian. . . is everything all right?"
"Well. . . No, Satine, frankly it's not."
She put her hands in her lap, lowering her head. "I'm sorry if you didn't-"
He kneeled before her, placing his hands on her knees. "No, please understand me. I love you, Satine. Every part of me does."
"Then. . . what's wrong?"
"Every time I touch you," he whispered, "every time I kiss you, I have to wonder how many other men have done the same."
She sighed and cupped her eyes with her hands. "I'm so sorry," she finally whispered after a long time. "If I had ever known that there was you. . . I would have never done any of it."
He took her hands and kissed her palms. "Why did you ever do it?"
She looked at him for a moment then forced a laugh. "What-what do you mean? My. . . my uncle-"
"He can't make you do anything. You're your own person. How could he make you. . . do that?"
She looked down at her hands and entwined her fingers in Christian's. "I was seven," she whispered. "We. . . we were poor. I don't remember my mother much. . . she was always in and out of the house at all hours of the day, and when I did see her she was intoxicated on the couch. I don't know how my father put up with it all. . . the drugs, the alcohol, the men. . . he loved her, though. When she left him. . . he went crazy."
She gulped. "He. . . took me to a bar that night. Said this was 'the beginning to a new life' and gulped down shot after shot of something. He said a really lame joke, I remember, and fell to the floor. I thought he was just playing, but the bartender called the police, and he. . . my father, had died." She took in another breath and closed her eyes. "The police were going to take me to a foster home, but the bartender. . . said he was my uncle."
"Harold?" Christian whispered.
She nodded. "He was practically broke at that time, trying to set up a child modeling agency. Wanted me to be the star." She forced a cold laugh. "I liked the stage, the lights, the pictures. But his business didn't go good, so he set up another bar, with his little children dancing for the patrons. Over the years our costumes got cut lower, and the songs and dances became. . ."
She left her sentence hang in the air as she unhooked her hands from Christian's and brought a finger to her lips. "One day he told me I had to entertain some rich man. He was. . . about 50 I think. I told Harold 'no' and he locked me out of the house and wouldn't let me back in until I had. . . done it. It's been that way ever since."
"How old were you?"
"13."
He held her close and kissed her forehead. "Oh, baby. . ."
"But I'm all right, Christian," she said, looking into his eyes. "I'm going to be a great actress, Chris, a great actress. And I'll fly, fly away from here."
"I believe it, faire Juliet." He kissed her hand. "I believe in you."
"I know." The smile on her lips reached into her eyes. "I trust you. No one has ever thought me to be much of anything. . . but you do."
The corners of his mouth curved into a smile as he slowly leaned in. "I'll always believe in you," he whispered, his lips softly falling on hers.
Satine smoothed her fingers over the back of Christian's hand as they all held hands in a circle behind the curtain opening night.
"All right," the director said, smiling wildly. "This is it. . . the big show. We know it, we truly do. I can not say how great you actors are doing, and Romeo and Juliet. . ."
Christian and Satine blushed as she looked at them and winked. "The two of you, falling in love is very believable."
A couple of people laughed, and then it got quiet again. "Seniors, this is your last performance. I could tell you to do good, but I all ready know you're going to be. So I'm telling you something different - have fun. Break a leg!"
As their circle broke to finish getting ready, Christian enveloped Satine into his arms.
"I am so terribly nervous," she whispered, holding him tightly. "What if I mess up? What if I forget my line?" She lifted her head and looked into her eyes. "What if I fall and trip off-"
He put her fingers over her mouth. "How can you even think that you're going to do anything but amazing?"
"Well I-"
"Shh," he whipered, kissing the tip of her nose. "You're going to be breathtaking."
And she was. Every time she entered or left the stage, the audience would applaud. And as the play wrapped up, and the two dead lovers were discovered by everyone, the audience was silent. And then slowly, one by one, they began to clap furiously.
As they all bowed and the curtain fell, Satine jumped into Christian's arms with a squeal.
"I did it. . . I did it. . ."
"Told you so," Christian laughed, kissing her numerous times.
By the time when they had to go out and mingle with the audience, they both had lipstick all over their faces.
Christian gripped her hand tightly. "Are we celebrating tonight?" he asked softly.
"Ooh. . . I supose," she said with a smile. "I'll have to cancel my hot date, but. . ."
He silenced her with a slow kiss as they walked out of the auditorium to greet their parents.
After many "good job"s Christian left to go great his family.
"Pigeon!" a voice said behind Satine.
She rolled her eyes and forced a smile, turning around. "Hello. . . Harold," she said unstedily, seeing someone very familiar standing behind her 'uncle' with a large bouquet of roses.
"My dear, you remember Robert Duken, don't you?" Harold asked, putting his hands behind her back and pushing her forward.
"I. . . um. . ." Satine started, a large lump beginning in her throat.
"Is the actress out of words?" Robert whispered, taking her hand and kissing it. "You were wonderful, my dear. Here," he handed her the flowers.
Her arms full of roses, Satine stared at Robert. He had light blond hair, sweeping over his forehead and the beginnings of a goatee. He was very elegant, wearing a pressed suit, and might have been handsome if his lip didn't curl up or his breath didn't smell or he stared at you for entirely too long or his voice came from his nose and not his throat or his nose was more like a snout or. . .
The list was piling up in Satine's head. As the reality that he would be the one she would spend the rest of her live with swept through her brain, it brought tears to her eyes and a weight in her stomach.
"My dear, don't you have anything to say to him?" Harold asked, nodding at the flowers.
"Th-thank you, so much," she whispered.
"It was nothing," Robert said dryly. "Now, come. Our dinner reservations cannot wait all night, not even for me."
"D-dinner?"
"To celebrate!" Harold exclaimed, pushing her forward.
"For what?" she asked.
"For our engagement, my darling," Robert said, laughing. "Don't tell me you forgot."
Satine numbly felt the flowers begin to slip out of her arms. "Oh." She took in a deep breath. "Oh, yes."
"Now, why don't you go get ready, hmm?" Harold asked. "You can't exactly go to The Elephant dressed like that, now can you?"
"No, no, certainly not!" Robert laughed. "Now, go wash your face, put on some better makeup, and there is a dress in your dressing room I want you to wear. I paid. . . someone to put it there during intermission."
"Yes. . . yes, ok." Satine turned around, her eyes round a full of tears and headed backstage.
Someone tugged on her arm and she turned around and fell into Christian's embrace.
"Why did you leave so soon?" he asked, kissing the top of her head. "I wanted you to meet my parents."
"I'm. . . I'm sorry, Christian," she said, dropping her flowers and holding him tightly. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" He lifted her head and looked into her teary eyes. "Satine, what's-"
"I'm sorry, but I can't go out with you tonight. I. . . I'm feeling sick, Christian. I'm sorry."
"Oh. Well, I'll. . . take you home then."
She forced a smile. "No, I'm fine. Um. . . Harold. . . Harold is taking me."
"But. . . I thought you didn't-"
"I'm sorry."
Christian loosened his grip on her, dropping his hands at his side. "Well, it's. . . it's not that important, I guess."
She nodded and forced a smile. "Some other time, then." And she turned and walked off toward the dressing room.
When she opened the door, she found it empty, everyone else still with their loving families. Satine moved over toward her corner and found a red dress hanging up. She sighed and went to wash her face and put some more on. When she went back ot her corner, she tried on the dress, and with distaste found it was tight and low cut.
On the counter there was a black box, and when she opened it, found an extremely large diamond choker.
"Oh, God," she gasped, picking it up.
It must have been expensive, even for the son of a great movie producer. It was looped around the edges, with more diamonds than she had ever seen in her life.
She thought back to a song she remembered. "Men grow cold as girls grow old and we all lose our charms in the end, but square-cut or pear-shaped these rocks don't lose their shape. Diamonds are a girl's best friend."
She set it down and sat down in a chair, propping her chin in her hand and stared at her face. Never before had she wondered of who was staring back in the mirror. She felt so lost.
"Christian. . ." she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I really am sorry."
------------------------------------------ Disclaimer: All characters belong to Baz, me, and my good friend William Shakespeare. And, um. Stephen Duken is not a real producer, I just made him and his son up.
A/N: Ok, so this took a little longer than expected. I need a new muse.
Songs used: 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend'
She looked around and found Christian lying on the bed, lifeless. She pressed pale fingers to her lips and reached down to touch his hand, picking up a small bottle from his grip. "What's here?" she whispered. "A cup, closed in my true love's hand?" She smelled it, then put it aside. "Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end." She tilted the vile to her lips without another thought, but it was empty. "O churl! Drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips, haply some poison yet doth hang on them to make die with a restorative." She bent down and kissed him. "Thy lips are warm," she whispered, her chin quivering.
She looked over her shoulder. "Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die."
She reached in his pocket and dug out a pen. "Is this the best you've got?"
Christian propped his head on his arm. "I've got a pencil in there, too."
"Well that's not much better," she whispered, laying beside him and propping up her head.
He traced his fingers along her arm. "It could give you lead poisoning."
She laughed. "Wow, this is the most romantic conversation I've ever had."
"Really?" he asked with fake sincerity. "Same for me."
She brushed a strand of dark hair away from his eyes and stared silently for a few moments.
"What are you thinking about?" he whispered.
"About the play," she said quietly. "I feel so bad for Juliet. I mean, she found her true love, but then it was taken away." Tears began in the corner of her eyes.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Baby, it's just a play."
"I know. . . but it happens. You usually don't hear about it, but it happens every day." She bit her lip. "Christian, do you think we'll end up like that?"
He laughed. "Never."
"But how do you know?"
"Because I trust you." He kissed her. "Because I love you." He kissed her again. "Because there is nothing that could break us apart." He leaned in again, but she pulled away and laid on her back, looking at the ceiling.
She took in a long breath, glancing over toward him. "I do love you," she whispered. "I truly do."
"Then what's there to worry about?"
Satine bit her lip. "I don't know," she whispered. "I guess I'm just being sentimental. . . getting into character. . . whatever you'd like to call me."
"I like to call you mine," he breathed, moving on top of her and kissing her fiercely. Her hands raked through his dark hair as he pinned her on the bed. She started to move her hands down his neck, down his chest, and when she started to fiddle with his zipper, Christian pulled away and sat near the edge of the bed.
"What's wrong?" she whispered, fixing her hair a bit. She walked over on her knees and leaned on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "What's wrong?"
He glanced at her. "I love you."
Satine laughed. "And I love you!" She licked the bottom of his earlobe.
"No. . ." he whispered, standing up and looking out the window.
"Christian. . . is everything all right?"
"Well. . . No, Satine, frankly it's not."
She put her hands in her lap, lowering her head. "I'm sorry if you didn't-"
He kneeled before her, placing his hands on her knees. "No, please understand me. I love you, Satine. Every part of me does."
"Then. . . what's wrong?"
"Every time I touch you," he whispered, "every time I kiss you, I have to wonder how many other men have done the same."
She sighed and cupped her eyes with her hands. "I'm so sorry," she finally whispered after a long time. "If I had ever known that there was you. . . I would have never done any of it."
He took her hands and kissed her palms. "Why did you ever do it?"
She looked at him for a moment then forced a laugh. "What-what do you mean? My. . . my uncle-"
"He can't make you do anything. You're your own person. How could he make you. . . do that?"
She looked down at her hands and entwined her fingers in Christian's. "I was seven," she whispered. "We. . . we were poor. I don't remember my mother much. . . she was always in and out of the house at all hours of the day, and when I did see her she was intoxicated on the couch. I don't know how my father put up with it all. . . the drugs, the alcohol, the men. . . he loved her, though. When she left him. . . he went crazy."
She gulped. "He. . . took me to a bar that night. Said this was 'the beginning to a new life' and gulped down shot after shot of something. He said a really lame joke, I remember, and fell to the floor. I thought he was just playing, but the bartender called the police, and he. . . my father, had died." She took in another breath and closed her eyes. "The police were going to take me to a foster home, but the bartender. . . said he was my uncle."
"Harold?" Christian whispered.
She nodded. "He was practically broke at that time, trying to set up a child modeling agency. Wanted me to be the star." She forced a cold laugh. "I liked the stage, the lights, the pictures. But his business didn't go good, so he set up another bar, with his little children dancing for the patrons. Over the years our costumes got cut lower, and the songs and dances became. . ."
She left her sentence hang in the air as she unhooked her hands from Christian's and brought a finger to her lips. "One day he told me I had to entertain some rich man. He was. . . about 50 I think. I told Harold 'no' and he locked me out of the house and wouldn't let me back in until I had. . . done it. It's been that way ever since."
"How old were you?"
"13."
He held her close and kissed her forehead. "Oh, baby. . ."
"But I'm all right, Christian," she said, looking into his eyes. "I'm going to be a great actress, Chris, a great actress. And I'll fly, fly away from here."
"I believe it, faire Juliet." He kissed her hand. "I believe in you."
"I know." The smile on her lips reached into her eyes. "I trust you. No one has ever thought me to be much of anything. . . but you do."
The corners of his mouth curved into a smile as he slowly leaned in. "I'll always believe in you," he whispered, his lips softly falling on hers.
Satine smoothed her fingers over the back of Christian's hand as they all held hands in a circle behind the curtain opening night.
"All right," the director said, smiling wildly. "This is it. . . the big show. We know it, we truly do. I can not say how great you actors are doing, and Romeo and Juliet. . ."
Christian and Satine blushed as she looked at them and winked. "The two of you, falling in love is very believable."
A couple of people laughed, and then it got quiet again. "Seniors, this is your last performance. I could tell you to do good, but I all ready know you're going to be. So I'm telling you something different - have fun. Break a leg!"
As their circle broke to finish getting ready, Christian enveloped Satine into his arms.
"I am so terribly nervous," she whispered, holding him tightly. "What if I mess up? What if I forget my line?" She lifted her head and looked into her eyes. "What if I fall and trip off-"
He put her fingers over her mouth. "How can you even think that you're going to do anything but amazing?"
"Well I-"
"Shh," he whipered, kissing the tip of her nose. "You're going to be breathtaking."
And she was. Every time she entered or left the stage, the audience would applaud. And as the play wrapped up, and the two dead lovers were discovered by everyone, the audience was silent. And then slowly, one by one, they began to clap furiously.
As they all bowed and the curtain fell, Satine jumped into Christian's arms with a squeal.
"I did it. . . I did it. . ."
"Told you so," Christian laughed, kissing her numerous times.
By the time when they had to go out and mingle with the audience, they both had lipstick all over their faces.
Christian gripped her hand tightly. "Are we celebrating tonight?" he asked softly.
"Ooh. . . I supose," she said with a smile. "I'll have to cancel my hot date, but. . ."
He silenced her with a slow kiss as they walked out of the auditorium to greet their parents.
After many "good job"s Christian left to go great his family.
"Pigeon!" a voice said behind Satine.
She rolled her eyes and forced a smile, turning around. "Hello. . . Harold," she said unstedily, seeing someone very familiar standing behind her 'uncle' with a large bouquet of roses.
"My dear, you remember Robert Duken, don't you?" Harold asked, putting his hands behind her back and pushing her forward.
"I. . . um. . ." Satine started, a large lump beginning in her throat.
"Is the actress out of words?" Robert whispered, taking her hand and kissing it. "You were wonderful, my dear. Here," he handed her the flowers.
Her arms full of roses, Satine stared at Robert. He had light blond hair, sweeping over his forehead and the beginnings of a goatee. He was very elegant, wearing a pressed suit, and might have been handsome if his lip didn't curl up or his breath didn't smell or he stared at you for entirely too long or his voice came from his nose and not his throat or his nose was more like a snout or. . .
The list was piling up in Satine's head. As the reality that he would be the one she would spend the rest of her live with swept through her brain, it brought tears to her eyes and a weight in her stomach.
"My dear, don't you have anything to say to him?" Harold asked, nodding at the flowers.
"Th-thank you, so much," she whispered.
"It was nothing," Robert said dryly. "Now, come. Our dinner reservations cannot wait all night, not even for me."
"D-dinner?"
"To celebrate!" Harold exclaimed, pushing her forward.
"For what?" she asked.
"For our engagement, my darling," Robert said, laughing. "Don't tell me you forgot."
Satine numbly felt the flowers begin to slip out of her arms. "Oh." She took in a deep breath. "Oh, yes."
"Now, why don't you go get ready, hmm?" Harold asked. "You can't exactly go to The Elephant dressed like that, now can you?"
"No, no, certainly not!" Robert laughed. "Now, go wash your face, put on some better makeup, and there is a dress in your dressing room I want you to wear. I paid. . . someone to put it there during intermission."
"Yes. . . yes, ok." Satine turned around, her eyes round a full of tears and headed backstage.
Someone tugged on her arm and she turned around and fell into Christian's embrace.
"Why did you leave so soon?" he asked, kissing the top of her head. "I wanted you to meet my parents."
"I'm. . . I'm sorry, Christian," she said, dropping her flowers and holding him tightly. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" He lifted her head and looked into her teary eyes. "Satine, what's-"
"I'm sorry, but I can't go out with you tonight. I. . . I'm feeling sick, Christian. I'm sorry."
"Oh. Well, I'll. . . take you home then."
She forced a smile. "No, I'm fine. Um. . . Harold. . . Harold is taking me."
"But. . . I thought you didn't-"
"I'm sorry."
Christian loosened his grip on her, dropping his hands at his side. "Well, it's. . . it's not that important, I guess."
She nodded and forced a smile. "Some other time, then." And she turned and walked off toward the dressing room.
When she opened the door, she found it empty, everyone else still with their loving families. Satine moved over toward her corner and found a red dress hanging up. She sighed and went to wash her face and put some more on. When she went back ot her corner, she tried on the dress, and with distaste found it was tight and low cut.
On the counter there was a black box, and when she opened it, found an extremely large diamond choker.
"Oh, God," she gasped, picking it up.
It must have been expensive, even for the son of a great movie producer. It was looped around the edges, with more diamonds than she had ever seen in her life.
She thought back to a song she remembered. "Men grow cold as girls grow old and we all lose our charms in the end, but square-cut or pear-shaped these rocks don't lose their shape. Diamonds are a girl's best friend."
She set it down and sat down in a chair, propping her chin in her hand and stared at her face. Never before had she wondered of who was staring back in the mirror. She felt so lost.
"Christian. . ." she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I really am sorry."
------------------------------------------ Disclaimer: All characters belong to Baz, me, and my good friend William Shakespeare. And, um. Stephen Duken is not a real producer, I just made him and his son up.
A/N: Ok, so this took a little longer than expected. I need a new muse.
Songs used: 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend'