Author's Note - - - well my little readers, I was going to save Peter's
until the end, well……er……sorta, but then I realized that it needed to be
revealed and plus I don't want to keep you in suspense for too long. Well,
enjoy!
"Chwistian, are you sure you will be okay?" Toulouse asked between a few yawns.
"Yeah," Christian mumbled. He slowly trotted out of the apartment and down the stairs.
He opened the door and saw Jocelyn was fast asleep. He quietly shuffled over to the bed and looked down at her. She looked so peaceful when she slept, somewhat like Satine. Christian pushed a black lock of hair off her face and placed a soft kiss on her forehead and smiled. He was happy she was home. He then walked over to the window and looked out. The elephant was pitch black again. Christian sighed. Maybe he had imagined the light and the person inside. It was that time of year again. The exact time when the love of his life slowly drifted out of life's grasp.
She had fainted and started bleeding and only Christian and Toulouse had rushed to the hospital. Strangely he didn't remember any of that. Even the nine months he had spent by her bedside day and night. He never left until he was forced or if she needed something. All he remembered that one moment. The single moment when they were finally free……
Christian was walking to the stage where Satine stood waiting. They were singing their song, in front of everyone.
"Come what may," they sang in unison.
The Duke sat and fidgeted in his seat angrily but he didn't matter any more. All that mattered was that they loved each other.
"I will love you," they continued. They were now together on stage, holding each other in their arms.
"Until my dying day……" they finished together. Happy and free.
Christian wiped the falling tear away. He would've done anything to change the past. Anything at all. There were no words to describe how much he missed her and loved her. His heart never recovered from the day she was gone. He should've been happy, she was now in a place with no more suffering and she could finally fly like she always wanted. But his heart wouldn't allow it. He wanted her here with him. He thought back to the play. He could still feel her in his arms, hear her sweet melodic voice, and feel the many kisses they had shared. He longed for those days to come back, and wished he didn't have to face reality.
He turned away from the window. Christian knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He eyed his typewriter and ran his fingers over the keys. Satine had asked to tell their story. It had taken him eighteen years just to type the first page, even then there were many different versions. Inspiration had been drained from him for the longest time, or maybe he never had enough courage. Whichever it was he needed to put it behind him. All these years he has festered away in grief, barely ever writing and trying to raise his daughter. Jocelyn was Satine in everyway. The crystal blue eyes piercing into his were the same, it was like Satine was looking straight at him through her. They looked different but one could tell Jocelyn was Satine's child. The only part of Christian was the black hair and Jocelyn was a bit like Christian when he was younger. She was a little shy, kind, and loved to write poems.
Christian laughed to himself as he thought of what he once was, an innocent boy from England, trying to be apart of the bohemian storm. The thing was, he didn't know if he regretted his choice or if he was glad he came here.
Peter trailed into his tiny room in the attic of the Moulin Rouge. He was soaking wet after delaying his trip back home. He enjoyed the rain oddly enough. He felt a little embarassed leaving Jocelyn like that but if he had stayed she would've wanted an answer. And Peter didn't know if he could deal with telling her……or anyone for that matter.
He peeled his drenched clothes off and changed into dry ones and hung the wet ones over the radiator in his room. He collapsed on his bed exhausted. He had been on his bed for ten seconds then someone banged on his door.
"Open up!" Zidler yelled from the other side of the door.
Peter groaned and reluctantly got off his bed.
"Where were you?" Zidler demanded as soon as he opened the door.
"I walked Jocelyn home," he yawned.
"Tomorrow morning you have to go get her, the Duke's nephew expects to see her," Zidler ordered. "And don't forget, you also have to help set the stage up. In a few days we're going to open again, and this time for good."
"I won't forget," Peter promised.
"You better not. Now, go to bed. There's a lot of work waiting for you in the morning and it's already late."
Zidler huffed and walked down the attic stairs.
"Yes……father," Peter said to himself, closing the door.
He picked up his book and read the first few pages and fell asleep, with a tear silently running down his cheek and falling onto his pillow.
Marie waited for Zidler at the bottom of the stairs.
"He's going to sleep."
Marie looked at him. "Harold, how can you treat him like that?"
"Be quiet, woman," Zidler muttered and kept on walking.
"He's your son and yet you treat him like he's another poor beggar on the street!" Marie scolded.
"I said be quiet! Besides it's none of your concern!" Harold growled.
He walked into his office slamming the door behind in Marie's face. He was angry because he knew she was right. Peter was his son. His mother was another courtesan that Harold wanted to get into his show, but that never happened. When she told Harold she was pregnant, he sent her off, trying to keep the whole thing quiet. She had died a few years later and Peter was sent to him, so Zidler did the thing he did best. Lie and put the boy to work. Somehow Marie had found out and had been giving him hell for the past years, saying he should treat Peter better but Harold was not the father type……let alone a father.
"Chwistian, are you sure you will be okay?" Toulouse asked between a few yawns.
"Yeah," Christian mumbled. He slowly trotted out of the apartment and down the stairs.
He opened the door and saw Jocelyn was fast asleep. He quietly shuffled over to the bed and looked down at her. She looked so peaceful when she slept, somewhat like Satine. Christian pushed a black lock of hair off her face and placed a soft kiss on her forehead and smiled. He was happy she was home. He then walked over to the window and looked out. The elephant was pitch black again. Christian sighed. Maybe he had imagined the light and the person inside. It was that time of year again. The exact time when the love of his life slowly drifted out of life's grasp.
She had fainted and started bleeding and only Christian and Toulouse had rushed to the hospital. Strangely he didn't remember any of that. Even the nine months he had spent by her bedside day and night. He never left until he was forced or if she needed something. All he remembered that one moment. The single moment when they were finally free……
Christian was walking to the stage where Satine stood waiting. They were singing their song, in front of everyone.
"Come what may," they sang in unison.
The Duke sat and fidgeted in his seat angrily but he didn't matter any more. All that mattered was that they loved each other.
"I will love you," they continued. They were now together on stage, holding each other in their arms.
"Until my dying day……" they finished together. Happy and free.
Christian wiped the falling tear away. He would've done anything to change the past. Anything at all. There were no words to describe how much he missed her and loved her. His heart never recovered from the day she was gone. He should've been happy, she was now in a place with no more suffering and she could finally fly like she always wanted. But his heart wouldn't allow it. He wanted her here with him. He thought back to the play. He could still feel her in his arms, hear her sweet melodic voice, and feel the many kisses they had shared. He longed for those days to come back, and wished he didn't have to face reality.
He turned away from the window. Christian knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He eyed his typewriter and ran his fingers over the keys. Satine had asked to tell their story. It had taken him eighteen years just to type the first page, even then there were many different versions. Inspiration had been drained from him for the longest time, or maybe he never had enough courage. Whichever it was he needed to put it behind him. All these years he has festered away in grief, barely ever writing and trying to raise his daughter. Jocelyn was Satine in everyway. The crystal blue eyes piercing into his were the same, it was like Satine was looking straight at him through her. They looked different but one could tell Jocelyn was Satine's child. The only part of Christian was the black hair and Jocelyn was a bit like Christian when he was younger. She was a little shy, kind, and loved to write poems.
Christian laughed to himself as he thought of what he once was, an innocent boy from England, trying to be apart of the bohemian storm. The thing was, he didn't know if he regretted his choice or if he was glad he came here.
Peter trailed into his tiny room in the attic of the Moulin Rouge. He was soaking wet after delaying his trip back home. He enjoyed the rain oddly enough. He felt a little embarassed leaving Jocelyn like that but if he had stayed she would've wanted an answer. And Peter didn't know if he could deal with telling her……or anyone for that matter.
He peeled his drenched clothes off and changed into dry ones and hung the wet ones over the radiator in his room. He collapsed on his bed exhausted. He had been on his bed for ten seconds then someone banged on his door.
"Open up!" Zidler yelled from the other side of the door.
Peter groaned and reluctantly got off his bed.
"Where were you?" Zidler demanded as soon as he opened the door.
"I walked Jocelyn home," he yawned.
"Tomorrow morning you have to go get her, the Duke's nephew expects to see her," Zidler ordered. "And don't forget, you also have to help set the stage up. In a few days we're going to open again, and this time for good."
"I won't forget," Peter promised.
"You better not. Now, go to bed. There's a lot of work waiting for you in the morning and it's already late."
Zidler huffed and walked down the attic stairs.
"Yes……father," Peter said to himself, closing the door.
He picked up his book and read the first few pages and fell asleep, with a tear silently running down his cheek and falling onto his pillow.
Marie waited for Zidler at the bottom of the stairs.
"He's going to sleep."
Marie looked at him. "Harold, how can you treat him like that?"
"Be quiet, woman," Zidler muttered and kept on walking.
"He's your son and yet you treat him like he's another poor beggar on the street!" Marie scolded.
"I said be quiet! Besides it's none of your concern!" Harold growled.
He walked into his office slamming the door behind in Marie's face. He was angry because he knew she was right. Peter was his son. His mother was another courtesan that Harold wanted to get into his show, but that never happened. When she told Harold she was pregnant, he sent her off, trying to keep the whole thing quiet. She had died a few years later and Peter was sent to him, so Zidler did the thing he did best. Lie and put the boy to work. Somehow Marie had found out and had been giving him hell for the past years, saying he should treat Peter better but Harold was not the father type……let alone a father.