Author's Note - - well my darlings.only one more chapter and it will be
finished!! Sorry about my long absence, I hope you will like the new
addition.
Her heart should have been racing but instead it had come to a complete stop. She didn't feel her feet move, all the noises were drowned out. She glided to where he was standing, praying for the right words to say.
Harold was chatting animatedly with the Duke. It was the first time Jocelyn had truly noticed him. He was a very lean man with a thin face and slouched as he stood. He reeked of money.
Then she looked at Charlie. His messy brown hair was combed neatly, his suit was pressed and his shoes were shinning. His face was solemn. He was different, newer.older.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said at last.
"Come," she said, taking his hand. Together they walked through the crowds of new arrivals and into the streets.
There was a cold wind blowing gently. The sun had long set and it grew colder as the darkness creeped it's way along. Winter was here. Jocelyn still held Charlie's hand. Through her leather glove she could feel his warm palm embracing hers, but even this gesture was different. There was no affection, just two people holding hands. Something was wrong.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Jocelyn wasn't sure herself. Where could they go? The Moulin Rouge was out of the question.too many people there. Her home was not an option either. As far as Charlie was concerned home was the Moulin Rouge. Besides what would Christian say? He didn't even know yet. No.there had to be another place.
"Here."
It was a small park on the outskirts of Monmartre. Few people were there, either home for supper or just to get away from the cold. Jocelyn knew this park well having been here many times as a child with her father and Toulouse and many of the bohemians that were left. Her family. She brought Charlie to her favorite spot. It was a bench on a hill with a beautiful view of Monmartre and all that lay beyond. Toulouse would paint pictures and Christian would read poetry or make up stories. And if Satie would come along he would play some music. The days were good back then. Jocelyn wished now she could have her father's gift of words, maybe then she wouldn't be worried. But there was no time for wishing. It had to be done. They sat down in silence. Jocelyn looked over and opened her mouth to speak but her voice was lost.
"You can tell me," he said.
"This isn't easy."
"It will only get harder, now c'mon. It's cold out here." he smiled, trying to ease the tensity.
She sighed. "I'm.pregnant."
"Oh," his smile faded.
Jocelyn stared at the ground. She could still make out the flowers in the gray evening light but soon it would be dark. To dark for even the whitest flower to be seen. Finally she looked at him. His face not even giving a hint to what he was thinking.
"Is that all you're going to say?" she asked.
He got off the bench. "Well, we have a problem."
"Doesn't have to be a problem."
Charlie laughed and pulled her up. "You are very remarkable Jocelyn."
Jocelyn smiled, blushing. He pulled her veil away from her face and kissed her. "My poor darling. I am so sorry this happened."
"Sorry?" she said, a little confused.
"Well yes. I mean, it's not like I can marry you. Uncle wouldn't stand for it, he'd cancel all my inheritance in a heartbeat. I'll pay for everything and."
"What's wrong with being poor?" she asked angrily, cutting him off. "As long as we love each other what else matters?"
"What else matters? Jocelyn please, I'd never dream of such a life. Only an idiot would choose love over money. Money lasts, love fades."
Jocelyn couldn't believe her ears. It was like Charlie had just taken a knife and stabbed her where it would hurt the most.her heart. Everything was shutting down. Charlie was babbling on and she was immune to his words. Jocelyn finally realized the man she had met was not the boy she loved but the man he turned into. That's why he was different. The Duke. He finally got to him and broke his spirit. She was nothing to him. Just.an infatuation. Everything was a lie.
"Jocelyn. Are you listening?"
"Get away from me," she said barely above a whisper and started running down the hill. She couldn't listen to him anymore. He started to run after her and caught her arm.
"Wait! We still need to talk."
"Get away!" she yelled. She tried to wriggle her arm free but his grip was tight.
"No! You."
She hit him.hard. She punched him in the face and he stumbled backward and onto the ground. Jocelyn stared had her fist, surprised she actually did it. Charlie looked up at her, shocked. And as he brought his hand away from his nose he saw blood slowly dripping down his fingers. Before he could utter a word Jocelyn ran. Ran fast and far away from everything.
It was done.
Christian sat back in his chair. His fingers were tired and his eyes were growing heavy. He couldn't stop writing, sleep was unthinkable. So for the past few days he did nothing but write. Tell their story to keep fullfill his love's last wish.
"A story about love. A love that will live forever. The end."
He put the last page along with the others in a neat, and rather thick, pile. It was done. Christian looked at his work. It had taken him eighteen years to write this one story, an account of his life and love. And the people of a time long past. It brought some comfort reliving his past. He remembered everything as if it was yesterday and could still feel although he thought he had lost that sense long ago. And it was time to put the story into the world.and finally to have his peace that his soul had desperately desired.
It was too late to bring to an editor and his work would have to wait one more night. Christian left his story next to his typewriter and sat on his windowsill. How many nights he had sat there, dreaming of Satine. All the world away from his consciousness. His mind began to wander as it often did and Satine was there, her eyes piercing into his.
"Oh Christian, how I missed you so," she says. "I thought I would never see you again," he replies. "I was always there, waiting for you my love. Come, let's fly away," she holds out her hand and Christian takes it. And before they disappear into the stars he kisses her, something he waited in agony for. "I love you," he whispers, holding her close. "And I love you, my penniless poet."
Her heart should have been racing but instead it had come to a complete stop. She didn't feel her feet move, all the noises were drowned out. She glided to where he was standing, praying for the right words to say.
Harold was chatting animatedly with the Duke. It was the first time Jocelyn had truly noticed him. He was a very lean man with a thin face and slouched as he stood. He reeked of money.
Then she looked at Charlie. His messy brown hair was combed neatly, his suit was pressed and his shoes were shinning. His face was solemn. He was different, newer.older.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said at last.
"Come," she said, taking his hand. Together they walked through the crowds of new arrivals and into the streets.
There was a cold wind blowing gently. The sun had long set and it grew colder as the darkness creeped it's way along. Winter was here. Jocelyn still held Charlie's hand. Through her leather glove she could feel his warm palm embracing hers, but even this gesture was different. There was no affection, just two people holding hands. Something was wrong.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Jocelyn wasn't sure herself. Where could they go? The Moulin Rouge was out of the question.too many people there. Her home was not an option either. As far as Charlie was concerned home was the Moulin Rouge. Besides what would Christian say? He didn't even know yet. No.there had to be another place.
"Here."
It was a small park on the outskirts of Monmartre. Few people were there, either home for supper or just to get away from the cold. Jocelyn knew this park well having been here many times as a child with her father and Toulouse and many of the bohemians that were left. Her family. She brought Charlie to her favorite spot. It was a bench on a hill with a beautiful view of Monmartre and all that lay beyond. Toulouse would paint pictures and Christian would read poetry or make up stories. And if Satie would come along he would play some music. The days were good back then. Jocelyn wished now she could have her father's gift of words, maybe then she wouldn't be worried. But there was no time for wishing. It had to be done. They sat down in silence. Jocelyn looked over and opened her mouth to speak but her voice was lost.
"You can tell me," he said.
"This isn't easy."
"It will only get harder, now c'mon. It's cold out here." he smiled, trying to ease the tensity.
She sighed. "I'm.pregnant."
"Oh," his smile faded.
Jocelyn stared at the ground. She could still make out the flowers in the gray evening light but soon it would be dark. To dark for even the whitest flower to be seen. Finally she looked at him. His face not even giving a hint to what he was thinking.
"Is that all you're going to say?" she asked.
He got off the bench. "Well, we have a problem."
"Doesn't have to be a problem."
Charlie laughed and pulled her up. "You are very remarkable Jocelyn."
Jocelyn smiled, blushing. He pulled her veil away from her face and kissed her. "My poor darling. I am so sorry this happened."
"Sorry?" she said, a little confused.
"Well yes. I mean, it's not like I can marry you. Uncle wouldn't stand for it, he'd cancel all my inheritance in a heartbeat. I'll pay for everything and."
"What's wrong with being poor?" she asked angrily, cutting him off. "As long as we love each other what else matters?"
"What else matters? Jocelyn please, I'd never dream of such a life. Only an idiot would choose love over money. Money lasts, love fades."
Jocelyn couldn't believe her ears. It was like Charlie had just taken a knife and stabbed her where it would hurt the most.her heart. Everything was shutting down. Charlie was babbling on and she was immune to his words. Jocelyn finally realized the man she had met was not the boy she loved but the man he turned into. That's why he was different. The Duke. He finally got to him and broke his spirit. She was nothing to him. Just.an infatuation. Everything was a lie.
"Jocelyn. Are you listening?"
"Get away from me," she said barely above a whisper and started running down the hill. She couldn't listen to him anymore. He started to run after her and caught her arm.
"Wait! We still need to talk."
"Get away!" she yelled. She tried to wriggle her arm free but his grip was tight.
"No! You."
She hit him.hard. She punched him in the face and he stumbled backward and onto the ground. Jocelyn stared had her fist, surprised she actually did it. Charlie looked up at her, shocked. And as he brought his hand away from his nose he saw blood slowly dripping down his fingers. Before he could utter a word Jocelyn ran. Ran fast and far away from everything.
It was done.
Christian sat back in his chair. His fingers were tired and his eyes were growing heavy. He couldn't stop writing, sleep was unthinkable. So for the past few days he did nothing but write. Tell their story to keep fullfill his love's last wish.
"A story about love. A love that will live forever. The end."
He put the last page along with the others in a neat, and rather thick, pile. It was done. Christian looked at his work. It had taken him eighteen years to write this one story, an account of his life and love. And the people of a time long past. It brought some comfort reliving his past. He remembered everything as if it was yesterday and could still feel although he thought he had lost that sense long ago. And it was time to put the story into the world.and finally to have his peace that his soul had desperately desired.
It was too late to bring to an editor and his work would have to wait one more night. Christian left his story next to his typewriter and sat on his windowsill. How many nights he had sat there, dreaming of Satine. All the world away from his consciousness. His mind began to wander as it often did and Satine was there, her eyes piercing into his.
"Oh Christian, how I missed you so," she says. "I thought I would never see you again," he replies. "I was always there, waiting for you my love. Come, let's fly away," she holds out her hand and Christian takes it. And before they disappear into the stars he kisses her, something he waited in agony for. "I love you," he whispers, holding her close. "And I love you, my penniless poet."