A Word and a Blow
"I'm dying."
The whispered words hung in the air between them like a curse, the only sound that of Satine's labored breathing, and the soft fluttering of the crumpled bills as they fell from Christian's hand and dropped scattered to the dressing room floor like dead rose petals.
Christian swayed for a moment of suspended time, as if drunken, then finally reached out to steady himself on the corner of Satine's dressing table. Stumbling haltingly into motion toward her, he reached out to touch her, but hesitated, his hand lingering short of her arm. Confusion flooded through him in a guilty tide, mingled with a growing sensation of fear.
"And the Duke is going to kill you, too," Satine gasped out, the sudden reminder of this motivating her into closing the distance between them. Taking hold of his sleeve, she steered him in the direction of the door in panicked motion. "You have to leave, Christian, before they find you here. Please."
"What . . . Satine . . ."
Nearly choking on his words, Christian swallowed hard, remaining rooted to the spot as helpless as a child, despite all her insistence he leave.
"Why . . ."
"There's no time. You have to go."
"No, Satine," he protested, pulling her back toward him. "What's going on? I'm not leaving—not without you. Tell me what's wrong."
"The Duke, the Duke threatened to kill you, unless we changed the ending, and—and I agreed to sleep with him tonight. That's why you have to leave, if they find you here they'll kill you," she spilled out hastily in return, then urgently fell in step for the door again.
But again, Christian wouldn't be moved. "Then what you said . . . about not . . . not loving me . . ."
Satine paused, drawing in a slow breath. "It wasn't true. I love you, Christian. I will always love you—"
"Why, why didn't you just tell me the truth?" he asked, seeming utterly oblivious of her fear for him, brows knitting together in confusion.
"I did it to save your life," she responded, staring at him as if he were crazy, for being unable to comprehend her reasoning.
"But a life without you—a life without love—that wouldn't be living at all," he insisted, shaking his head slowly. His heart soared—she did love him!—but at the same time an entirely different sensation gnawed at his insides. "We could have overcome it, Satine."
He paused, resolution hardening. "And we still can. We can leave, leave now—"
"No, Christian . . ." She slumped back from him, momentarily defeated. "It's over. I'm dying . . . it's consumption."
Almost as if proof of the illness needed to manifest itself at that moment, Satine was pressed by a wracking cough, and doubled over, breath coming in shallow gasps.
"No, no, Satine . . ." Feeling a surge of panic, Christian moved to take her into his arms, tears beginning to well in his eyes. The coughing, the shortness of breath after dance routines, the frequent fainting spells—why hadn't he noticed before? How could he have been so blind? "You can't just give up like this. I need you . . . I-I can't go on without you."
Now within the comfort of the circle of his arms, Satine slumped against Christian, the coughs gradually tapering off, and she drew the back of her hand across her lips, bringing it away to show red smeared against ivory skin.
Blood.
Heart thumping madly in his chest, Christian shook his head in denial of the weakening figure held snugly to him; Satine suddenly seemed so delicate, so fragile, as if she were an exotic and rare flower that might simply wilt away. "No, no . . . we'll leave, we'll find a doctor . . . find someone to help. You have to hold on, just hold on . . . everything will be all right, it will. We love each other, and that's all that matters. Come what may."
Satine hesitated, drawing in several shallow breaths in an attempt to muster a response. Finally finding the effort of such a simple thing to be too much, she gave in to a slow nod, allowing hope—albeit how skeptical—to build within her for the first time since her escape from the Gothic Tower the night before. How could she have doubted Christian, and the power of their love for each other?
Yet at the same time, her own fragility threatened to defeat her.
"I'm sorry, Christian," she whispered.
"Don't, Satine, don't talk, just . . . sit down, here, and I'll—" Settling her down at her dressing table, Christian whirled around and searched the room madly, his mind a confused jumble of thoughts. How would they get out with all the people? The Duke no doubt had people watching for him, if what Satine said was true—and he knew it was. And they weren't exactly going to let the star waltz out of the theatre in the middle of the show—
"Satine? You need to get on the stage!"
The door flung open suddenly, startling both of them, and they stood frozen as Marie burst into the room, her eyes wide as she first laid eyes on Christian, then Satine, who was clearly ailing. Her wizened features quickly took in the situation with an appropriate assessment, then she did something rather unexpected to both of them—closed the door behind herself, and locked it.
"I wondered when you'd finally fly away from here," she murmured, seeming to be talking to herself more so than she was Satine. "You'll need your bag," she went on, moving over to pull out the bag Satine had left half-packed that morning, and began to hastily load clothing and belongings into it.
"Get her jewel chest, you'll need those to get by out there," Marie instructed Christian, giving a slight nod. "And you'd best hurry; someone else will come looking when I'm not back."
Christian began to sweep things off the dressing counter, loading them into the bag. He didn't question the woman, simply accepted her help. They needed an ally in this situation, however unlikely of one she happened to be.
"Marie—" Satine began, but she was interrupted by the older woman.
"Don't, girl. I'm doing this of my own free will, and I'll not take no for an answer."
"Thank you," she finished weakly instead.
"There's nothing to thank me for. If anything, I should be ashamed I haven't put a stop to Harold's doings before now." Grave of countenance, she surveyed the contents of the bag one more time, then fastened it shut and handed it roughly toward Christian. As he glanced toward her, he could have sworn he saw a tear in her eye, but she was obviously attempting to hide the emotion by her brisk treatment of them both.
"Come on, now," Marie instructed Satine, grabbing a winter coat off the rack for her and helping her to shrug it on. "You'll need something to cover that hair; it's a dead giveaway."
But Satine wasn't paying attention; instead, she was reaching under the collar of the coat to unfasten the heavy diamond choker. Feeling the cold weight of the gems in her hands, she gave it only momentary consideration before throwing it harshly onto the dressing table, where it collided with bottles of perfume and jars of makeup. She and Christian would have been able to live comfortably for the rest of their lives off the money that alone could garner, but she would never feel herself out from under the shadow of the Duke.
Marie grabbed up a black scarf in the meantime, then moved over to tie it over Satine's hair, knotting it beneath her chin. She stared up at the younger woman for a moment, offering a weak smile. "You go on and get out of here, now. Fly away from here, Satine, like you always wanted to."
Like they'd all wanted to. Though few would admit it, most clung to that very same dream long after it turned to dust . . . and none before had ever managed to fulfill it, not until now.
"Thank you, Marie—for everything." Satine reached out and embraced the woman quickly, then Marie moved to open the dressing room door a bit and check outside for any sign of the Duke, his manservant, or Harold. By now, someone had to have come looking, yet there was no one to be seen . . . it seemed almost too perfect, but she wouldn't allow that thought to cloud her mind now.
"It's clear. Go, both of you."
As the two lovers ducked out the door, Satine spared a glance back at Marie, seeing there not the woman who had always served as costumer and adviser to the girls, but the shadow of a woman who had shared the very same hopes and dreams, once upon a time . . .
Disclaimer: Chapter title once again credit to William Shakespeare, from Romeo and Juliet. Also credit to Brad for help with Christian's reactions when Satine explained her reasoning.