The Price of Love
I opened my eyes and willed my heart to slow its impossibly rapid rhythm inside my chest, and there at the end of the bed saw Chocolat, who stood with a look of stricken horror on his face. I sat up and slid off the bed, to see what he was looking down – the Duke, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, clearly unconscious, with blood trickling down the side of his mouth.
I stared down at him in a mixture of anger and loathing, before simply brushing past and moving numbly toward the door. My dress was still lying in tatters on the floor, but I didn't bother to retrieve it, intent on fleeing the tower as quickly as possible.
I nearly ran the block to Christian's garret with Chocolat in my wake, and pushing past someone who was entering the building, felt my way up the stairs through the tears that blinded my vision.
Seconds later, I burst unceremoniously through the door, knowing that Christian would be waiting in misery, trying to understand what I was doing and tell himself that it was all right. I had reached the contrary realization all too late, it seemed – it wasn't all right, and nothing was going to make it be all right.
He looked up from the window as I entered and with a glance took in my appearance, and I knew what he saw – reddened eyes, my hair ruined, and the fact that I was now only half-dressed. He opened my mouth to ask what had happened, but I rushed forward and threw my arms around him, clinging for what seemed dear life.
Never had he seen me so disheveled, and as I held onto him, he tentatively returned the embrace, most likely scared to see me in such a state.
"I couldn't," I told him, the words rushing out seemingly on their own. "I couldn't go through with it. I saw you there, and I felt everything, and I couldn't pretend."
I paused, and my tone turned panicked, "And the Duke, he saw – he saw."
I stopped to draw in a breath, and leaned against him, crying. "Christian . . . I love you."
His arms wrapped around me a bit more tightly, holding me close.
"It's okay," he murmured comfortingly.
"And I couldn't do it – I didn't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to lie. And he knows! He knows . . . he saw," I continued frantically, my mind whirling. Usually the decisive one, now I merely looked up at him helplessly, willing him to know what to do.
"You're all right. It's all right, you don't have to pretend anymore," he said gently, smoothing my hair back from my forehead.
"We'll leave. We'll leave tonight," he added firmly.
"Leave?" I asked, staring up at him in wonder. "But – what – the show . . ."
"I don't care. I don't care about the show," he told me with conviction. "We love each other, and that's all that matters."
His unfaltering belief in love cemented this further for me, and I nodded my agreement, while allowing this new and foreign concept of freedom grow in my mind. Yes, we would leave – we would start over, put the Moulin Rouge behind us, and start our own life.
Our life together.
"Yes – yes, as long as we have each other," I said firmly.
"Chocolat," Christian spoke up suddenly, looking toward the quiet man who had been hovering in the doorway. "Take Miss Satine to her dressing room to get the things she needs. No one must see you, do you understand?"
"I understand," I heard Chocolat reply from behind.
Christian turned back to me, his eyes alight with a fiery sparkle. "Darling, you go and pack. I'll be waiting."
Then he leaned down to kiss me, and when he pulled back I saw he wore a reassuring smile on his lips. I returned it, pushing away my doubts and uncertainties. Love would get us through this.
Love could conquer anything, as long as you believed in it, I told myself, but still something lingered . . .
I returned to my dressing room at the Moulin Rouge, the lavish things the Duke had purchased on my behalf failing to touch me even in the least. They were just that – things. Once, it might have mattered to me, but now it was all nothing. I had little time to think about what to pack – I would need clothes, of course, and they were stuffed unceremoniously into a valise. I left behind the elaborate costumes that I wore as the Sparkling Diamond – in my new life with Christian, I wouldn't need any of it.
My eye did catch on my jewelry box, however – the lacquered rosewood box contained a small fortune in jewels and trinkets that had been gained over the length of my 'career,' and while I didn't care to have such vestiges of my now past life follow me into the future, I decided that they would best be sold.
The money could build a foundation for me and Christian – it would be enough to support us for a while, until we could get on our feet. I had little doubt in my mind that, despite his current penniless state, Christian would be able to write for money.
I was in the process of dropping diamond necklaces – always diamonds . . . the men seemed to find it amusing to present the 'Sparkling Diamond' with diamonds, and there was the song to cement my reputation – into my handbag when I jumped at a voice from behind.
"Forgive the intrusion, cherub."
Harold. How long had he been there?
Startled, I turned to look at him, then dropped the bag where it was and moved over to the dressing screen to pick up a robe and pull it on. "You're wasting your time, Harold," I told him shortly.
I knew what was coming – he was going to try to convince me to stay with the Duke, a man who had just attacked me like some kind of common predator who stalks around in the shadows of Montmartre's streets. There was no convincing to be done this time, however – I owed a great deal to Harold, but I had paid my bill in full.
"Stop it," he demanded. "You don't understand. The Duke is going to kill Christian."
The pronouncement had come so bluntly, so suddenly, that I stopped dead and drew in a gasp.
"The Duke is insanely jealous," Harold went on. "Unless you do his ending and sleep with him tomorrow night, the Duke will have Christian killed."
I turned back to the mirror, wiping unbidden tears from my face, and took the moment to allow the weight of what Harold was saying to sink in.
"He can't scare us," I finally managed, in a tone more even than what I felt inside, and turned to look at him again.
"He's a powerful man," Harold countered seriously. "You know he can do it."
Suddenly, I felt unbelievably angry at Harold, and shrugging off the dressing gown, I threw it to the floor with a vehemence that surprised even myself. It surprised him as well, judging from the way he started at me, incredulity mixing with an anger of his own.
"What are you doing?" he asked, and I wondered if he would attempt to physically restrain me from leaving.
"I don't need you anymore!" I shouted at him, my breath coming in ragged gasps now. "All my life you made me believe that I was only worth what someone would pay for me! But Christian loves me. He loves me, Harold. He loves me. And that is worth everything."
The feelings I hadn't even been conscious of welled to the surface, and my tirade continued, Harold remaining speechless in his chair.
"We're going away from you, away from the Duke, away from the Moulin Rouge!" I cried, then said with finality, "Goodbye, Harold."
I turned toward the door, expecting that to be the end of it, but that was far from all.
As Harold spoke again, his voice was solemn and quiet. "You're dying, Satine."
He paused, adding more softly, "You're dying."
I hesitated in the doorway and leaned against the frame, feeling suddenly unable to hold myself upright of my own power. Unbidden, a sigh escaped my lips – and with it, a cough. And then I knew. My mind was swimming, trying to comprehend it all.
"Another trick, Harold?" I asked quietly.
"No, my love," he answered seriously. "The doctor told us."
I turned uncertainly away from him and looked to Marie, begging for reassurance. "Marie?"
But the woman who had always been more like family to me than my own aunt, the only family I remembered, simply looked away as if unable to answer.
"I'm dying," I whispered to myself, leaning up from the doorframe and moving slowly, unsteadily, across the room. I sank into a chair alongside the window as my legs numbed, unable to support me any longer.
In its cage, the little bird that had for so long been a symbol of hope for me chirped sadly, as if aware of what was happening.
"I was a fool to believe," I sang bitterly to myself. "A fool to believe. It all ends today, yes, it all ends today . . ."
"Send Christian away," Harold prompted, moving toward me. "Only you can save him."
I shook my head, and stated without ego, but the mere certainty of truth, "He'll fight for me."
"Yes," he agreed, then suggested, "Unless he believes you don't love him."
"What?" I looked up in shock, and shook my head more firmly.
"You're a great actress, Satine," Harold insisted. "Make him believe you don't love him –"
"No," I protested, my tone strained.
I knew how important love was to Christian – I had learned its value myself, and now Harold was asking me to do something I couldn't do. I couldn't take that away from Christian. I could make my own sacrifice, but to do that would shatter him.
"Use your talent to save him," he pressed. "Hurt him. Hurt him to save him. There is no other way."
He paused, then went on, "The show must go on, Satine. We're creatures of the underworld – we can't afford to love."
I stared desolately out the window, focusing on the lightening sky. Dayglow was visible on the horizon – dawn would be here soon.
"Today's the day . . . when dreaming ends . . ."
Love had a price, but could I afford to pay it?