*Title: The Beat of a Heart (Part Three- Sweet Misery)
*Author: Jania Jitsu
*Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Lurhmann, I suppose. It certainly doesn't belong to me! Although I wouldn't mind an Ewan, if you can spare . . .
*Feedback: jania_jitsu@yahoo.com
Christian woke up feeling slightly ill, like he had for the longest time after his mother died. He knew that this feeling had nothing to do with his father's death, though.
Part of it, he knew, was a monster hangover. He honestly shouldn't have drunk that much, but he'd needed to get away for a while and that was the only escape available.
That was what he had learned from the Bohemians, wasn't it? In times of depression, desperation, celebration, or jubilation, absinthe was the thing to have. Christian shook his head bitterly. He had not spoken to any of them since Satine's funeral.
Who could he talk to? Not Tom or Rick or Robert. They wouldn't understand. Miss Lockwood was the problem, so he couldn't talk to her. He couldn't talk to any of the servants or any of his relatives or any of the guests currently visiting.
Christian was completely alone in his misery.
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
sweet misery you cause me
that's what you called me
sweet misery you cause me
I was blind, but, oh, how you could see?
you saw the beauty in everything
everything and me
I would cry, and you would smile
stay with me a little while
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
Meg sat in her chair in the library. She wasn't reading. She wasn't doing anything actually, except letting her mind wander.
'What's wrong with me? Would I really be that bad?' She wanted to ask him these questions, but didn't have the courage. Besides, Sophia said the butler reported to her that Mr Stratton hadn't left his room that day and that was a place Meg certainly didn't want to be, at least not yet.
(Meg's knowledge of baby-making was incomplete. It came entirely from Sophia, who knew but was vague on the actual events, but Meg knew for certain that it took place in bedrooms and it wasn't always pleasant. She also knew that a lady didn't want it rumored that she visited gentlemen in their bedrooms. Something to do with that baby-making thing.)
Meg sighed and shifted in her seat.
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
Christian looked around the cheerful room with a grim eye. This wasn't him, but what was? What was he now, exactly?
He almost took another swig of alcohol from his bottle, but he stopped and shook his head. What would everyone he had ever known think of him now?
What would Satine have thought?
Christian put down the bottle, then picked it up again and tossed it out the window. Having done that, he proceeded to shower and get dressed. Once he looked presentable, he began to look towards at the untouched breakfast tray on his desk. It was cold now, but surely it would still be good. It wasn't like he was all that hungry anyway. He could just use a little nibble. After the food, Christian sat down at his desk and began to write poetry.
Hey, no one said he had to leave his room! It wasn't how much progress was made that counted, but that progress was made at all.
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
Christian's poem:
Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.
Now it looks as though they're here to stay.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.
Suddenly I'm not half the man I used to be.
There's a shadow hanging over me.
Oh, yesterday came suddenly!
Why she had to go
I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong
now I long for yesterday.
Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.
Now I need a place to hide away.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.
Why she had to go
I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong
now I long for yesterday!
Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.
Now I need a place to hide away.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
At nine-thirty the next morning there was a knock at the door. Startled, Christian put down his pen, covered his papers, and went to see who had come to his room. Surely not . . .
"Oh, hello, Tom."
Tom smiled a genuine smile. "You're looking much better," he said, then mentally kicked himself. He had only meant to say that Christian looked well.
Christian grinned. "I think I'm much better, actually," he lied, and he found that it wasn't so difficult after all.
"So you're going to be fine?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"And . . . and what about your father's will conditions?"
Christian paused. His smile faltered, but only for a moment. Then it was back up. "We'll see about that. Would you like to come in? I'm sure you want to know about my book, considering it was the biggest reason I went to France."
Tom's eyebrows shot up. "You never told me you wrote a book!"
"It's published, but under an alias. I have a copy for you, if you'd like it."
"Of course I would!"
Tom turned the book over in his hands, looking at the cover, the sides, the title page, the print . . . He knew the man who had done all this. It was a strange, but amazing feeling.
"Christian," he said in a quiet voice. "This is great. This was your dream since . . . forever. You must be so happy."
"You should read it," Christian said calmly. "It explains a lot." There was a quietness in his voice that Tom didn't quite catch.
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
Tom couldn't sleep that night, so he sat down and opened Christian's book. It had him from the first page; from the first sentence: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."
"Wow," he said to no one in particular. "That's some beginning." Christian had said that to him once, just before he'd left for France.
Tom had finished the book by the next morning. It was painfully obvious to him who the main character was, even though names had been changed.
Tom had gotten no sleep that night but, when he was positive that people had been up and about for quite some time, he got up and knocked on Christian's door. No one answered.
A little afraid, and wanting to apologize for not asking about France, Tom tried to open the door. It pushed open easily.
The room was tidy, as Christian's room had always been. Even the usually messy desk was cleaned up. Everything was in its proper place, but Christian was gone.
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
At about eight-thirty that morning Christian had gone to the library. He needed books to read and some of his favorites hadn't come with him to France.
He opened the doors and this time wasn't all that surprised to see that someone was already there, once again occupying his favorite chair. This time she looked up from her book when he closed the door.
"Hello, Miss Lockwood," he said politely. "We haven't met for quite some time. I'm Christian Stratton."
"I know who you are," she said with a smile as soft and ironic as her voice. "We used to play together, many years ago. Please, call me Meg."
"All right then, Meg. Call me Christian." Christian found a small smile playing on his face. "What are you reading?" he asked.
She looked at the spine. "It's called 'Come What May'. I've never heard of the author before, though. C.S. Devin?"
Christian covered his surprise with a cough. "Uh, really? I, uh, hear he's quite popular over in France." That wasn't a complete lie. Toulouse had written him to tell him how well the book was doing and it was actually doing all right.
"Oh, that's right," Meg said with a false note of surprise, as if she had just thought of it. "You lived in France for a while, didn't you?"
"Err, yes. For almost three years."
What was she playing at? Christian had met tricksters before. Hell, he had been in love with the best liar ever created! That had gotten him pretty good at telling when people were trying to pull one over on someone and Meg was definitely trying to manipulate him.
"You just . . ." Meg made a sweeping gesture with her hand, "up and left for France?"
"Uh, yes, pretty much."
Meg sighed. "It must be nice to be able to do that. Just pick up and go without having to justify yourself to anyone. You wouldn't even have to have a reason- you can do whatever you like."
"I had a reason," Christian revealed, despite his internal warnings.
Meg raised an eyebrow, but pretended to look only mildly interested. Christian made a show of looking at the clock.
"Look at the time! I really should be going. I told Tom- you remember Tom?"
"Vaguely," Meg said, her voice sardonic and bitter.
"Right, well, I promised him I'd meet him. Sorry. Will I see you later?"
"I may be at dinner," Meg replied coldly.
"Well, goodbye then Me-"
"Goodbye, Mr Stratton."
Christian closed the door to the library, his head whirling.
What had just happened?!
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
oh, sweet misery you cause me
that's what you called me
sweet misery you cause me
and in my heart I see what you're doing to me
and in my heart I see just how you wanted it to be
sweet misery
Meg wasn't happy. She wasn't miserable. She wasn't despondent, or depressed, but she wasn't happy either. She was . . . disheartened. That was a good word for what Meg was.
And shouldn't she be? Meg was human! She had a heart, like everyone else. Everyone with a heart wants to be loved; to feel like they're needed, but Meg obviously wasn't loved or needed by Mr Stratton, Jr. Or anyone else, for that matter.
He had obviously gone to France to get away from her. He didn't want her, not even for her looks or money like most men wanted her. He wanted nothing to do with Meg. Except for maybe as an acquaintance.
That stung.
Having come to absolutely no conclusion on what she was supposed to do about this, Meg stood up and began to stomp out of the library like a small child. She stopped in her tracks, though, when the door opened on its own accord.
Meg shook herself. That was silly- of course the door didn't open itself! Someone had opened it. A man Meg knew very well stood in the doorway.
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
He looked around the house with a slightly confusing mixture of disdain and nostalgia. He had been here before- oh, yes, many times, years ago. He couldn't remember precisely why he had stopped coming, but it probably had something to do with the Fabulous Four. Just as it always had, everything seemed to revolve around them.
Him, actually. Everything revolved around him. The stupid brat. How was it that, even now, when he had turned stark raving mad, Christian got all the attention?! It was infuriating.
Alphonse shook his head. Now wasn't the time for anger. 'Cool as ice,' he said to himself. 'Inaccessible as a king.' He opened the doors to the library- surely moony old Christian would be in there. (Never mind that "moony old" Christian was three years younger than him.)
Christian was not there, but someone else was. Alphonse made one of his infamous quick assessments. Like everyone else, she didn't even notice.
Having not seen what he didn't want to see (though surely it would be there soon), Alphonse smiled his nicest, prettiest smile. He was a handsome man, when he wanted to be. He actually looked a lot like Christian, except he was taller, with a longer face, and he had brown eyes instead of Christian's gray.
Not only was Alphonse handsome, but he also had charm. It wasn't Christian's natural, slightly naïve kindness, but a careful manipulation so people would perceive him as being kind. Unfortunately, Alphonse rarely felt kind.
"Hello, Miss Lockwood," he said politely. "My name is Alphonse Stratton. I don't suppose you remember me?"
Miss Lockwood smiled. "Alphonse! Why, of course I do! I saw you at the funeral, but I didn't even recognize you. How very nice to see you again."
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
*Notes: Devin is Celtic for "Poet". I thought they were kind of fitting. Oh, and Alphonse makes his- erm- sinister appearance! ; ) I have plans for this guy, but he started out as just a kind of throwaway remark to get Christian to come home. And "Fabulous Four"? God, I hope I didn't just create some way-back-when Marauders! Whoops. Well, I did refer to Christian as being "moony" back there. ; D
The next part shouldn't be coming out as soon as this one did because I have to go back to school. : (
*Credit: Inspired by the accidental character namings, I've started to draw a bit from the "Both Sides of Time" books, by Caroline B. Cooney. Not much, and most of it's just plans for future parts. Just thought I'd note that.
The title is a really shibby Michelle Branch song and refers to how miserable everyone is. That's also the song used in this part, except for "Christian's" poem from the beginning which is, of course, the Beatles' "Yesterday". KICK. ASS. SONGS.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed: Brown-Eyes [Wow! Thank you! Not just for not lynching me either. Mostly for the compliments. You make a writer feel good. : )], karadarlin [The brownie points go to karadarlin! God, those books rock! Do you know if she'll ever write a fourth?], Carrie [Bohemian Death Eaters?! Sounds like something my friends and I talk about after I've had too much coffee! ; )], Lia [Erm, haven't quite decided on that love thing. But, hey, I've got about three options and that's one. : )]