Chapter 1
By the time Christian's eyes had caught up with Satine, her form was already disappearing into the shadows of the fallen night.
Shedding his jacket and dropping it carelessly on the floor, he ran out of the Elephant and dashed after her. She wasn't too difficult to spot. She hadn't gone far, for lack, he figured, of place to go, and running in her full courtesan's costume was far from comfortable, to say the least. Her bright crimson dress stuck out like a sore thumb in the drab maze of bars and bordellos that was Montmartre, once the lights were out.
Worst, though, was the sound. Christian easily followed Satine's ragged breathing and wracking coughing until he found her, gasping for breath and leaning on a wall, under the sign that read, "Bar Absinthe." Her hacking was audible over the music and dull roar of intoxicated laughter that seeped through the bricks, and she swayed dizzily, oblivious to his presence, before collapsing backwards into his arms.
Still conscious, she shrieked, and righted herself immediately. She was trying; oh god, she was trying…but he had seemingly made himself omnipresent, and she had to admit that part of her was grateful. Part of Satine had hoped that he would follow, and wanted to believe him, to give him a chance. But the taunting lights of the Moulin Rouge pulled her back to reality as the windmill turned, ever constant, and made its round of the sky. Just as it had every minute of every day since she'd wandered in; lost, naive, and devoid of any sense of hope. There, she had been given worth, and the thrill of being in the spotlight. They loved her.
They loved her, and love was nothing so grand as this poet made it out to be.
That was the second time in one night. Third, if you counted her fall from the trapeze. This woman could just thank her lucky stars that someone had been there to catch her each time. Someone who cared.
Christian took a step backwards under her uneasy frown, and looked down at his hands. Such simple, gentle hands he clasped in front of him. His fingers constantly itched to write, just as his heart always had ached for love. He had come so far that night, accomplished so much. He'd been winning the race…when the soil dropped from beneath him. "Why did you leave?" he finally asked, softly.
"Why did you follow?" Satine's voice was taut, and her tone accusative.
Then something in Christian changed. As she watched, his eyes grew deeper, gazing through her, and Satine nearly turned her head to see what he was looking at.
Christian was silent for a moment, thinking, staring, then opened his mouth and began to sing quietly.
"They've doubted me
Through all these years,
I've borne my grief,
I've shed my tears…
And finally, now, I see
That all these things were meant to be…."
Satine had silenced the moment he had started singing, but now she laughed a little, and, shaking her head, turned to walk away, responding in kind.
"You're not answering my question
And it's time you learned your lesson;
This 'love' you boast
Will never see you through.
Why do you care?
I'm just a whore to you…."
Though her back was turned and the distance between them growing, Satine's last, bitter words sliced into Christian, and he followed her once again, but this time remained just tauntingly far enough behind that she had to slow her pace to keep his smooth, quiet voice in earshot.
"'Cause, truth be told,
They didn't think
That you could fly;
They said I'd sink
But together, love, together
Forever, love, forever
We'll grow our wings
And together, we'll fly away."
Satine stopped in her tracks, turning her ear to him. A lump rose in her throat. Fly away. Together, fly away. Did he know how much it hurt? He was tearing her in two, and still he continued….
"'Cause finally
I see in you
That all I've hoped—
It will come true
When someday as I'm hopin'
Your eyes will truly open…."
"Cause, truth be told
They didn't think
That you could fly;
They said I'd sink.
But together, love, together
Forever, love, forever
We'll grow our wings
And together, we'll fly away."
Satine finally turned to face him, his eyes dancing in the starlight. She smiled a little under his warm gaze, and dropped her eyes. Words flowed from his mouth as if they'd been rehearsed a thousand times over, but from his heart more eloquently and emotionally and spontaneously than even his speech.
"We've come so farIn one short night
That I can sense
A distant light
To illuminate
Your endless night
Just place your trust in me
And you'll begin to see…."
"'Cause, truth be told,
They didn't think
That you could fly;
They said I'd sink
But together, love, together
Forever, love, forever
We'll grow our wings
And together, we'll fly away."
Satine's struggle was outwardly visible now, as she indecisively danced between stepping towards him or walking away, smiling and giggling, or shaking her head and sneering, before she finally put it all into words.
"I don't know why you're askin'To see under what I'm maskin'
It's nothing anybody wants to see…
Behind it I'm just ordinary me.
Please tell, why do you
Want for this to be?"
He responded with an encouraging smile.
"'Cause I can't live without you
There's just something about you
You are my hope
And you could be my joy…
So I'm beggin', love, I'm pleadin'
You see these things that I believe in…
Give me a chance
To loosen up
Those binds around your heart…."
Binds around her heart…speaking of such, Satine finally felt miraculously free, if only momentarily. Outside the direct shadow of the Moulin, she took Christian's hands, though timidly, and together they sang.
"'Cause, truth be told,
They didn't think
That we could fly;
They said we'd sink
But together, love, together
Forever, love, forever
We'll grow our wings
And together, we'll fly away."
All was still. Christian beamed proudly at Satine, who smiled shyly through her lashes.
Then she frowned. What had gotten in to her? Perhaps she'd had a bit too much wine before her serenade of the city, atop the Elephant. A fine idea, flying away. Pity it was impossible. Pity this Christian wasn't the most powerful duke in France, pity one needed money to live. Yet, there he stood—clever, handsome, overall more appealing than any offer she'd ever been given…but penniless as herself the day she'd stumbled in with only the rags on her back. And there it was—the Rouge arms of the windmill rising over Montemarte, casting a shadow that now swept over her, finally consuming her.
As if she could leave it.
She snatched her hands back, and stalked quickly away.
"Satine, wait!" said Christian.
"You don't understand," she hissed over her shoulder, "You'll never understand—how could you?"
He stared after her in disbelief. No use running after her. Christian didn't want her caught; he wanted her to come willingly, or not at all.
Perhaps love wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
~*~
Christian slumped back in his chair. His typewriter sat before him, blank page staring back at him idly. His knuckles felt stiff; moreover, his brain seemed oddly slick, as though frozen over with ice—any fleeting idea that materialized inside slipped out before he could grasp on to it.
Christian heaved a frustrated sigh, rubbing sleep from his exhausted eyes. How could he be expected to write this play—a love story, no less—after the events of that night? While words had poured from his mouth effortlessly less than half an hour ago, merely looking at the keys of his typewriter was now more than enough to cross his eyes.
Words were sliding incessantly in and out of his mind and causing him such torment that he almost missed the sound of a light knocking from his door.
Satine was just deciding her idea a poor one and turning to leave when she heard from the room the grinding sound of a chair being pushed back abruptly, and the slap of bare feet across the wooden floor.
The door opened, and Satine could not help but smirk a bit at the look of astonishment on Christian's face.
"Satine…." He stared at her for a moment, than jumped. "Won't you come in?"
She wiped the smile from her face and coldly produced his jacket, wrinkled from its previously crumpled state on her floor. "You've forgotten this." She nodded curtly, "I'll be leaving now, thank you."
He might have known. Only further discouraged, he shrugged disappointedly and said to her retreating back, "See you tomorrow, then."
She would see him tomorrow. She would see him every day for the next…how long? Month? Six months? Year? And if this play was a success—as it seemed sure to be, judging by his apparently endless writing talents—would he be a part of her life until she grew too old to stagger across the stage and croak out her lines? This night did not bode well, she figured with a sigh, for their professional relationship, either.
But he'd give up eventually. He'd realize the futility of his pleading and empty promises, and leave her to her own mind.
As long as she didn't give in first.
And that was a real possibility. The thought had not disappeared entirely from her mind, despite her efforts. At that thought, she nearly turned back to apologize.
"Oh…" Satine laughed at herself. She needed to come back to reality. A silly dreamer, that's all he was. And that was exactly what she was afraid of becoming.
Author's note: Yeah, I decided to split it. I grow antsy having something I like sitting around in a notebook for too long while I write. Hope it's not too short for your tastes. More shall follow.
Disclaimer: The names of the characters, the setting, the entire Moulin Rouge story belongs to a brilliant genius named Baz Luhrmann, (and a bunch of other people, companies, etc. I'm sure…).
However, in case you didn't catch this…I wrote the song. I know, it sort of…goes against part of what makes the movie itself so unique, but…I don't often hear songs, so I had absolutely no idea what to do if not write one myself. Which seemed to work, did it not?
Reviews are nice. :o)