Chapter 8
I thought I'd shown
With the success of the show, Satine and Christian had been able to move into a modest-looking flat with a reasonably low rent within two weeks, though barely. Granted, Satine had all but taken up partial residence in the local hospital, for all an anxious Christian brought her there on a paranoid whim, if nothing more.
At the moment, they were sitting for dinner around a small wooden table meant for two. Christian's perhaps overly romantic side had prompted him to furnish rose-colored cloths for under the dishes, and two candles, which had seemingly become permanent decorations – each time Satine had moved them, because they collected dust, or because she was in a foul mood and only frustrated by such silly fancies, they found their way back.
New to the scene this evening, however, was the silence that had settled over the two of them. A typical dinner had become more and more filled with polite compliments on the food, ("Mm, darling, this is delicious. I didn't know you could cook, Satine!"); on the progress of the show, ("I think the show's doing quite well, don't you?" "Splendidly, yes."); or on the furnishing of their flat, ('I think we could do with some curtains in here – white lace, perhaps?" "Whatever you wish, love"). But tonight, Christian seemed to be focusing particularly hard on his food.
Satine watched Christian out of the corner of her eye, expecting him to explain his silence any minute, until finally she grew impatient, and said, "Christian, what is it?"
He set down his utensils and glanced up at her, a troubled look on his face. "Something's wrong. I know something's wrong, Satine, I feel it; I've felt it all along – ever since…well, ever since we left the Moulin. Won't you ever tell me what?"
She stood slowly, arranged her napkin by her plate, and wandered over to the settee, not particularly eager to have the heart-to-heart discussion he seemed to be suggesting.
Now far more nervous than he'd been even a matter of seconds ago, Christian remained seated and watched Satine uncertainly, hoping she'd speak.
She did, as offhandedly as possible.
"It's nothing."
…Certainly not what he had expected to hear. One of the last things he had hoped to hear, also. One could not fix 'nothing'. Then again…he supposed he should have anticipated a response of the sort. Satine definitely was not one to open up and wear her heart on her sleeve, he knew.
Perhaps sewn into her sleeve, between layers of silk and satin.
"It isn't nothing, darling," he said, standing, and moving towards her. She sat on the couch. He sat next to her.
Satine turned her head to hide the tears forming in her eyes – they were, of course, entirely unbidden, and she desperately wished they would…stop. Nobody cried over nothing – Christian would know that.
Christian took her hand – the one that wasn't covering her face – from her knee. "Satine…" he prodded gently.
She hesitated, then admitted, her voice wavering, "It's not…it's not nothing."
"I know," he said softly.
Damn him, how did he know? How could he tell everything?
A voice inside Satine's head laughed. Quite the mystery, isn't it? The tears, perhaps…. Satine wiped one away, quickly.… Or maybe your silence…or, even just that you've been downright cold since day one. Take your pick, Satine; you've certainly lost your touch.
"It's that…" she rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling in a furious effort to keep them from overflowing. Upon accomplishing this, she turned towards him, and met his gaze evenly. "I'm used to being the star," she said truthfully. "I need the people, the attention – I need it. That's…that's what I live for."
Christian stared at her.
Satine rose, walking over to the window. "Oh, I couldn't possibly expect you to understand."
"You're…you're my star, love," he insisted helplessly. "Can't that be enough?"
She turned to look at him with a sad half-smile. "No, it can't."
Christian couldn't believe his ears. "There are other things…. Shows, plays, all around Paris! And I'm writing another – you can be the star of all of them!"
Satine looked back out the window, feeling those detestable tears forming again. "I can't, either. It won't work, Christian. I'm sick."
Neither spoke for a minute.
"How sick, darling?" he asked slowly, now alarmed.
"I'm…I'm d-…I'm…." Satine bit her quivering lip, her mind racing to reach a quick decision. "I'm d-dreadfully sick."
"Oh…" Christian murmured, standing, and coming over to wrap his arms around her. "You'll be okay. All we need is love, and you have all of mine."
She moved out of his embrace and looked at him with a pained expression. Slowly, she said, "Do I?"
The blow might as well have been physical; it was moments before Christian remembered to breathe.
"Of…of course…" he stuttered hoarsely.
Outside the window, a majestic sunset was beginning to streak the sky. But rain could have been flooding it nearly to the sill, and neither of them would have noticed. Regardless, Christian stared through the glass, his thoughts collecting.
"I love you," he sang softly…
"Can't you see I do?
Was I so wrong
To think you knew?
I've spoken it;
I've spoken true:
I love you, darling…" he stared pointedly into her eyes here, knowing his expression would speak nearly as loudly as – if not louder than – his voice.
"I love you."
There was something about Christian's singing that never failed to stop Satine's thoughts in their tracks, turn them around, and lead them straight back where he wanted them. Tonight was no different, save for that before she knew it, Satine was back in Christian's arms, and allowing herself to be held as he kissed her hair.
"I love you," he sang again. She smiled.
"Don't you know I do?
There's nothing hollow
To see through.
I thought I'd shown…
But I'll prove anew
That I love you, darling…
I love you."
Christian grinned at her, and she shyly grinned back. Soon, they were dancing around the room to the magical tune Christian had begun, and the air felt considerably lighter than either of them could remember it being for weeks.
"I love you!" he proclaimed, his voice ringing off the walls.
"Yes, I know you do.
You love me," she laughed.
"'Til the sky's not blue!" Christian vowed merrily. Satine, however, ran to the window, and pointed to the clouds, set off by the sun on the horizon.
"It's pink, my dear."
"Well then, that too!" They both giggled breathlessly, and Christian pulled Satine to him once again.
"You love me, Christian," she sang against his shoulder.
"That I do!"
She looked up at him, and he kissed her. A wild cheer erupted, entirely unrelated to this scene, in a nearby flat, and the two of them simply smiled, each with relief, but for different reasons, for a minute or two.
Then, to Satine's slight surprise, Christian spoke softly.
"But, darling?"
"Yes?"
"What must I do…before you truly love me, too?"
Caught off-guard, Satine let the question go unanswered, instead kissing Christian again, urging him distinctly in the direction of their bedroom.
Unless she had indeed lost her touch entirely, she was certain she could find a way to make him forget his little question quickly enough.
~*~
Satine feigned sleep while Christian affectionately doted over her, pulling a sheet around her, smoothing her hair. At long last, when his familiar, steady breathing was all that could be heard, she slipped out of bed and reached for his pocket watch, glowing in the moonlight. It was well after midnight.
After a moment's consideration, she replaced the watch on his nightstand and pulled on her clothes. Her packed suitcase was ready and waiting where she'd set it in her wardrobe, and she carried it to the door of their room.
Glancing back at Christian, who slept peacefully, with his arm outstretched towards where she'd lain, Satine smiled regretfully. She set down her trunk and moved to bend over him.
Satine kissed his temple gently. Christian shifted in his sleep. "I love you," he murmured again.
She sighed, and whispered, "I know."
And without a sound, she was gone.
(Bwahaha.)
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…).
Author's note:
I love you
Don't you know I do?
You lovely people
Who review
Just giving a quick
Thanks to you
You're wonderful, guys;
All of you!!
Hope that chapter wasn't dreadfully redundant. And melodramatic. :/ And…I couldn't help but add the bwahaha at the end. It was the last word of each of my outlines for this chapter, too. Bwahaha. *Goofy grin*
See, I would dedicate this chapter to Bethany, only it's not a terribly pleasant chapter. So I'm just going to say instead, that I couldn't have done it without her; she suggested that the sky be pink, and that just brought the whole chapter into focus for me. :D Not only that, but she beta-read it for me. Twice. Love you, darling.
And…yeah. It took ages 'cause I had writers' block. How unfortunate. And 'cause my muse ran out of ribbon. And 'cause my sister got married Saturday, so we've all been in a lovey-dovey mood – kinda contradictory of the chapter. The world is collaborating against me….
Um…I'd better shut up before my note is longer than the chapter.