Chapter 2

The broken end of the bottle clattered to the floor as his grip loosened. It would be so easy. He could just end it all now and be done with it, instead of forcing himself to try to carry on with this retched existence. But every time the thought crossed his mind, every time he decided that he would do it, his courage left him. No, he wasn't brave enough for the direct route. It wasn't the pain - he knew pain, it had been his constant companion these last two years. He was just too afraid of what lay before him if he did go through with it. His father would say he would go straight to hell, but what was this if it wasn't a slow, fiery torment that seemed to have lasted for an eternity?

Perhaps he and Satine would be reunited in a better world. Perhaps she was just waiting for him now, pleading for him to hurry. And perhaps there was nothing, and if he did do it, all trace of the love they had once shared would be lost from any and all planes of existence. He wasn't ready for that. In truth, he wasn't ready to stop suffering.

So instead he chose absinthe. The slow, gradual rot of his insides through the abuse of certain alcoholic delights. Speaking of which, he seemed to be short of them. A trip to the cheapest of liquor stores appeared to be in order.

He rose unsteadily off of the floor and shrugged on his coat over his vest without bothering with a shirt. What did he care what others thought of him? His departure was interrupted however by the arrival of Toulouse. He might have known - it was high time for another one of his little visits.

When he opened the door to find the little man about to knock, he simply sighed and retreated to his bed to sit and wait out the visit. He had long since given up pleading with or shouting at Toulouse to leave him alone. The man was annoyingly obstinate. Still, if by trying to badger him into existence, Toulouse felt as if he was doing something for his friend, let him do it. Maybe he wouldn't feel so badly then when Christian's tenuous thread on the world finally snapped completely.

"A good evening, my fwiend," Toulouse announced brightly as always. He looked up and down his appearance with distain, "Dwessed for company I see."

Christian kept his gaze rooted on the hands he had clasped over his knees, "Did you come all the way down here to compliment me on my wardrobe?"

"Certainly not," Toulouse replied, picking his way through the filthy apartment and perching on the chair, "I came to tell you what an exciting day I had."

"Really?" Christian asked, clearly not interested, "How nice for you."

Toulouse was either oblivious to Christian's attitude, or choosing to simply ignore it. Christian believed it to be the latter.

"Yes, we helped Zidler pick out his new girl for the club. Well, I say 'girl', but it turned out to be 'girls'. Twuely magnificent specimens of the female persuasion, I can tell you."

"How wonderful," Christian said, rising to leave. He didn't want to talk about the Moulin Rouge. He didn't want to think about the girls who were there to replace Satine. He didn't feel well and he wanted a drink.

"Wait a moment!" Toulouse insisted, following him out of the door as fast as he could, "I haven't told you the most exciting part yet!"

Christian sighed and turned back, wondering why Toulouse continued to bother.

"The show," Toulouse explained, "The new show. The one more spectacular than the Spectacular Spectacular. We are going to write it!"

Christian looked at him steadily for a moment. 'We?' Surely he didn't mean.....

He shook his head and walked away.

"Cwistian!" Toulouse called out, making the young man pause again. He walked up to him and rounded him to look up into his face. A face which had once held enthusiasm and passion and love, but had been too long reduced to shadows.

"If you want, you could write with us."

Part of Christian was genuinely touched by the offer. In some ways it would be so easy to begin again. To pick up where he left off. But Satine and all she had meant to him was fading too fast as it was and he wanted to do nothing which would help the process. He so desperately wanted to remember.

He wiped his hand over his sweaty face and held it out to Toulouse, "Could you lend me some money?"

Toulouse's usually jovial face turned to concern. Christian certainly was looking worse these last few days. His pallor was ashen. His eyes had sunken back into their sockets. His build and frame seem to have deteriorated more every time he saw him. His face was covered in perspiration, and the hand he held out trembled.

"Perhaps you should stay at home tonight, hmm?" he suggested gently.

"Toulouse," Christian whispered, "Please...." Yes, he wanted to remember. But sometimes he also needed to forget. The girl today. The singer. She had reminded him of so much. Her song was sweet like that of the love birds that Satine had once owned, and which Christian had taken charge of until they had also died a few months ago.

He needed to escape from himself. Just for a short while.

Toulouse heard the pleading in his friend's voice and sighed, digging into his pocket.

"This is the last time," he promised, handing over a few coins, "This dwinking will be the end of you, I've seen it happen to others."

Christian laughed, but somehow he managed to make the sound without pleasure or humour, "Yes, I will most certainly drink to that."