A/N: First attempt at Moulin Rouge fiction. My first attempt at first person. Constructive criticism is welcome but no flames please.

Pitying Glances

The words "the end" echoed over and over in my mind. I had finally completed my story, but with it's completion I felt an emptiness greater than anything I had ever known. That year after Satine died, before I wrote our story, it almost felt as if she was still with me at times, and my depression would be lifted occasionally, but alas, the cold reality set in with full force. She was gone. Seeing her dead body in my arms, her coffin being lowered into the ground, her name on a small tombstone, and even visiting her grave never made me feel lonelier than see those two words upon my paper. The end.

Slowly, I stood up and ran a pale hand through my dark hair. What to do now? I had honored Satine's dying wish, and now had no reason to live. Why should I go on now? Toulouse and the others had remained my friends, but I rarely saw them. But, I couldn't blame them for that; I was the one who had pushed them away. A smile filled with irony crossed my features. They had deserved it.

Every time, every time I saw them, or anyone I knew for that matter, I received I look from them that even made my depressed soul fill with anger. For the longest time I never knew what it was, nor did I understand the look they gave me. What was it in their eyes that made me so angry? I did not know, that is, until recently.

I had invited Toulouse over to read the latest chapter of my story. His face had begun to fill with wonder and sorrow as he read over my work. It seemed as if he too were living the whole experience again. He longed for a love like the one that Satine and I shared but had never experienced it. That is why I think I always turned to him.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked, standing up and walking over to my liquor cabinet. It had been very full right after my love's death, but ever so recently the supply had begun to dwindle as I had begun to wean myself off the harmful substance.

"Yes, yes," he replied, still looking at the page he was reading as if in a trance.

I pulled out a bottle and two glasses placing them on the table. The glasses were soon filled with cheap liquor I had bought at, well, a cheap liquor store. Carrying the two glasses with care, I reached where Toulouse sat and handed his drink to him. He took it, but continued to read with rabid interest. In a few minutes he had finished.

"Christian, that, that is wonderful. I do not believe I have ever met such a talented writer in my time. Especially one that could write about such sensitive subjects…" He trailed off, his eyes beginning to fill with that same look I had seen him with so many time before. I looked into his eyes carefully, trying to decipher what exactly he was showing in those eyes. It suddenly hit me.

That was the look everyone had given me the night Satine had died. That was the same look some of the old can-can dancers gave me when I saw them on the street, all except for Nini of course. That was the same look Harold Zidler had given me when I had gone to him to help pay for Satine's funeral. That was the look that filled me with anger. I now knew why. The look they gave me was that of pity.

"Why do you look at me like that, Toulouse?" I asked, keeping my voice low. It came out in a monotone I didn't mean for.

"What look?" the confused dwarf asked me in return.

"That… that look of pity… Satine's been dead for a little over a year now. I don't need yours or anyone else's pity." I have enough pity for myself, I thought.

"I'm sorry, Christian; I didn't mean to."

I nodded emotionlessly. I was becoming too much like Satine in hiding my emotions. "If you are done, Toulouse, I would like to be alone."

Toulouse looked as if he were about to object, his mouth open slightly, but he thought better of it and closed his mouth. "Good bye, Christian."

I acknowledged his good bye with a slight tilt of my head. I saw him stand and walk away but heard him leave. He seemed hesitant.That was the last time I saw him, two months ago.

Even now, thinking of all the pitying glances I received over last year and a half makes me want to scream out in anger. I can pity myself, but no others can. It is something only I can do; only I can share with my beloved Satine. In some ways, when I begin to feel pity for myself, I think of our love, and it is as if she is with me again. But, when some dares to give me a pitying glance, they take away that special thought of our love. I will never let anyone do that again.

Right now I am content. I have Satine to myself.

The End.