Another day after many weeks of rehearsing, Christian stood recollecting his papers. Everyone was preparing to go home. Christian looked over at Ava and the Count. The Count was talking to Ava. Ava tried to leave. The Count grabbed Ava tightly by the wrist and spoke angrily.
The Count reminded Christian so much of the Duke. He could see, deep within the Count, something dark, waiting to come out.
Ava walked over to Christian. The Count had been having violent outbursts lately. Ava did not know why, but she was frightened. The Count wanted to go out on a picnic, but Ava instisted on working on her lines with Christian. She couldn't be alone with the Count, not now.
"Christian, the Count and I are going on a picnic. Would you like to come?" Ava's eyes reflected fear, and she hoped Christian saw.
"Of course." He said.
They sat on top of the hills of Paris. The Count listened intently as Christian said their lines. Christian helped Ava escape from the Count, even if just for a few moments. Ava worried if something much more dark would come out of the Count.
Another rehearsal followed. Christian was reviewing the score with Satie. He looked over to find Ava. The Count held Ava's arm and was yelling at her. Mostly everyone had gone home, so the room was nearly empty.
"You are going to meet me tonight! You're always off it with this damned play!" The Count yelled.
Ava began to cry. "I'm sorry my dear Count." She said forced.
Christian had to interrupt.
"Miss Ava. Count Peters. Miss Ava, I was wondering if you could come over tonight and work on the final scene with me." Christian then realized this was the wrong thing to say, considering what the Count said. But he had to at least try to help Ava.
"I've arranged for supper in the Gothic Tower, Ava." The Count said, gritting his teeth.
The Count had purchased the Gothic Tower two weeks ago. That place was a death trap.
Ava looked back and forth between he and the Count. Christian knew what was coming.
"I'm sorry, Christian." She said softly.
Christian nodded and left. At least he had tried.
Ava sat unhappily in the Gothic Tower. The Count had been showering with jewels and kisses all night. It was odd how he could be violent one minute, and then affectionate. Ava despised him. She hated this. She wanted to escape any minute. Ava stood up. The servants began to come and clear their table.
Ava began to gather her things. After all, they were waiting until opening night to sleep together. Ava was glad about that.
"I best be off." She said.
"What is that? In your hand?" The Count asked.
Ava looked down. She held the papers to Christian's play. She hid them behind her back. The Count walked over and grabbed them out of her hand. He looked at Ava angrily, then threw the papers into the fire. Ava could not say anything, she feared what he might do next.
"You were going to him." He said through clenched teeth.
"No." Ava said pleadingly.
The Count grabbed her arms and threw her down onto the floor.
"You're always at it with that damned writer!" He screamed.
"You will no longer meet him! Every night, you will come to me!" He yelled. Ava tried to get up again, but he pushed her back down. The Count's anger died down, and he walked away. Ava stood up again, shaking. Her hands groped for the door handle, and she quickly ran out of the Gothic Tower.
There was a knock at Christian's door. He wondered who it was. He quickly got up and opened it. He found it was Ava. She was crying. She immediately ran into his arms.
"He's so- I can't believe" Ava tried to talk through sobs.
"Ava, calm down. It's all right." Christian got a chair for her, and she sat down. He looked around for something to warm her up. He found his old black coat in the corner. He quickly got it and put it over Ava's shoulders. He went into the kitchen and made some tea. Ava tried to recollect herself, and wiped the tears off her face. Christian brought the tea over and sat next to her.
"What happened, Miss Ava?" Christian asked. He looked down onto her arms. He took them and gently rubbed his hands over the bruises.
"Miss Ava, what happened?" Christian was extremely worried. He knew what might've been coming.
"It was the Count. It's been going on for quite a long time now. Every night. He just gets so angry, jealous almost." Ava spoke quietly and sadly. "I was holding your play, and he saw. He thought I was coming to you, but I really wasn't. I wasn't." Ava cried. Christian hugged her again. He wiped the tears off her face. The Count would pay for this someday, if Christian had anything to do with it. He couldn't believe Ava had to live like this.
"It's all right. You can stay here tonight." Christian offered. Ava smiled, and thanked him greatly.
Christian stood up and got some ice. He rubbed it on her brusies.
"I can't believe he hurts you like this." Christian said, almost to himself. Ava was hesitant to reply.
"I can't do much about it." Ava said quietly.
Christian looked into her eyes.
"It's not fair, Ava. You shouldn't have to do this."
"If I do anything wrong, it could mean the end of the show. You don't know what he's cabable of."
This reminded Christian so much of the Duke.
"I don't care about the show. I care about you more than the show, Ava. You should tell Harold." Christian said.
Ava smiled. "Thank you, Christian. But, Harold can't do anything. The Count is funding him for virtually everything involving the Moulin Rouge. Nothing can be done." Ava stood up.
"I should go rest. Thank you so much, Christian." Ava walked over to the bed, and laid down
Soon, Ava was sleeping soundly at his bed. Christian sat by his typewriter. He looked over at Ava. She reminded him so much of Satine. Ava had ocean eyes and pale skin. He stared as her chest rose and fell softly. It had been a long time since a woman was in his bed. The last, of course, being Satine. His beautiful Satine. Christian pulled up a chair and sat by Ava. He gently touched her hand. Ava had, in truth, been a wonderful friend.
Tears stung his eyes. If only he could save her. That way, it would feel as if he saved Satine from the Duke. That he had failed. Christian began to cry. Would he ever forgive himself? He should've seen it. He could've done something. If only he had read through what Satine had said.
The truth is, I am the Hindi courtesan and I choose the evil maharaja
He could've saved her. If only he was a bit braver, and did not fear the Duke's power. He could've- should have- saved her. But, either way, his poor Satine was still doomed. The consumption would've taken her. Why couldn't she had just lived? Why couldn't he still have had his Satine?