Losin' Touch with Reality
Disclaimer: I still own nothing from Moulin Rouge. It all belongs to the great man known as Baz. I'm not even worthy of singing 'Lady Marmalade' in the shower. But still, I keep writing these stories... I can't help it. It's like an obsessive-compulsive thing, ya know? Anyway, just read... (BTW, the idea for this partially came from Sugar Princess' Angel of the Snow... I just thought I'd say that so that you know. The ending is definitely not the same, though.)
* * *
It was over. Gone for good. Never coming back. To put it simply, their love was dead. Dead like the one he had loved. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her. When he lay silent in bed, he could hear her laughter echo through the room. On the streets of Monmatre he would catch a glimpse of deep red hair and hear a crystalline voice call out to him. But when he turned it would be gone.
Gone.
He had tried for many weeks to come to terms with the stark, cold reality of the fact. Satine was dead. There was no changing that. And yet... he could feel her. Some days, while he sat in his room, he could feel her presence right behind him. Her breath would tickle his ear as she whispered his name.
As long as he didn't turn, Satine would stay. Her delicate fingertips would trace along his neck. And if he closed his eyes, she would come round in front of him and sit on his lap. Her gentle hands would go over his features, tracing the curve of his lips before replacing her finger with her soft lips.
Once that touch was established, he was allowed to wrap his arms around his love and pull her close once again. Being able to hold her made the pain of not seeing her lessen somewhat. After all, her image was forever imprinted on his mind. He could see her whenever he closed his eyes. And now he could touch her.
He sat holding her in his cold, bland room. A breeze from the window stirred the sheets of paper that covered the walls. "You've written our story, Christian," Satine whispered.
"I promised you I would, love," he murmured against her lips. They kissed for several minutes and then she laughed. "What is it?"
"The Duke can't hurt us now." He smiled as well, blindly stroking her hair. He could almost see her lips curved up. "Open your eyes, Christian."
"No..."
"Open them, love. I'm here."
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and gathered the courage to peek out beneath his eyelashes. He gasped. Satine was before him, wearing a silken bathrobe. "Satine," he breathed, unable to believe that she was real.
"I told you I'd always be with you." She leaned in to meet his lips. His hands weaved through her hair, hair the color of a sunset.
From the door, Toulouse peeked inside. He had heard Christian talking again and came down to see if he was okay. Lately he had been catching his friend talking to thin air, to an invisible Satine, even.
He shook his head sadly as he watched the young writer fold his arms around a woman who wasn't there and kiss lips that weren't real.
He closed the door and turned away. He would let Christian keep his dreams. It was the only thing he had left now. Everything else had been cruelly ripped away. He wouldn't be the one to take Satine away a second time. It would kill the boy.
Before he turned the corner he heard another voice join Christian's. He hobbled back to the door and looked inside. Still, Christian was the only occupant of the room. It was the neighboring room, he told himself. They had always been noisy. Again, he shut the door but didn't move. The voice spoke again. "I love you, Christian, till the end of time." He nearly fell over in amazement and confused wonder. It was Satine.
Disclaimer: I still own nothing from Moulin Rouge. It all belongs to the great man known as Baz. I'm not even worthy of singing 'Lady Marmalade' in the shower. But still, I keep writing these stories... I can't help it. It's like an obsessive-compulsive thing, ya know? Anyway, just read... (BTW, the idea for this partially came from Sugar Princess' Angel of the Snow... I just thought I'd say that so that you know. The ending is definitely not the same, though.)
* * *
It was over. Gone for good. Never coming back. To put it simply, their love was dead. Dead like the one he had loved. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her. When he lay silent in bed, he could hear her laughter echo through the room. On the streets of Monmatre he would catch a glimpse of deep red hair and hear a crystalline voice call out to him. But when he turned it would be gone.
Gone.
He had tried for many weeks to come to terms with the stark, cold reality of the fact. Satine was dead. There was no changing that. And yet... he could feel her. Some days, while he sat in his room, he could feel her presence right behind him. Her breath would tickle his ear as she whispered his name.
As long as he didn't turn, Satine would stay. Her delicate fingertips would trace along his neck. And if he closed his eyes, she would come round in front of him and sit on his lap. Her gentle hands would go over his features, tracing the curve of his lips before replacing her finger with her soft lips.
Once that touch was established, he was allowed to wrap his arms around his love and pull her close once again. Being able to hold her made the pain of not seeing her lessen somewhat. After all, her image was forever imprinted on his mind. He could see her whenever he closed his eyes. And now he could touch her.
He sat holding her in his cold, bland room. A breeze from the window stirred the sheets of paper that covered the walls. "You've written our story, Christian," Satine whispered.
"I promised you I would, love," he murmured against her lips. They kissed for several minutes and then she laughed. "What is it?"
"The Duke can't hurt us now." He smiled as well, blindly stroking her hair. He could almost see her lips curved up. "Open your eyes, Christian."
"No..."
"Open them, love. I'm here."
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and gathered the courage to peek out beneath his eyelashes. He gasped. Satine was before him, wearing a silken bathrobe. "Satine," he breathed, unable to believe that she was real.
"I told you I'd always be with you." She leaned in to meet his lips. His hands weaved through her hair, hair the color of a sunset.
From the door, Toulouse peeked inside. He had heard Christian talking again and came down to see if he was okay. Lately he had been catching his friend talking to thin air, to an invisible Satine, even.
He shook his head sadly as he watched the young writer fold his arms around a woman who wasn't there and kiss lips that weren't real.
He closed the door and turned away. He would let Christian keep his dreams. It was the only thing he had left now. Everything else had been cruelly ripped away. He wouldn't be the one to take Satine away a second time. It would kill the boy.
Before he turned the corner he heard another voice join Christian's. He hobbled back to the door and looked inside. Still, Christian was the only occupant of the room. It was the neighboring room, he told himself. They had always been noisy. Again, he shut the door but didn't move. The voice spoke again. "I love you, Christian, till the end of time." He nearly fell over in amazement and confused wonder. It was Satine.