Chapter 10. Author's note - Another chapter! Comments and votes are always appreciated and always make me feel loved.

As Nightingale corrected Rose's tripping pronunciation of one of Cyrano's monologues, she watched the girl's fingers quivering on the book cover.

Sighing, she knew the girl was afraid. Not just afraid, petrified in a way that defied words or description. So intense was the emotion that it seemed to roll off of her, infecting Nightingale like some poisonous, noxious gas.

It was so intense that, in a flash, Nightingale remembered her own first client. Her entire body spasmed in instinctual - if Inamoratas had instincts in their perfectly engineered bodies - terror and her fingernails dug into the rug, raking deep scratches in it like the claws of a cat.

Suddenly, and just for a moment, Nightingale was again five days old, curled up on her side in the bed she was sitting beside in the present. Her shoulders were aching with the effort of not sobbing at the pain centred between her legs. As much as she wanted to howl and cower and scream her sorrow and pain, she knew that the man who was now grunting as he rolled over would hit her again if she did.

And so she stayed quiet.

"Nightingale!" she heard Rose saying.

Her back arching suddenly in fright, she gave a soft shriek and jerked away from Rose. In that instant, she did not see the five-day-old, exquisitely-lovely, sister-Inamorata, but the man who had taken her roughly, stripped away what few feelings of security she'd had, and left her to bleed in that bed.

After a moment, she recognized Rose. And with her chest heaving dramatically, gulping large breaths of air, she put one hand on Rose's arm.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm..."

Nightingale could not explain away what had happened. There were no words for it, no words that could be strung into a weak excuse to pacify Rose.

And Rose took one look at what must have been the expression of a madwoman on Nightingale's face and burst into hot, panicked tears.

"No, Rose, shh," she said, hearing the girl's wailing rocket up a few octaves the moment one of Nightingale's fingers brushed the skin of her forearm. "You've got to be quiet! If you do that in front of a client, you'll make it worse in ways you don't understand!"

That did not seem to comfort the poor girl, whose howling increased in volume in response. Nightingale watched desperately as the girl descended into hysterics, her breast fluttering as she attempted to draw air into her hyperventilating lungs.

Nightingale knew the source of Rose's panic: it was fear of her. Rose had taken one look at what life in the bordello had done to Nightingale, and was terrified because she knew the exact same thing would happen to her.

But Nightingale could not pity the girl, or let her sob her heart out. Rose's screaming was loud enough the Bobby might hear it. And so, hardening her heart, Nightingale backhanded Rose across the face in a technique she had learned from Bobby and her first clients. That is, before she had learned to avoid their violence through passive, winsome lies. It wasn't a hard enough slap to give Rose a bruise, but it certainly could shock her out of hysteria.

Rose immediately stopped, clutching her face and looking at Nightingale with her lovely eyes.

"I'm sorry, Rosie. But I had to. Believe me, if I client - or Bobby - ever catches you doing that, you'll get far worse than I just did," she said.

"Why?" whispered Rose, eyes filling with tears. However, as if in fear of Nightingale's right hand, she wiped them away. "They rape us nightly but can't stand to see us cry? Why?"

Instead of sorrow, Nightingale felt a rising fury in her at Rose's simple, truthful words. In order to stop herself from screaming, she recited in her head calmly, from Macbeth.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shall be what thou art promised.

When she was calm, she looked at Rose. "It's because they have some small scrap of humanity, some instinct of compassion, that cannot bear to hear us cry. Perhaps it also exacerbates the guilt they have deep inside to hear the distress they cause us," she said softly. But her voice, instead of calm and controlled, was simply softly dangerous.

Rose's eyes filled with tears again and Nightingale shook her head.

"Now, we have to deal with that. You'll have to find a strategy that helps you deal with outbursts of emotion," instructed Nightingale, attempting to assume an official air in order to dispel her fury. "I usually recite from Macbeth when I'm angry or sad or afraid. Sparkle counts objects in a room, Lace sings a little ditty I taught her. Everyone has their own way of dealing with the emotion."

"Did you teach Glitter and Sparkle?" asked Rose, her curiosity overcoming her fear in a way so childish that Nightingale had to continue reciting Lady Macbeth's monologue in order to contain her sorrow.

"Yes," she said.

"Oh," said Rose. "Have you taught all the Inamoratas in here?"

"A good many of them. Lace, Sparkle, Silk and Peppermint all learned from me," she said.

"Peppermint? Silk?" asked Rose, looking confused.

"Two Inamoratas you've never met. There are a few you've never encountered. I'll introduce all of them to you tomorrow," said Nightingale.

Rose was quiet for a moment. "Then who taught you?" she asked.

Nightingale smiled bitterly. "No one. I taught myself. I had to learn all of this myself. Which means, if it helps, you'll have an easier time of it than I did. And you might even end up less fucked up than I am," she said, her bitter tone curdling the affectionate intent of the words.

Rose's jaw dropped. "No one taught you?"

"No. I was one of Bobby's first Inamoratas. He had four others when I was extracted. None of them ever taught me, because he didn't consider any of them particularly successful," she said.

Rose's jaw now looked like it was about to fall off its hinges. "Who?" she whispered.

"Magenta, and three others you don't know. Ruby, Mermaid-"

"Mermaid?" asked Rose in disgust. "I didn't know Bobby could sink that low."

Nightingale's lips quirked up in an acerbic little smile at the girl's tone. She was starting to sound more and more like Nightingale every day. "And Cocoa," she added. "Yes, Bobby names his Inamoratas ridiculous things, doesn't he?"

"He does," she said, frowning. "Nightingale, how many Inamoratas are there in this bordello?"

"Fifteen, not counting you," she said.

Rose's jaw dropped again. "What?" she whispered.

"You're getting distracted," warned Nightingale. Then, after a moment, and idea came to her. Smiling at Rose, she continued. "Does the thought of your fellow Inamoratas distract you from unhappiness?"

Rose nodded, looking astounded, as though realizing how quickly she'd pushed her fear aside. Nightingale's smile grew as Rose shook her head, eyes wide with wonder.

"It does," she said.

"Good," said Nightingale, nodding. "Then just to calm you down tonight - you'll have to find a better method for coping for the rest of the time - you could try reciting the names of all your sisters."

Rose's sorrow-dimmed eyes seemed to brighten at the idea. "That sounds lovely," she said.

Nightingale laughed. "Okay, then. Recite as many as you know and I'll teach you the rest," she said, patting Rose's head with an affectionate, motherly hand.

Rose took a deep breath and began. "Rose, Nightingale, Sparkle, Glitter, Magenta, Lace, Emerald," she said, and paused, a quizzical look on her face. Then, her brow furrowing with the deepest of concentration, she went on. "Silk, Peppermint, Ruby, Mermaid, and..."

Nightingale opened her mouth to speak but Rose shushed her quickly, her tone almost aggressive as she said, "No! Don't tell me! Let me get it!"

Nightingale smiled as Rose closed her eyes, her nose wrinkling as her face screwed up with utmost concentration.

"Cocoa!" she yelled eventually. When her eyes opened, she looked triumphant. "Now, who are the four others?"

Nightingale gave a sigh. "Fox, Aphrodite, Caramel, and Diamond. Think you can remember them?"

Rose closed her eyes again and repeated their names. "Got it," she said, and smiled. It made Nightingale sad to see the ardour of Rose's smile. It was a pure, joyful expression. Would she still be able to make that expression, Nightingale wondered, after tonight?

She shook off that feeling quickly. It would do no good for her to think like that. She had felt the agony of her first client once, and it would certainly do her no good to feel Rose's agony.

"Now you think you'll be able to do that tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Rose.

At that moment, the door opened. In a movement that was graceful due not only to Nightingale's natural elegance but also due to how practised it was, she tossed Cyrano under the bed and looked up to see Bobby strutting in.

She stood to greet him and Rose followed suit. Nightingale felt a little rush of pride in the girl. Rose evidently knew enough to follow Nightingale's lead. That was good. Rose was learning fast and imitating Nightingale, something that would help reduce her unhappiness in that shit hole.

"Nightingale," he purred, approaching her.

"Bobby," she purred back, accepting his wet, nauseating kiss as though it were the sweetest of kisses.

"Nightingale," he said again, and it turned into a little bit of a moan. His back arched and his hips bumped against hers.

Nightingale had to stop her lip from curling in disgust. "Yes, Bobby, baby?" she replied. She was ashamed of her own tone, as blatantly seductive as it was.

"You're brilliant. I'm brilliant," he said, smug satisfaction leaking into his voice.

Nightingale assumed this was a reaction to how satisfied Michael had been, but did not press the matter. Bobby was in a good mood, and for the sake of her sister Inamoratas, she would not risk doing away with that mood.

"I'm a genius. And you're my fucking masterpiece," he said.

Nightingale wondered if that was supposed to be some sort of disgusting, twisted compliment. So she smiled and thanked him as prettily as she could.

He moaned again. Once he was done, he looked at Nightingale, a lascivious, lecherous spark appearing in his cruel eyes. "Now I want to enjoy my masterpiece," he said, and pushed her back onto the bed.

With a soft squeal, Rose backed away, fear in her eyes.

"Go back to your room, Rose," said Nightingale, sitting up and beginning to undo Bobby's pants, her hands steady but anger bubbling away in her chest, ready to boil over at any second.

Rose moved to leave, but Bobby stopped her with a wave of his hand. "No," he said. "I want her to watch. I want her to learn from the master seductress herself."

Nightingale looked up at Rose. Her expression was terrified, eyes wide and mouth slack. So she gave her a comforting smile.

"Recite," she mouthed to Rose, and was pleased to see that, though Rose was trembling, her lips were moving as she mumbled the names of the Inamoratas. And as she fucked Bobby, she made sure to keep an eye on Rose.

The moment Bobby was done - which did not take very long - he slumped back on the bed. He was panting like a dog on a hot day, his tongue practically hanging out. As she looked at him, Nightingale had no idea why she felt more used and violated than usual. Perhaps it was because she'd only been used gently by Michael and not at all by David over the past few days that made Bobby's rough abuse of her seem even more brutal than its usual violence.

"See, Rose?" grunted Bobby. "That's the way to do it."

With her back to Bobby, Nightingale nodded at Rose, smiling.

"Of course, Bobby," she said. And though her attempt at a seductive purr was unpractised and not extremely convincing, it was still commendable for a first try.

Bobby laughed and got out of bed. Without another word, he departed.

"Nightingale," whispered Rose, sinking to the carpet. "Oh, Gale, are you-"

"Fine," snarled Nightingale. She was like some wounded animal, who simply wanted to retreat into a dark corner to nurse its injuries.

Rose's eyes widened and she looked like she was about to sob before Nightingale sprang at her. Taking Rose's wrists in her hands, she gave her gentle shake. "Recite," she told her.

After a moment of Rose's lips moving silently, she gave a sigh.

"Better?" asked Nightingale.

Rose nodded and took a deep breath. "Were you...reciting just now, to distract yourself?"

Nightingale smiled wickedly. "No. I was imagining I was Lady Macbeth, going into Duncan's chamber to smear the sleepy grooms with blood. Only the blood was Bobby's, and I was smearing every client who's ever fucked me," she said.

Rose's eyebrows shot up. "That's..." she said, but her voice trailed off.

"Violent? Vengeful? Ruthless?" she said, her smile growing more wicked. "Yes. It's satisfying to imagine, though I doubt I would ever hurt them."

"What? Why not?" cried Rose.

"Because I'm better than they are," declared Nightingale. "They can call me a whore, a sub-human, an emotionless animal, but the truth is that I'm better. You are, too. And I would never inflict upon them what they've done to me, as much as I might want to."

With a ghost of a smile, Rose nodded her head. "Yes. Yes you are," she said solemnly. "And I want to be just like that."

"Like me? Never. Now, let's get you dressed," said Nightingale, and pushed Rose out the room.