Inamorata

Chapter Thirty-Two - Out, Damned Spot!

Chapter 32. Author's note: I know you're all mad at me for what happened last chapter, so here, keep being angry with this cruel author with this chapter! However, this story won't be ending quite as soon as I'd initially thought, as I've still got quite a bit more planned for it. I'll let you know when we're getting close to the end...

Nightingale did not cry for very long. She hated herself for the emotion too much to show it, though she sat there next to Clarence, covered in his blood, the blood that had been so hot moments before but now was sticky and cold. She did not continue to cry, but simply sat there, bitterness rising in her throat to she nearly gagged on it.

Nothing could ever go right for her. Nothing. She'd been beaten and raped her whole life and even when that stopped, things couldn't be happy. Not even then.

"Fuck you," she snapped at Clarence's body as it lay there, stark blue eyes wide and staring at nothing at all.

That's when David shook her roughly by the shoulder.

"Nightingale! Come on, let's go. Come here, Nightingale!" he growled, grabbing her by the arm.

"Let go of me," she growled right back.

He did not give up so easily. He picked her up by the arm, as if she weighed nothing at all. She slammed into his chest, sure she was staining his white shirt with Clarence's blood, and he wrapped his arms around her.

His mouth was close to her ear, whispering to her, more comforting than he'd ever been, telling her to calm, to be quiet, she was fine, she should be thankful for that.

Nightingale almost felt like surrendering to that embrace, too. Letting David hold her and tell her everything would be fine. It would be so cathartic, so wonderful to let someone comfort and care for her, when she'd been doing that for herself and for her sisters her whole life.

She almost felt like it. For when, their hips pressed together, their chests flat against one another, arms tightly twined, she felt something hard at his waist, she withdrew.

His gun. Feeling it, feeling that thing that could kill - for one like it had killed Clarence - she flinched away. She pushed him in disgust from her.

"I'm fine," she snarled at him, a shudder rippling through her body.

He looked quite fearsome with his expression stormy and furious and his bloodstained shirt, but Nightingale was not afraid of him.

"No, you're not," he told her, practically spitting the words at her.

She hissed wordlessly and turned away. "I want out of here," she said, her back to him, turning her head so that her words would carry.

"Come," he said, and his voice was soft, just as a soft as the arm that draped over her shoulders, the brush of fabric against her skin barely perceptible next to the heat of David's body. He was gentle. Kind. Like nothing she'd ever seen before from him. "I'll show you."

Nightingale let herself be led out of the bordello. Outside was utter pandemonium. All the Inamoratas but Rose and Magenta were standing in a frightened clump, ringed by four agents who were desperately trying to soothe them. Their voices, high-pitched and hysterical, made for a grating babble as they all jabbered away.

Clients, similarly, had either scattered or were clumped together, being dealt with by a very cool Caroline and an extremely gleeful Magenta.

"Hah! What d'you think of me now, you fuckers?" Nightingale heard Magenta shout. "You should hear me say it now - I hope you all rot in hell! Do you hear me? Rot in hell!"

Nightingale would have smiled, but she simply did not care enough to. Magenta was mad, possibly mad with happiness or anger, but Nightingale did not care.