Vol.4 Ch.49 – Memory Dive II
Chapter 49: Memory Dive II
“You're on in ten, nine, eight...”
Abigail psyched herself up. It was her first real performance and the nerves had only started setting in minutes ago.
Of course, she'd performed before. You didn't attend a conservatory for four years without performing in front of a crowd. No, not just in front of her fellow students, either. She'd gone out to venues and performed. For a while she'd even tried busking to make a little pocket money but she hadn't much liked it. The authorities didn't like it when buskers were so loud they bothered passersby and she'd never been good at keeping the music inside her contained. It wanted out and it wanted to be bombastic and fabulous. But none of this had prepared her for this.
Right now she was about to perform at a bar, with backing from their house pianist. It was nothing, really. A couple dozen people would be listening to her. But this was her first proper gig. She didn't do this for credit or for 'the experience'. She was getting paid to perform. And the bar's owner wasn't even a friend or a relative. They had simply posted an ad, she had applied and they'd wanted her.
The pay was garbage, really, a hundred and fifty plus free refreshments for an entire evening of singing, but none of that mattered. She felt wanted, she felt appreciated. And most of all, she felt sexy, more desirable than she ever had. Her dress was wine red and showed off a tasteful amount of thigh and cleavage without being too overbearing.
Finally, when the countdown reached 2, she rushed onto the stage and immediately started joining in with the piano.
It wasn't her best performance. The tight dress and the stage fright kept her from truly cutting loose the way she'd been taught but it didn't matter. One moment people had been sitting around drinking and the next every eye was on her, everyone pausing what they were doing to stare and listen. No spotlight on her and yet she was the center of attention.
It was intoxicating.
**
“So she wasn't always this jaded, huh?” Elaine muttered as she came out of the memory. If the situation wasn't so dire it would have been so easy to get swept up in Abigail's excitement. There had been joy there, pure, unbridled joy the likes of which Elaine had never seen from the girl. Even when she performed in the cafeteria there had never been this much life to her performances.
“She used to be as radiant as the sun,” Apollo said. He still sounded resigned, like someone reminiscing over a dead friend. And it pissed Elaine off.
She knew there had to be something she could do. But in order to do that she needed to know more about Abigail. Who was this woman? When had she become so jaded?
Elaine reached out for another one of the memory bubbles and...
**
“Nightingale?” her agent said. “That's the stage name you want? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Abigail said. “Catchy, isn't it?”
“Catchy, sure, but they're so plain and you... aren't.”
She chuckled. “That's what makes it great, right? The name implies that I care more about my singing than my looks.”
“Or they might think you're just fishing for compliments.”
She scrunched up her face. “I doubt people will read into it that much.”
He sighed. “Alright, fine. All of your ideas so far worked out so I won't stand in the way of this one. Honestly, I don't even know why you keep me around.”
“One of these days I'm going to have an idea so disastrous I need you to slap some sense into me,” she said. “But today is not that day.”
“Alright then, Nightingale.”
**
“The name wasn't always about her wanting to fade into the shadows?” Elaine asked. That's the story Abigail had told her, that she'd picked a plain bird as her stage name because she didn't like the spotlight.
“No,” Apollo said. “She rationalized it later.”
“What happened?” Elaine asked.
Instead of answering he pointed at another memory bubble, or rather a pair of them. They were so close together Elaine wasn't sure she could view one without falling straight into the other. Which wasn't a problem in itself but where the other bubbles were blue, these two were red as blood.
Elaine took a deep breath and...
**
“You see, Nightingale,” the producer said as the hand he'd rested on her knee traveled farther up her thigh, “you've got some real momentum right now.”
The hand on her knee had already been unpleasant and invasive but this was going way too far. The guy was older than the father she'd never met and from the way he touched her she knew this wasn't anything new or special to him. This was how things were done in this business, obviously. She'd always thought this stuff was all exaggerated but now she knew better.
She kept her gaze fixed ahead lest she look into his eyes or, worse, look down to see the tent in his pants.
“But momentum doesn't last forever,” he continued, the hand gently squeezing her thigh. She could smell the guy's dinner on his breath, the steak and fries he'd had while watching her performance. “If you don't get the right push now you'll fade back into obscurity.”
She hated this so much. Was this how it had to be? Letting this creep feel her up just for a chance at fame and fortune?
“You're beautiful, Nightingale, absolutely stunning. If we promote you the right way and play up your appeal a little...”
“Is this all I am?” she asked meekly. She could barely make a rebuttal. She'd always told herself that she wouldn't just let something like this happen, that she'd do something about it. If anyone had asked her just hours earlier she'd told them she'd scratch the eyes out of anyone who would make her feel this way. But faced with the reality of it she was terrified. He was so much bigger than him, so much stronger. She'd always enjoyed the idea of a partner being strong enough to carry her around and manhandle her but not like this. What if she refused? Would her career survive that? Hell, would she survive that? They were all alone in here after all.
“Oh come now, Nightingale,” he said, sounding almost offended. “Do you think all those starlets made it big because they could sing well? Half of them can't carry a tune in a bucket. But they're gorgeous, they sing about the right things and they're promoted right. You're gorgeous and you can sing. With the right promotion you can become bigger than any of them.”
His hand trailed higher, his fat fingers wrapping around the meat of her thigh, coming dangerously close to...
“Last chance, Nightingale,” he said, reaching out his other hand to cup her cheek and run a thumb over her lip. “Ask me to make you a star.” And then his hand on her thigh reached its destination, pressing against her panties.
And finding the faintest wet spot.
He smiled widely.
She slapped him.
**
The memory shattered in an instant. But before Elaine could even react to what she'd seen she tumbled into the other memory.
**
“Let's see if you still find me gorgeous after this,” Abigail growled into the mirror. The box cutter in her hand trembled as she brought it up to her face.
This face. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Stunning. All those words had been used to describe her face. And right now she wanted to wash them all away. If it weren't for this face this would never have happened. If she could just make herself ugly nobody would see her this way ever again. She'd never have to deal with any of this again.
She didn't need a beautiful face to sing. All she needed was her voice. She could be a nightingale in truth. Better, even. Instead of being plain she could be ugly while still having her golden voice.
Now if only she could keep her hand from trembling.
She brought the box cutter up to her face, pressing the point into her cheek. The thing was sharp but it wasn't like a razor. It wouldn't be a simple cut. It would hurt. She didn't mind at all. She wanted to hurt. Wanted to feel anything but gross right now. She'd run away but still she felt those fingers on her cheek and on her thighs.
She felt the drop of blood from the puncture running down her cheek. Just one good hard yank and she'd never be the gorgeous Nightingale anymore. But her hand wouldn't stop trembling.
Her gaze caught on something. In the reflection of the mirror she saw the picture of her mom. She had her mom's face, didn't she?
She pulled the box cutter away as if it was on fire. How could she be so stupid? Of all the things her mother had given her, this face was the one she cherished the most. She couldn't ruin it. Not even in this state.
But the pain still needed somewhere to go.
She had hated that hand on her thigh. She had hated the feeling of those greasy fingers on her skin. And a part of her she absolutely hated thinking about had gotten wet because of it.
Be honest, you kind of liked it.
The words seemed to have come out of the mirror. She looked back up, half expecting to find her reflection sneering at her, but no. She wasn't quite that far gone yet.
She had hated every second of it and the fact that her body had reacted to that pig had been the ultimate insult. A betrayal of the deepest level, her own body not only refusing to move until way too late but actually...
She yanked up the fabric of her dress, exposing her thighs. Was it her imagination or could she really still see the spots where his fingers had squeezed her thigh?
She couldn't, wouldn't, ruin her face. But that pain still needed an outlet.
She extended the blade of the box cutter. And found that outlet.
**
“What do you mean you're canceling the contract?” her agent asked, horror on his face. “Do you know how much money you're losing out on?”
“Yes,” Abigail said. There was no emotion to her voice. She was certain that if she let it out it wouldn't stop coming until he had her sectioned.
“But why?!”
She didn't say anything.
“You told me to slap some sense into you if you ever came up with a disastrous idea, remember?”
“Slap me if it makes you feel better but I'm not budging on this,” she said.
He walked towards her. He could clearly tell something was wrong with her. She didn't want to have this conversation right now but in the end he cared about her. They'd been through a lot together, from her first fumbled contracts to this, to what should have been her breakthrough.
He reached out to grab her shoulders. Rationally she knew he was trying to comfort her but... Rational Abigail had gone on strike. And so when he reached his hands out she flinched away.
He paused. “What happened to you, Abi? What did that guy do to—“
She ran away.