The Goodbye Man (Red Market #1)

by A. Giannoccaro

  We are still working and things are good; except for the empty beds, things are perfect. Too perfect, and Caesar’s continued absence makes me believe that we might have to abandon ship and go to plan B. As I print off today’s lists, Lettie sits still on the floor next to my desk. I only ever told her to sit there once, now every time we come in here she crosses her legs and sits right next to me. I unconsciously run my fingers through her hair as I work. As the two of us slowly learn to exist together, I am learning exactly how to get what I need from her. Because I do need her, I need the feeling I get from her. Today’s harvests aren’t scheduled until late afternoon to allow for all the receiving patients to arrive and be prepared.

  “Come, Lettie.” I stand up to leave the office. I am restless today. My uncle’s absence has unsettled my very orderly routine and it is eating at me. She grabs my hand and follows, she has been getting more brazen about touching me, something I may never be used to. It’s not that I don’t like it, I just don’t know how to feel about it. When she touches me, I am reminded that she isn’t a dead doll to play with. She is alive and she feels just the way I do. It’s not that I don’t want a lover, I do; I just want a lover that doesn’t need to be loved. When you love something, it will always be taken away from you.

  When we walk through the doors into the waiting space, the empty beds poke fun at me; I cannot fill them. I might have to resort to kidnapping at this point. I am bored today. I want to have some fun, maybe let Lettie play with the dolls. I walk slowly past each still body, touching some of them as I go past just to remind me that even though they breathe, they’re already dead. White sheets, pale skin and the beeping of machines is all I can focus on in here, my sweet lovers, my dead lovers. Mine.

  When my hand slides over the feet of a teenage boy with a very rare blood type I get an idea, not a good idea, but one that I might enjoy. It is time to show Lettie just how much they love me. The thought makes me smile and I see her eyes smiling at me when she sees it. Lettie doesn’t smile, sometimes her eyes do.

  I pull the sheet off his body, it has started to lose muscle density and he has begun to look close to death. Everything inside him still works perfectly, everything. Men are a little different than woman in this state. They still respond to sexual stimulation. As his statue-like body lies there, I let my eyes rove over it. I look to the line of dark hair that leads to his flaccid dick, the strong hands that will never touch a woman again and his long legs that are lying dead straight. He is beautiful, there is something so haunting about death that makes it enchanting to me. Lettie stands next to the bed, like I always make her when she watches me love them. I look her in the eye as my hands slowly rub up against his chest, and when my mouth kisses his dry lips, her eyes spark with lust. I know she wishes I was kissing her, my tongue in her mouth, tasting the cherry lip balm and not the sterile nothingness. My fingers tangle in the hair on his chest as I kiss him harder. I want her to touch him, I want to share this with her today. Looking up and letting his mouth leave mine, I reach out for her hand and yank her closer to us. “Get undressed, Lettie,” I tell her softly as I begin to take my own clothes off. Lettie’s eyes are on my body and not his; they always are. She slides her pants off, there are never panties under them. She seems to disregard underwear of any kind. I help her slide her tank top over her head, now it’s my eyes that betray the lover next to me. I love the way her breasts are so perfectly imperfect, her scars make me want her more than I should. “Touch him, Lettie,” I say, shaking my head towards the body beside us. “Kiss him for me, my Lettie doll,” I whisper in her ear, our bodies so close I can feel how warm she is. She looks at me with uncertainty and fear in her eyes. “I want to love you both today.” I run my hands from her shoulders, down her naked back, far enough so I can push her down towards him. When her breath escapes and she gives up this futile fight, I am even more aroused. Lettie kisses him with passion and I watch her hands claw at his chest and bury in his hair. She tries to bring him to life with her mouth as my hands explore her body. I know if I dip between her legs she will be wet and aching for me, but today she doesn’t get me. Today, I get them both. I take her hand in mine and clasp it around his soft cock. She gasps a little and seeks out my eyes for assurance. “He can feel it, Lettie love. He will get hard for your hands.” I hiss into her neck, our hands working him together; it’s a feeling I want to hang on to. Her body and mine working together to find the bliss that we need. I use my free hand to pull her hair so her neck is exposed and her eyes cannot look away from mine. I kiss her and let her tongue dance with mine. Alive. I bite her lip so I can taste the blood that makes her that way, I lick it and savor it. “I want you to put him in your mouth for me.” Her eyes grow wide as his cock is now hard in our grip. “Make him feel good, like only a whore would know how.” The brown orbs staring at me begin to water from the sting of my words and the force with which I pull her hair. If she thinks she is worth more than what she has always been, she will leave me and I can’t let her go. I force her face toward the now erect cock of my lover, she resists me. I shove her harder and she gives up, her soft lips enveloping his cock and she moves with the push and pull of my hand. I fist myself behind her back, her soft ass against me and it feels so good, I am already wanting to just fuck her so I can come. I let go of her head and my hand slides down her naked curves, the bones I felt before are gone, replaced with a feminine softness that I can’t resist. I breathe her in, the smell of her cherry lips and the sweat on her skin drive me insane. My fingers find her wetness and she stops for a second, I pull them away and she continues to suck him harder. I don’t give her what she wants, the wetness flowing down her thighs betraying her desires. Instead, I take that sweetness and spread it between her cheeks. When my finger slips into her ass, she arches her back and lets him go, moaning loudly at my intrusion. “I want you get on top of him now, I need you to fuck him, Lettie… while I take you here,” I tell her as I force another finger inside her. “No, Mateo. I want you to fuck me,” she begs as I withdraw my touch completely. “Get on top of him, Lettie,” I bark. Her defiance makes me angry. I don’t want angry love now. I was enjoying this.

  She sniffs back a sob and climbs clumsily onto the bed, her eyes begging me to stop this, but my heart won’t let me. “Fuck him, Lettie. Look how hard you got him.” Gripping his cock in her hand, she closes her eyes and slides him inside her wet pussy. When she is flush against him, she starts to move slowly, her body dancing so well with death, like they were meant to be lovers all along. I climb onto the bed behind her, watching her grind against him, seeking some pleasure from his lifeless body. Gripping her hips from behind I change her rhythm, making it faster, the sight of his cock inside her delicious from where I sit. Bending my doll forward, she puts her hands out to support herself, the movements of her body against him at this angle giving her the sweet pleasure she was chasing. I lean over so my chest is against her back and I can feel her muscles tightening and rippling with the beginning of her orgasm. As I force myself into her tight little ass, she shrieks with her release and I feel every last shiver and twitch of her body as I begin to fuck her. She doesn’t stop moving, she makes love to the boy below us with sensual strokes. Her body squeezing against mine is making me take her harder. I can feel myself ripping into her, but I don’t care if I cause her pain. If she would just be dead, she wouldn’t feel it. If she would just be dead, I could love her, not them.

  When I finally finish inside her, the world comes back into focus and so does the sound of his flat-line on the monitor next to us. I look down to see Lettie’s hands around his throat. One of the doctors looks on from a small distance, obviously alerted by the sound that is deafening me. Lettie is crying but her hands stay clasped around his neck as her tears keep falling. I hear her whispers “Why can’t he stop loving you and love me? I hate you. I hate you all. I wish you would wake up so he would love me and not you.” She chants over and over. I let my dick slip out of her and slide off the end of the b
ed. My naked body is less exposed than my crushed heart. Why can’t I love her? Why do I need them? Because she is alive, Mateo. Kill her then you can love her. Look what she did, she killed your lover. Do you know what that body was worth? Anger starts to fester again as I see her strangling his corpse still. I dress myself and leave her there with the disgusted doctor looking at her naked sorrow. My shame follows me as I walk down the passage to the office, I hate her. I love her. Hugo is waiting for me and when I walk in, his eyes are empty. He couldn’t care less about what has just happened. My heartbreak or insanity is irrelevant to him. I want to cry. I want to punish her. I want to love her. I can’t. I can’t do anything because there is too much wrong with me. I cannot fix her because I am too broken. Why does she just do what I say, why won’t she fight me? Why does she love me? I sink into my chair and the huge man slams a small note on my desk. It takes three seconds for everything to change. It takes two words from him to make me forget what I just did.

  “Plan B?” his deep voice questions me.

  “Yes, Caesar will know where we are if he comes back. Start moving the doctors today and let’s dispose of the rest. My lovers will all die today. Lock Lettie in her room until we are ready to leave Hugo. I can’t look at her any longer.”

  Svetlana

  Once upon a time, the little gypsy princess had dreams within the hellacious concrete jungle. But, dreams would soon turn into nightmares and darkness would be the only way she lived. The tarnished, unlovable girl promised herself she wouldn’t remember the day she was broken, but like all bad things, it would sidle up as hopelessness snaked its way around her heart, killing her slowly.

  “Svetlana, get dressed. You need to go back to your room for a while until Mateo figures some business out,” Hugo barks at me.

  I try to tell myself that he isn’t being mean, that it is just the way he is. Tall. Muscular. Deadly and fucking intimidating. Silent tears continue to stain my face while I look at the lifeless boy beneath me, so peaceful and empty. I hate him. I wish I was there, escaping the confines of my past and the love that I will never be good enough for. Is Hugo taking me back to my room to beat me? Punish me like I used to be punished? Did I cross a line that will never grant me any sort of redemption with Mateo?

  Panic slowly rises through my body, starting at my toes and working its way up until it grips my stomach painfully. Being hungry and foodless for days was a better feeling than this. This is just worse. Knowing that you committed something that can never be taken back and not sure of the consequences, not to mention silence from Mateo. Can he not even face me? For a few moments, I contemplate ripping out the needle from the handsome dead boy’s arm and sticking it into the fat vein in my neck, letting myself bleed out a life that was meaningless to everyone that I met.

  Including a father I never knew. A father that I loved with forbidden passion. One that left me because I wasn’t good enough for him. I am not the kind of girl that can be loved. I was okay with that until I felt what it was. Everyone always talks about love, how it takes over your bones and makes you feel weightless and crazy. Little bits of happiness explode in your gut when you meet the eyes of your lover, but having it sucked away is far worse than anything else I have felt before. I am being broken all over again. I want to ram my body against the wall of bodies and explode into an oblivion. Scatter my pieces into insignificance and forget about me. Because Svetlana is a girl that was born and bred for use and abuse. Nothing more. Love is a façade. I may have loved, but no one has really loved me.

  My hot tears continue to stain my face as my naked breasts chill from the creepy stare of Hugo, “Clothes Svetlana. Then to your room.”

  I let myself sob, because I don’t care. Regardless of my actions before, certainly letting myself cry loudly won’t warrant anything further. I am destined for great punishment. Maybe I will be locked up and left to rot. I killed a precious fucking dolly of Mateo’s. I am not a precious one. I am broken and breaking all over again. Stop. Stop! I need this madness to stop! I was always able to deal with it before.

  Before what? Love! Love is an illusion. It isn’t real. I pull my clothes on as the sterile walls that surround me make my anxiety climb a million times higher. My heart is racing and I want to scream at it to stop! To give up! Hugo’s bug eyes are staring at me while I dress, clearly I am not moving fast enough for him. I should be embarrassed being naked in front of him, but being naked before a man is nothing compared to the things I have had to endure. It is my normal.

  Time is blurred and the only thing keeping me stuck in the reality is Hugo’s fat hand wrapped around my upper arm. The buzzing of the elevator is making my head hurt and the throbbing between my legs reminds me of the dead boy I fucked and my aching ass makes me yearn for the man who’s heart I will never have. Because mine is warm. It beats with insignificant, worthless life.

  Hugo fetches his key ring out of his pocket, my senses on overload as the jingle from the metal on metal makes my head throb more so than before. My eyes burn from crying as the pain in both palms is welcoming while I dig my nails into them to keep myself from pouncing on Hugo, though my latter thought wouldn’t be in my best interest. He unlocks the door and shoves me inside. I try to tell myself that he wasn’t doing it to mistreat me, but that is just that fucked up sense of faith that isn’t real. Of course he was. That is what he does and who I am. Why would he behave any differently and why would I expect anything else? Silly girl. Broken girls never get their jaded pieces put back together again.

  “Mateo says stay here.”

  The metal door slams in my face and the turning of the lock on the other side sends me into a hell that I don’t wish for. I was a bad girl again. Why couldn’t I just give Mateo what he wanted? What he needed? I am a selfish cunt! I want to hurt myself, but that is just a grisly reminder that I am still alive. Living is too much.

  I walk over to my tiny bed and pull back the covers, securing them up to my chin in false comfort as warmth envelops me. I let tears mark my face, though I am not sure they ever stopped. I stare up at the stained, water marked ceiling as the pounding from my aching head intensifies. Before I can understand where I am at, I am revisiting the day where Svetlana was broken, torn by the wolves, and made to understand that love is nothing but a dream.

  Well, the red stain started again this month. One of my mother’s old friends told me that means I need to watch out for being a whore now because I could get pregnant. Father makes me walk around with the red stuff on my pants. I am wet, smelly and uncomfortable. People look at me, but Father seems happy about that. He says that means I am a woman now.

  After panhandling for five hours off Melrose, I got eight dollars. Father and I just hiked over the subway station rails to catch a free, warm ride on the 6 train. As soon as the metal doors open and the gush of warm air dances over my wind-burnt cheeks, I let myself smile. It is my favorite part of wintertime, letting myself feel safe and warm.

  Father doesn’t talk to me much. He doesn’t like me, or love me for that matter. I don’t think anyone has loved me before. Maybe Mother did, but only pieces of her come back in my dreams. Little bitty pieces of a movie that I have always dreamt of watching, but I will never be able to see.

  I hold onto the silver, metal bar of the subway car as the flow of red liquid oozes from me. I cross my legs, trying to stop it from marking my dirty, grey sweatpants as I chew on the inside of my cheek nervously. I can feel people staring at me, but that is what they do. I am used to it. I think I would feel weird if they didn’t.

  “Sit down, Svetlana,” Pavel states, patting to the fiberglass seat next to him with an evil smirk on his dirty, scruffy face.

  I know if I don’t listen, he will beat me, but if I sit, I will mark the tan colored seat. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I thought I couldn’t get ashamed, well, seems I can. I am just a twelve-year-old girl who is trying to figure out the world. Suddenly the warmth that made me feel safe is gone as I let go of the metal pole, stepping
towards the icy eyes that hate me.

  I wish Pavel would love me. Open his arms and hug me like fathers do. Kiss my cheek and tell me that he will keep me safe. Instead, he slaps me when I don’t make enough begging the streets of Hunts Point. He kicks me when he is drunk and high and laughs at me now that I leak red blood.

  He puts his arm around my shoulder. I should feel safe. I should feel loved, but I feel like I am closer to the bad side. The place that you read about where the mothers who care about their daughters tell them to avoid. Instead, I am stuck in the middle of it all.

  “Svetlana, you a woman now.”

  I gulp hard, nodding my head. If I don’t show him some sort of acknowledgment, he will beat me in front of everyone in this train car. His rough thumb strokes my cheek and I want to cry, but I can’t. Girls like me don’t. That shows weakness. Weak little lambs will never survive the scattered wolves if you let yourself bleed tears.

  “You getting tits now. I think it time to be like your Mat’.”

  Love? Is this what love is? Am I being loved by my father? I am stuck, frozen in time as my tongue ties itself to the idea of fucked up love. His hand grabs my neck as he pulls me closer into him. People are watching, but no one cares to save me. Even if I decided to run, I would be sent to another side of hell just like this. Might as well live in the type that I am used to. Slaps and punches aren’t all that bad as long as you get the occasional soup kitchen and half eaten cold cut wrapped in paper. My belly is grumbling at the thought. Pavel’s breath is thick with alcohol and his Russian voice is slurred.