“Ocupado buscando a tu niño?” Her question stops me. How could she know? Hugo, the traitor.
“That isn’t your business, Madre.” I let my anger out by kicking the door open.
“Kill her, before I do.” She hangs up the phone, leaving me and the raging hard on her voice has left me with. Also the dread her threat fills me with. I am almost sure in that minute that my child is already dead, my mother is that much of a bitch. She would toy with me, give me false hope. I stumble down the stairs. My scarred skin is killing me from being still for long, the pain searing me every step I take. I need to find Mateo, he needs to come to his fucking senses. If have to beat them back into his thick fucking skull so be it.
“Mateo!” I yell as I enter the working level of the building. “You cunt, where are you hiding?” I hate when he doesn’t answer me, the little shit. I walk into his sanctuary and scan my eyes over the beds expecting to find him fucking one or sleeping with one. He isn’t in here. Before I can leave, the waste of breath whispers in my ear.
“I’m right here, don’t yell. No queremos despertar a los muertos.” I punch him before he can say more; it's a sucker punch right to his already bruised jaw. He bends over to protect his pretty boy face so I kick him in the stomach. It makes my leg hurt so bad but I don’t care. I need to release what has come alive inside me and he is the one who needs a lesson. When he is doubled over and coughing on the floor, I feel no closer to normal. The buzzer sounds for new arrivals downstairs, so I go to meet them since Mateo is currently indisposed. I need to fuck something to make this go away. My cock aches from being hard with no release and the prospect of a warm body to sink it into starts to silence my madness. They aren’t clean yet. I can smell them from here, reeking of shit and filth. I try to wait, but their sniveling, sniffing and crying has set my demons free. Control is no longer an option for me.
Svetlana
Shrouded with torture
Clouded with pain
Brought back to the day
Where she felt whole again
The hard metaL of the floor underneath me brings me out of my unconscious stupor. The loud rumbling of the Mexican rap station booms loudly through the speakers. I open my eyes, but it’s pointless as I am shrouded with a black hood. My naked body waves back and forth as the vehicle weaves through the busy streets. People shout and horns honk. Taxis zoom by. My senses haven’t lost their spirit, but I fear that my heart and will have diminished to nothing. I hate myself right now. It’s as if my body was designed for this kind of life. The chances of being brought back to the ones that I love are slim to none.
Today, I choose again for myself. I choose death.
I smile under the black hood, my warm breaths causing sweat to pool over every inch of my face. My skin is on fire and the air is humid. It’s ironic for me to appreciate such a thing as temperature, but if I were back home in Hunts Point nearing winter, I would be begging for a warm place to stay. At least I am not worried about impending frostbite.
My lax body continues to move back and forth as the van turns to and fro. I hear a conversation, fully in Spanish, and laughing around me. Their accent booms loudly in my ears, and again, I let myself grin remembering how Mateo and Caesar sounded. I try to think of all the wonderful things that they did for me, making me feel strength that I would have otherwise never embraced. Death won’t find me easily. I understand that. I will have to deny myself food and water, watching and feeling as the life slowly leaves me. I remember how I boycotted that when Caesar denied the love I had for him. It seems that some things never change, because he left me, and Mateo didn’t rescue me.
I am the dirty princess who will go down and be burned in the fire.
Literally.
I clear my throat, unknowingly grabbing the attention of the men that fill the van. Someone grabs my ankle, discomfort skulking up my leg and through my spine like a venomous liquid. I didn’t recognize how injured my body was until now. I ache everywhere. With this realization, I close my eyes and try to drift off to a place that I am sure doesn’t exist. One where there is warmth and goodness. Life, not murder. Fuck, I am not even part of those that are considered good. I have killed out of spite and jealousy. I am no better than the fiends that I despise. I can only wish for my own version of peace as I continue to go in and out of losing my mind.
Blinding light makes my eyes hurt as the black hood is released from my face. A thirty-something year-old Hispanic man, fully tattooed, leans down in my face. I study his features, wondering what kind of macabre situations he has been in as my eyes dance over the ink on his neck, face, and bald head. His eyes are black, same as his intentions. I do something that I have never done before when I have found myself in such situations. I grin. My smile upsets him as he curses to me in Spanish, then spits on my face. I remain stoic, looking into the eyes of the man that will soon steal more from my heart. I welcome it, as it will bring me closer to a death I have been praying for since I knew what life was. Maybe when I die, I will see my mother again. I will be able to push her blonde curls away from her face and her pretty, round head won’t be scattered with blood and brain bits. I certainly won’t be greeted with heaven, but I can only hope that my own version will be waiting for me.
The man’s tattooed hand leaves my neck, again sweet reminders that I don’t wish for flood my dysfunctional mind as irrationality drinks me up. I remember how I submitted to Mateo’s hands. They dominated my body, and I loved every moment. I miss him! No! I cannot let those memories sway my will to die. But, they are. I can feel my heart speeding up and delivering adrenaline, allowing the fight or flight response to kick in.
“Apurate carnal, ya casi llegamos agarra eas perra.”
Hurry up, bro, we are almost there. Take that bitch.
Fists meet my face over and over, the cracking and whipping are cathartic as they bring me to an end I have hoped for. My eyes betray me as I catch sight of his tattoos, making me recall how Mateo would take me roughly and then love me. No! I want to dig a hole and put myself inside. If I could suffocate and die in this moment, I would, but my stupid body is not allowing it!
Punch. Slap. Slap. Punch.
I hear him unzip his pants and push my legs apart. The van comes to a grinding halt and I can’t help but to let myself laugh because he will be left with blue balls.
“¡Cierra la boca Nando, ¡Ya llegamos ¡vuelvele a poner la capucha!”
Zip it up, Nando. We are here. Put the hood back on her!
My cackling has infuriated the man greatly. His hard knuckles meet my face again, hitting my eyes and cheeks until blood rushes into my mouth. Swelling soon sets in my eyes, making sight nearly impossible, even to the blackness beneath the hood.
“Stand, stupid whore!” one of the men yells, slapping my foot.
I decide to rebel, understanding that it will get me closer to an end that I want. My cognizance goes in and out, the cloudiness consumes me as I am dragged out of the vehicle. The metal floor scrapes my back, part of my skin getting caught on a roughened edge and splicing it open. I don’t bother crying out, because discomfort is all that I have come to understand. Again, it has been the only constant in my life.
The trickle of warm liquid down my back is the only thing that keeps me in the current as my eyes are swollen shut. I feel myself becoming further detached from reality. Death is so close, I can feel it. I want to hold it in my hands. I want it to wrap me up and I never want it to let me go! It needs to be final this time. No more going back. This is it! My body has to be in alignment with my heart and head. I have been conditioned for so long, it’s time to break that cycle and give up.
Give in to what I want.
I am in charge of my ending.
I feel strong arms beneath me. His heavy breaths tell me he is a large man. I hate that I am rationalizing my situation. I need to float away again, but the blackness that I wish for is teetering in and out. Beeping and shouting is all around me and people continue to yell at one ano
ther in Spanish, probably talking about how I won’t be worth anything on the streets because I smell and look like shit, plus I am too far gone. I want to laugh, but exhaustion has the best of me.
Good. Let go, you fucking bitch! Die! Die like your whore mother! Fucking die, bitch! Die! My angry self-conscious continues to berate me, but like usual, I hang on because it is what I have been conditioned to do.
A familiar voice haunts me like a melody that awakens my heart.
“Dejala alla y largate de aquí pedaso de mierda!”
Put her over there and fucking leave you piece of shit!
No. It can’t be. I have gone mad.
The heavy arms drop me to the ground and he spits on me.
“¡No dañes la mercancía, cabron! ¡Largense! ¡todos!”
Don’t damage the goods, you fuck! Leave! All of you!
My body wants him, but I know my brain is lying to myself. It can’t be right. I want to look and see if it’s him, but strength won’t find me. My hands make their way to the edge of the hood that is covering my face, but gentle hands stop me.
“No, puta. I don’t want to see your face right now.”
My heart feels like it is going to burst. Yes, this has to be too good to be true. Should I allow myself to revel in this last moment of insanity before I fall down the helix of death? Yes, even if he isn’t real, I will make my heart and mind think that he is.
Weight bends down to my hood, his lips pushing down to mine as the barrier of the rough material makes me crazy to understand this moment. Whispered cries escape my mouth. I try to reach up and touch him, but his hands stop me and they pin me above my head.
“When they beat you and rape you, what do you wish for?” he asks, his tone is like silk, making all the pain and unease leave me.
My swollen eyes wish to open, but they are too abused. I want to speak, but my tattered lips are mute. I don’t offer him words. Not at this second because I need to let this dream seem real for just a little longer. Maybe I have died. Fuck, this could be my heaven for all I know.
“I won’t be rough with you, puta. Just let me love you for a little while,” he says, so smooth. So perfect. So Caesar.
I open my legs for him as my hips cry out in protest. There isn’t a place on my body that hasn’t been touched by the devil, but I am willing to let that go for these fleeting moments. The zipper of his pants peaks my hearing as his breathing heats my already hot skin. I’m shaking as anticipation reaches higher and higher. I want to plead with him that I need this so fucking much, but my tongue is tied to the man that first stole my heart.
“Don’t worry, puta. I will be gentle.”
His hard cock prods my entrance and I cry out. My arms beg to hug him, but I lay there like I was trained to do. I want to respond to him like I normally would, but the strength that I previously lived on is no longer present. He rocks gently in and out, hitting the spot inside of me touched by only two men that took me like lovers do. A sweet moan falls from my abused mouth as I am taken to an edge in my mind, falling so miraculously as my heart bursts with joy. Finally, I feel something good before I decide to give up. His grip finds my cheek, again, the rough material of the hood blocking the full effect of the tactile sensation as he continues to hilt his hips inside of me. I haven’t experienced anything more perfect as he erases the bad with each thrust.
In this second, I am his. I need to know that this is real, even though I am certain my mind is maddened beyond measure. I want to tell him that I am ready for a goodbye. I am ready for death. It is my turn for the glorious farewell that I have always wanted as my thoughts distort into something that is too good to be true. My pussy hugs his hard cock as he pants, his strokes continue to be sweet and methodical, like he needs this too. I let go, allowing my orgasm to bathe me.
“A goodbye! Give me a goodbye!” I scream with all my might.
He huffs into me, pushing harder into my abused cunt. His hands make their way to the edge of the hood, peeling it free so that no boundary exists between us. His breath leaves him and I cry out, grabbing his shoulders, understanding that this moment is real.
Caesar.
“Caesar,” I whisper, gently stroking his face as I stare between the slits in my eyes. He looks different, his once handsome features marred and scarred. He bears the harsh reality of the demons from his past. I want to know what happened, but I fear my mind is still lying to me.
“Mi Amor?” he asks, in a half-question, half-statement.
“Love me. Please. Don’t… do- don’t leave me,” I plead.
With those words, his mouth is on mine and I’ve never felt more at home. Love is love, right?
Mateo
I found my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day:
Folks say she is terrible changed, dears,
For her paint is all washed away,
And her arm trodden off by the cows, dears,
And her hair not the least bit curled:
Yet for old sake's, sake she is still, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world.
I spit blood into the basin; bright red fading to pink against the white porcelain reminds me of my sweet doll’s lips and her white skin. I cough up the last of the blood I swallowed, spitting again. I want to see what has been delivered. I am bruised from his assault. I never fight back with fists, it's easy to fight the man whose mind is its own worst enemy. I just change my tone of voice and it's worse than any punch to the gut could deliver, but fuck me I feel his anger all over. The pain reminds me I am still alive. I groan at the pulsing throb coming from my ribs; fuck he landed some good ones this time. I presume he went upstairs to find some quiet. I hope that they have brought some decent girls in, but these guys are the ones that bring us real gutter trash. I can already smell the filth from the passageway as I go to stand by the glass doors. The sterile white space where we hose them off and prep them to die is like something from a concentration camp. I stop at the door and peer in. They have still got black hoods over their heads, and I can smell the stench from here. These guys have no regard for quality at all. I am seriously considering canceling my arrangement with them. I swallow a gag as I smell them again. Caesar is inside, I can see him trying to keep control, his muscles tense as he battles the sound of them crying. He won’t last long before he rapes, or beats one of them. Just the sound of a sniff is enough to make him go completely off the deep end. I can see his erection straining against his pants; they are getting to him. His eyes meet mine and he walks over to the door and locks it from the inside. Those dark orbs telling me I am not welcome in his presence today. I stand there, hypnotized by the demon coming to life. He cannot wait to promise them peace and an end to their suffering. I can still hear them, but I cannot go in and touch them; it's better because I prefer it when they can no longer move. This is too soon, they are dirty, and sad and far too full of life for them to please me. If they can move then I am no longer in love. I can fall in love easily if they just stay dead still.
I lean against the door frame right up against the glass and I watch him lose all control. It’s almost magnificent the way you can see his body win out over his weak mind. I smile as he chooses the dirtiest looking half naked body. He wants to save her, set her free from the hell she crawled out from. Pity he can’t save me. I realize it before he does, I see what he hasn’t seen in his madness. Blinded by rage and sex he has missed it. That isn’t just any little gutter whore, that body, those scars, they are unique to only one. I want to break the glass down to get to her, but my body freezes in horror, she’s alive. Worse, she is back here; chaos has fucking returned. I want her, but I don’t want to face that fact. I watch him fuck her broken filthy body. His cock meeting her body, my eyes won’t look away no matter how I will them to. I see her arch into him, her body shuddering with pleasure. Her hideous, damaged pussy accepts his every thrust, she quakes and shivers while her greedy body takes all of him. His violence and rage are forced
into her, as he comes to a halt and lets his orgasm shudder through him. I want to grab my dick and find release, the pressure building in every part of my body. When I see the soft, passionate kiss in front of me I know that she will only ever love him. She wouldn’t run from him, but she ran from me. The fuzz and mess inside my head clears and hear him tell the doctor.
“Process her, clean her and put her to sleep like the rest but in isolation and I want the key.” I know I need to run before he gets to me again.
“But Mateo has master keys to all the rooms, sir.” The shaky doctor mutters at him, foiling any plan I had of getting near to her. I want her and I want to kill her. I want the cold corpse of Lettie Doll in my arms.
“Then change the fucking lock!” he roars and I leave before he can even see I am still here. I run up the stairs ignoring the pain I am in. I go to find my sweet doll and the comfort and release only she can give me. I want to hold her against me and love her and thank her for not leaving me. I need her, I want to cling to her innocence and beauty. She is mine, Lettie is his. I need to accept that Lettie Doll was never mine, she loves another, she ran away from me and didn’t come back. She ran away to be a whore rather than be mine. The hurt of that rejection stings my soul. I slow down walking through the beds, all my pretty loves are waiting for me here. Caesar is going to lock Lettie away from me, I heard him; he is going to put her to sleep and say goodbye - I hope he says goodbye to her. A fire ignites in me and I am burning with hatred for them both. How dare they come back and ruin my order. I was in charge, I was getting shit done and I was doing it better. Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. The cathartic noise that guides me through the beds and lures me to my love. I stop before I find her, I don’t want to ruin her with this anger and I choose another to take my revenge on. She is too beautiful to hurt with an angry fuck. No, she is only for loving.
The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) Page 7
