The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2)

by A. Giannoccaro

  I can hear Caesar yelling like a mad man down the passage as I fuck the boy they brought in with the last group, he is such a pretty boy. He must play sports with this athletic, muscle bound body. It will wilt away soon like this, I might as well enjoy it while I can. Their muscles atrophy fast and they become skinny and waste away. Hugo’s voice joins the screams and they echo even over the beeping in here. Doors slam and footsteps pound closer to me. I block it out and allow myself to come in his ass. He can't leave me, he can’t hurt me. This is what I need. He is mine now, my lover marked with my cum seeping out of his ass. They will all be mine.

  I slip off the bottom of the bed, pull on my pants and go around to turn him back over onto his back. I don’t bother covering him, sliding my T-shirt over my sweaty body as I walk towards the exit. I can hear the distinct sound of gurneys wheeling along the corridor. I don’t want to see her or him so I turn away and go upstairs to my new little haven. The place where I plan to collect lovers and keep them just for me. Rows and rows of perfectly aligned bodies just for me. I need them both to go - I can’t exist with them here. Caesar and Lettie, it was better without them. I walk to the back of the enormous room and open my small metal office cupboard. The doors squeak and the sound screams through the room. Inside I add his hair to an empty sample jar and place it with the other new ones, the ones Lettie didn’t destroy. She destroyed a part of me with those jars and I am sorry that I almost forgave her. She can’t be forgiven; she is chaos and I hate her for loving me.

  “Mateo.” Hugo calls me from the door at the far end of the room. Startling me, I slam the door shut again, locking it and standing up off my haunches.

  “What?” I glare, not making a move closer to him.

  “Se a vuelto loco. Nunca lo he visto así de mal.” He steps into the room, moving closer to me and I look around for an exit that could get me away. I am not ready for a confrontation, or the truth. I want to stay here in denial.

  He’s gone crazy. I’ve never seen it this bad.

  “I don’t care, Hugo. I am not his keeper.” I hold up my hand, signaling him to stop where he is. This is my space.

  “But he is yours Mateo. He put her to sleep.” He pleads, standing still now.

  “El la hubiera de ver matado. Long ago, Hugo.” I turn around and look out one of the only windows letting light in here. I can just see rooftops from here. Nothing else.

  He should have killed her long ago.

  “He didn’t kill her, but he is killing another. Mateo, you need to come downstairs.” His voice tells the story I don’t want to hear; my porcelain doll he has taken my lover from me. The bastard, can nothing just be mine? My feet cannot take me to her fast enough, wait my little baby doll I will save you from the mad man.

  But I cannot save her, she is gone and on her bed lies her bloody heart and I know he is down there throwing her in the fire. The red blood spattered all around the small space that was ours, makes my heart break with sadness. I didn’t even get to pull out her hair and make her forever mine. A large surgical knife is lying in the floor covered in her precious flesh. I hate him. I pull the bloodied sheets to my face savoring her smell one last time, sinking to the floor. I allow myself to cry for my love and the agony of her leaving slices through my heart like a blade. When I stop the sobs, I pull myself up and grab her little heart in my hand; it’s mine. A pit of sadness and hatred forms in my belly and it starts to consume me with darkness and thoughts I cannot control.

  He just put me back in my place, but I have no intention of staying there. If you take my dolls, I will take yours old man. I know your weakness as you know mine. The three isolation room doors taunt me with the prospect of fucking Lettie Doll’s dead body. Her corpse will make me so happy. I imagine suffocating her before I fuck her scarred dirty whore’s cunt and come all over her. My hands crack the cartilage in her pretty little neck as I cut her life short. I hate them both. I try the door to her room and it’s locked. I can see her lying there looking so innocent. She is not innocent, this is all her fault. My doll, my little angel is fucking dead because she came back. I could break the door down, but I am tired, and hurt. I want to mourn my poor little doll. I turn away and leave, her heart still in my hand. I go to the filthy little flat where we stayed when we arrived and lie down with the heart that he stole from me. I lie there for hours plotting my revenge.

  Caesar

  IN the month of February,

  When green leaves begin to spring,

  Little lambs do skip like fairies,

  Birds do couple, build, and sing.

  I am no stranger to murder. I didn’t get where I am in this world with peaceful negotiations and handshakes. No. I murdered, raped and scavenged, earning my name and reputation. I am not afraid of blood and I honest to God don’t care about being a murderer, it's how I make my living. Death is a means to an end and that end is staying away from my mother, getting the job done and staying sane while I do. There was a time I couldn’t control who I killed, now I have handle on it and I can separate the noise - sometimes.

  Today, the noise has manifested itself as reality, she is back. She is alive, filthy, hurt and smelling like a shitter and I still fucked her. I am drawn to her even when I don’t know it's her, she pulls me into her trap of whispers and words. I throw up in a bucket in the corner of the processing room and order them to put Svetlana to sleep and in isolation. I don’t know what to do about this. My mother may for once in her life be right, but I would never let her know that. My child needs to die, I need to save her from me. I should be her savior.

  This is all Mateo’s fault, he has thrown me off kilter. His whispering and prodding have started something even a fuck couldn’t put to rest. In fact, it has made the noise even louder; why did it have to be her? The boy needs to learn his place - again. That boy, I should say man, but inside his head he will always be a little boy. He needs to be set straight every now and again. Today I am going to set him right, this has got to stop, I thought Lettie could fix him. It turns out she has made him even worse, she ran away and he doesn’t like it when he is left behind. When Mateo doesn't like something he throws an internal tantrum and starts hoarding. This time it’s bodies to fuck. I walk with a purpose to the bed where I can see he has been obsessing. The chair next to it, his empty glass and cigarettes tell me this is his new toy. His something precious to hold onto. She is young and I want cry at the thought of him raping her little girl body. She is just a child, a sweet girl that has made him go crazy again, I need to get rid of her. These relationships he forms in his head are dangerous. He becomes clouded, unfocused and loses sight of reality - she isn’t the first and I doubt she will be the last. It’s time to say goodbye now little one. I leave her for a minute and open the surgical supply room on the other side of the theater. I grab a surgical saw and slip a blade into a scalpel handle, I plan to leave my nephew a little memento of his craziness. He needs a lesson.

  I disconnect her from the machines and turn them off, she is still alive and can breathe all by herself. She is magnificent, her clean unmarked skin is white and her small breasts would tempt any man to sin. I let the sharp blade sink into her soft neck and watch the crimson life escape. “Goodbye.” I whisper out loud before I set the blade down. Exchanging it for another stronger one, the one I need to crack that perfect chest and rip his heart out of her. I enjoy it far too much and as I eliminate this distraction the silence in my mind returns. The world is balanced again. I lift her over my shoulder, spilling blood all over and making an enormous mess that I won’t be cleaning up. Her little heart placed in the center of the bloodied bed, a prize for my errant nephew. A concrete reminder of whose world this is, as I take her down to the fiery pit below us. The trail of blood behind us and the silence and warmth of the flames ahead makes me smile. I should have known I could never leave The Red Market.

  The heat turns her blood sticky on my skin where it has soaked through my clothes. Tossing her almost weightless body into the fire, I g
o to find a shower and change of clothing. Instead, I find Hugo the traitor waiting to talk me. The thick door of blood turning rancid on me in the heat, mixing with my sweat making me smell like a butcher.

  “Why is she still here? Why is she asleep and locked in a room Caesar?” He asks the important questions I have no desire to face the answers to.

  “To keep her from you and my deranged nephew until I decide what to do with my daughter, Hugo.” I shove past him but he follows me, relentless in his pursuit of answers.

  “Your madre wants her dead.” He keeps on at me.

  “I don’t care what my madre wants, Hugo. Unlike you, I fucking hate my mother. Besides my daughter is almost dead, thanks to you and Mateo.” I turn now to face him, looking him in his eyes. “My mother will not outlive me, so I suggest you rethink where your loyalty lies, because if it’s with her you can leave - now.” I hate her, I hate the things that have become of me because of her. I will not tolerate him if he chooses her.

  I want to know how those idiots got her, I know they are waiting for me to pay them, I am covered in blood and I don’t care. I find the filthy pimp that is smiling with his gold teeth shining in the fluorescent lights of the office. “Where did you get her?” I pull out the picture that Mateo had kept in the drawer of her bound and bleeding. He swallows hard enough that I hear it as he looks at the Polaroid.

  “We picked that one off the pavement, bleeding and smelling of shit. We stole her, she’s not mine. I am not that bad to my girls.” He splutters out and the scratchy tone of his voice is almost enough to send me into another rage.

  “Where, where did you pick her up? Who had her?” I plan to kill the animal that did this. My eyes convey that message and he scribbles down and address on the back of the photo.

  “I think the place belongs to an ex-cop, some old man in cheap suits always in and out.” These savages know everyone on the streets and I know he isn’t telling me the whole truth.

  “Fuck off. I am not paying you for my own fucking daughter. You’re lucky I don’t kill you, so just go.” He is about to argue when I take out a gun; that and the blood all over me is enough to change his simple mind.

  Hugo is back like a dog with a fucking bone and I lose all my control. It erupts into a shouting match with me throwing things around the room. I hate that he helped me live, I want to kill him for taking me to my mother and I am going to kill him for what has happened to my baby. My baby, I am reminded again that I have done the most terrible things to my child. I kissed her like a lover. I am her Papi, not her lover. I am sick. I deserve to die, but I keep fucking living.

  When I finally find the solace of a shower and the small bag of belongings I returned here with, my mind comes alive with the racket of memories I would rather forget. It’s not Marta or Svetlana or even Mateo and my sisters, no it's before them. The hurt of the past is coming back and it’s because my mother’s voice is in my head.

  “You see you filthy boy what happens when you cannot control your dick.” She hits me with that godforsaken walking stick that I am sure she doesn’t need other than to hit me with.

  “Madre, stop. It’s not my fault.” She grabs my shirt collar and pulls me so close that I know I won’t be safe from the voice of my torment.

  “You need to control your silly urges boy, I don’t have room in life for the disasters you keep creating. You get rid of that girl and the bastard child you created in raping her.” She hits me again as my cock responds to her voice and beg it to stop. “You say goodbye Caesar or I will make you watch me do it.” My evil mother steps back and looks me up and down, shaking her head in disappointment.

  “After this I’m sending you to the shithole in America where I can’t see your fucking face every day.” She turns away from me, “and you can take your whorish sisters with you. I am done raising you devil children and your father isn’t here to make me love you any longer.”

  “Madre?” I ask her hurt, relieved and confused. I step towards her, then remember my dick is hard and I can’t deal with another blow from the stick.

  “No, Caesar. Kill the girl and pack your stuff. You are a disease and I am tired of trying to cure it. You can go be a murderous rapist in America where I can’t see you.” My heart breaks because I love this girl, even if she doesn’t love me. She calls it rape, but her voice sings to my heart and silences the chaos my mother causes. I love her and I don’t want to say goodbye.

  “Madre, I can’t do that.” I plead with the devil.

  “Then I will. Come downstairs so I can teach you a lesson about being a part of this family boy.” The love of my life is downstairs, crying that I took her innocence and she is having my child. I was overjoyed at the prospect of an heir, a son and a wife. My mother and her family didn’t approve of the match. My mother approves of nothing. I hear her singing a children’s rhyme as she waltzes down the passage, waiting for me to follow her. My mind is lost, her voice is the trigger that sets the monsters free and she knows it. I move with purpose, shoving past her. I should be the one and not her. I wish I could die in her place.

  Bathed in the blood of love and my child, my mother smiled at me and for one small moment I wasn’t a disappointment at all. I left for Hunts Point two days later with my stupid sisters. Delivered straight to hell.

  Mateo’s screams of horror pull me back from my past, the shower water is cold on my body but the sound is soothing me so I stay there. I stay until I know he is gone. I pull clean clothes onto my wet body, the tight burnt skin hideous so I try keep it covered. I go downstairs and sit next to my child and try to think of reasons not to kill her. She wants to die, she begged so many times. Why do I keep her from that? I fall asleep to the sound of her heart monitor, holding her small hand in mine.

  Svetlana

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said.

  I have found home in his eyes, though I know part of myself has broken him and his pieces cannot be put back together again. He is finally giving me something that I have wished for; the same thing I have been witness to for as long as memories have dug their way into my mind. Death. Caesar has changed my perspective. It isn’t scary; he is the silent, sweet angel of my dreams that I have always wanted. Finally, through times of unthinkable terror and torture, he is giving me something that I need.

  A goodbye from this awful world.

  My naked body is still planted on the cold concrete of the handling house as I hear him spouting off orders to the staff, telling them to process me like the others. His whisper vibrates through my bones as his hot breath still tickles my cold skin and I can hear him speaking to me, providing me with the one word I have craved.

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Whispered tears mark my face, leaving trails of happiness. His footsteps become distant reminders of what I once loved, making me understand that it is over. I don’t even try to cover my naked body anymore. It doesn’t matter. Modesty is something I have never grown to have. When you are nothing but a whore thrown to be the feasts of the wolves on the streets, covering yourself only equals a beating that will make it worse for you in the end. Ensuring that my hands are at my sides is a habit that I have not been able to break since being in the hands of the men that saved me.

  My eyes make their way over to a set of doors and my lungs constrict, making it hard for me to breathe. Moments before, my heart had already started to fade, accepting a fate that I had wanted since God knows how long. His eyes peer deep inside of me, making me recognize that I want to submit to him, but I see that he, too, has changed.

  Mateo…

  I want so bad to reach my hand out to touch his face, but over the course of the past several weeks, or however long I have been in this fucked up limbo, I cannot trust that my visions are real. My head has come to adapt to those that I have been surrounded by. Again, I want to tell him that he is worthy of love; the kind that will not flee, but just as soon as I have the courage and strength to reach up, my tired and dirty hand stays still as his image turns into blackness behi
nd the glass of the doors.

  “To the showers,” a gruff man says in a thick Spanish accent.

  I push my body up with much effort, submitting to the man that is ordering me to wash the shit off myself. The aching over my body is almost forgotten, replaced with the graciousness I thought I would never have. My mind is in a haze, not understanding everything that is going on around me. The noises are hurting the love that I want to hold onto, making my heart shred itself into an insanity that I thought I could rid myself from.

  I wish I could live in the dirty daydream that came to life only moments ago as Caesar thrusted himself inside of me, but how stupid I was for thinking that the time we shared could make all the bad disappear. I am merely floating along the cold concrete with each step as my eyes lethargically tap across the madness that surrounds me. I was never sure of who I was before, only a girl destined to be fucked by the street rats, but now, in this second, the goodbye that I have wanted is confusing me greatly. Misperception is an understatement. Is that what is happening to me? No. This is what crazy feels like. Full-fledged insanity.

  My naked feet follow the man in front of me, and I oddly feel like a stray dog. I briefly contemplate getting on all fours and begging for a leash, howling to the master that gave me what I wanted, but the small amount of lucidity that clings onto me leaves me upright. I let a roar of laughter escape my lungs at the thought, bringing my dirtied hands up my body as they trace the canvas that was once painted with horror and gore.

  I grasp hold of my matted strands, cackling more as the pain from my cracked and missing nails reminds me that I am alive. This is my final farewell as I walk the path of my so-called life. There will be no flowers or sweet remembrances. No. Instead, I will live on in scattered pieces of people that pay to be alive as I beg to be dead, because the love that I want doesn’t want me.