I grab his throat; his thick lips purse letting out a high-pitched hissing noise as the air leaves his insignificant body. I tug him out of the car, his body feels like nothing more than a feather as he floats out like an agile piece of flesh that is about to be filleted alive. I still hear the whistling of the cars behind me and the shouting of the beggars. I feel at home, like I am right where I am supposed to be. It feels so close to Hunts Point; I am in the middle of hell getting away with the most notorious thing again.
History is repeating itself, though more grisly this time, I am sure of it. My hunger has become too great to be fed.
Every muscle in my arms flexes against the tension that the young man attempts to give me, but it is futile. I am not returning half of the strength that I have. My look gazes on down the dirty alley, littered with trash and dumpsters, and my thoughts are overcome with so many emotions, I fear I may lose it before I can fully enjoy what I am about to do. My eyes betray my need as I see Ophelia running before me, running away from me, and my feet move faster. I need to tell her that my love is worthy. Her perfectly round head splits open, oozing red as it turns around to face me, the monster, the man, the devil in the flesh… but it isn’t Ophelia’s face that I see. My Lettie Doll looks at me, a ghost from my past that splintered me apart into a million tiny shards. She left me incapacitated and unable to be anything more than a shell of filth and fowler, flying towards the deeper parts of debauchery.
The unwanted premonition in front of me fades away into the wind, leaving my throat dry and my vision hazed. My grip tightens on the man’s throat, his body going lax. I don’t want him to die, yet. I let him go until he falls down to the ground, looking as his head bounces off the concrete with such elegance, it leaves me at ease as the thought of the my only loves dissipates, making me understand my true intentions now. I study his chest, seeing it rise up and down with little depth and relief finds me. Not because he is still with life, but because I need him to feel all the pain that I have felt. I need someone else to understand all the pain that I have been through. There is no such thing as fair. I was birthed to the beasts of the world, raised by them, and left to die by them, too.
The plain white T-shirt is clinging to the man’s build, his perspiration coming through to show his modest physique. My hand makes its way down to my pants as I play with my hard cock outside of my pants. The lullaby playing about around me is so horrendous, my dread is at ease. I unzip his worn jeans, pulling them down with his boxers to expose his flaccid cock. My tattooed fingers push his shirt up as I admire the blank canvas of his body, the horrors that have not been painted yet. Fate must have been waiting for him, for me, for this moment. He can be mine forever…
My lips make their way to his stomach, and gently push them down. I trace my tongue over his belly down to still soft dick, bringing my tongue back into my mouth to taste the innocence that I will soon take away. I unzip my pants and free my cock, rubbing it against his soft body as my mouth appreciates the taste of his salty skin. His warmth invades me, but it is unfamiliar. Very few have tasted this way to me. I need the cold. I need finality. There is only one way, and the softness that has me like a puppet will need to leave. I need to allow myself to be a beast like my teachers. In time, I will paint the world black and collect all my lovers, because they are all that I need.
I bring my mouth down to his; the panting of parted mouth is shallow and hot. I press my needy lips onto his, brushing my tongue alongside of his still wet tongue. Pain shoots through me as blood enters my mouth. I open my eyes to see his, with life and fight. I remember what fighting looked like, my Little Lettie Doll, but she left me and took the last bit of real love that I had. My sanity leaves me completely in his moment as his small hands find my chest, trying pointlessly to push me off of him as my tongue stays between his teeth. I grasp a hold of his hair, yanking his head hard onto the ground until I hear a crack. My tongue is instantly freed.
I feel a small cut on the top of it as it still oozes with blood. I wipe the side of my mouth free from the crimson liquid that matches my vision; red rage. He continues to look at me through half-conscious eyes. I cock my head to the side and huff, laughing slightly.
“You are mistaken if you think this is a fight you could ever win. I am a wolf. You are a lamb. I have eaten many lambs before, and you won’t be the last.”
He tries again, uselessly, to push me away. I slap him across the face, his head whipping to the side like a ragdoll that I used to play with when I was a little boy. I punch him in his pretty mouth over and over again until my knuckles crack and his face bleeds steadily, splattering his once white T-shirt. It looks like a priceless piece of art that will never fade with time, symbolizing the end of a life at the hands of the devil in the flesh.
I flop him over, needing a release from the tension that is near the edge of exploding. He continues to stir, his hands desperately trying to grab onto anything, but it is a moot point. I find myself laughing like a crazed creature on the brink of disaster. Who am I kidding, my entire life has been a wreck.
“I will show you what happens to weak little lambs. But don’t worry, I will love you forever and ever after… I won’t ever let you go.”
I pull his hips up to my hard cock, ramming myself into his body until he shrieks out in agony. I arch back, looking up to the sky as the birds resting on the clothing wire stories above fly off into the distance from my punishment. Soon, I am bathed with the symbol of compelling ownership; the stench of blood lingers in the air as the sun shines down on my face between the buildings. My hips move faster and faster into his ass as my tattooed hands grab a hold of his hips with such force, I am certain to break him in two.
His cries are incessant pleas, willing me to continue my agonizing assault until I am truly fulfilled with my work with death. I come hard in his ass, stilling myself inside of him until my body shudders with the most glorious release that I have ever had. I have found my own paradise through hell. I have accepted it, through other’s embarrassment and abandonment, I have come to terms with my own salvation through murder and love.
I pull out of him, watching as my hot cum drips slowly from his torn, bleeding asshole. His body is shaking as he clings on by a thread. I find myself, oddly enough, wanting to comfort him like Caesar would before a goodbye is granted, but that must be a last wish subconsciously as I left the torn part of myself go.
“You not be loved.”
His words cut through me like a knife, and I punch him in the kidney until he yelps out in discomfort. I spread his ass apart until my fingers prod his entrance, tugging violently until the torrent of blood coats my fingers. Two fingers becomes three, then three becomes four. He screams out again, melodious to my ears as my hands take the last shred of humanity he has. I shove whole fist up his ass until his body goes rigid.
Then I push, and push even harder until my fingers can grab onto flesh, yanking, raking, and tugging the life right out of him. I push and pull, disemboweling him as blood covers most of myself. His fight is gone, his spirit has left, and now I can be loved and not left.
With his mutilated, dead, and still body bleeding out on the pavement, I turn him over and kiss his lips before spooning him and drifting off to sleep. For the first time since my Lettie Doll left me, I am not greeted with nightmares. I make them to prevent them.
Mateo
No one can leave me now.
“You are nothing but a fucking freak. I should murder you myself,” Ramira said, filling me with more hatred than I had before.
Ramira flew over from Spain to calm the calamity created by me. Caesar just got done throwing Ophelia’s body in the incinerator, and he has probably wandered off to find his peace from the devils that whisper madness. I am the black sheep that has been sitting in the corner, waiting for my punishment when all I wanted to do is be loved. I wanted to pull Ophelia with me and put her cold body in my bed. I wished I could whisper in her ear that I would love her just the way she was; dead,
inert, and tranquil. But that isn’t how it would go. The day I killed her was the same day that my needs were unveiled to the world. My need for death, the constant surrendering of lives would never stop.
The hard wood from Ramira’s walking stick hits me hard in my jaw, dusting with now pubescent stubble. My eyes instantly watered, but I welcomed the pain. It was better to feel it physically than to allow the freak I was born to be to hide away in a dirty bottle as everyone pointed their fingers and laughed at me.
“You killed sweet Ophelia, then you raped her. She was the only one who was halfway normal here,” Ramira seethed. Her words cut my wound open further.
I’ve become the famous one in the family; the one who murders to fuck and love. The instinct I have is like craving candy as a kid. The idea tastes so sweet. I continued to stare down at the concrete ground, her black short heels standing apart to brace herself for the blow that I was destined to receive.
“Do you think that we will just forget about this, boy?” Her cane made its way to my chin, forcing my stare to meet hers. Her wrinkled face was hard and uninviting. Though small and petite, she was the most feared person in the Red Market. I was sure that she never even blinked her eyes when she looked at people, maybe never at all, just like a porcelain doll. Thoughts invaded my mind as to what it would feel like if I shattered her head open, watching it break just like the priceless dollies that I found comfort in years ago.
“You will understand what it’s like, boy. Just like sweet Ophelia. Now she is dead and gone because of you. You freak!” she screamed, her thick accent assaulted my ears.
“Victor!” she yelled over her shoulder while her cane stayed under my chin.
A large man appeared at her side, looking to her for instructions.
“Now. Now it’s time. Caesar isn’t here. Do it now. Make him remember,” Ramira said, looking at me with utter disgust.
I knew her intentions involved punishment, but what I didn’t know was how far she was willing to go to make me hurt. She removed her cane from me and took a step back, bereft, disgusted, and tired. It seemed that every instance would make her age more, and hate a lot more, too.
Victor pulled a brown glass bottle from his back pocket, popping the lid to pour the contents on a stark white cotton hanky. I wanted to run just as everyone else had done to me my whole life, but I wouldn’t dare before the queen of the dark empire. I had taken a precious life, it was my turn to give part of mine.
Victor lurched forward, suffocating my mouth with the wet cloth until the reality around me started to fade. It was misleading, really. I was detached, yet still able to feel most everything. It was cruel torture that was punishment for the crime I had subjected the family to. I was an anomaly. The black sheep whose needs would always overcome rationalization.
Victor dragged me by my collar down the rough hallway as my body scraped against the concrete. It was just enough for me to become paralyzed and at the mercy of my destiny. Soon, the monster I was born to become would be reminded that the love I am worthy of is all that I was good for.
Complete blackness covered me as I was thrown into a cell. That was a place that was used for decontaminating the whores that I have remembered so well since I was a little boy. Tonight, I was the whore. I was Victor’s whore.
The buzzing of the fluorescent lights flickered heavily above me. I was paralyzed by the drug I was forced to huff, but every part of me felt the discomfort, the aching, and the agony. I tried my best not to look at Victor, because I wanted to think that this was part of it all. Maybe all the bad boys in the Red Market were made to face the bad intentions they deserved in different ways. I wanted to rely on that moment for one thing and one thing only; confirmation of love. I knew that I would never let another touch me. A loving reciprocated embrace would never come to a black painted soul like me. I had come to a fork in the road, and this was part of it all. I was misguided in that second, but I attempted to lead myself to believe it was part of the way other people loved, and I didn’t want that.
I had to have still, unmoving, pretty little lines that were at the mercy of me. My hands would dance and destroy, love and hate. I recall my mind flashing from those thoughts when Victor’s face shadowed over me. I didn’t have a choice but to become mesmerized by how he influenced me, just a fucked up boy who was lost in the maze of the heinous Red Market. Enveloped by crime and catastrophe, I would grow to adore it, feel hungry for it. There was a twinge of jealousy when I stared at him; his eyes bore something so terrifying, I was scared to breathe or allow my heart to beat.
“I am the one who punishes the bad ones, and El Madre has given me instructions to fuck you up good.”
I laid there, at his mercy as his dirty and roughened hands stripped me free from my clothes and dignity.
“The young ones always make me crazy, monstruo.”
I was still paralyzed, from the fear or drugs, I had no idea. His tongue darted out and licked me like a dog that was lapping up water after being in the heat for too long. I felt every muscle tense under his touch as my mind became decayed further, his hand grabbing my still flaccid cock.
“Monstruo, you are not hard for me, eh?”
I wished I could cry, to feel something other than jealousy and wonder for what was happening to me, but I knew then that I was not a human capable of such sentiments. I was a monster who came to the final realization that night.
“El Monstruo, freak!” he yelled, yanking on my soft dick as he screamed and panted in my ear.
I was silent, and I promised myself I would stay that way. I was on the verge of turning not just a page of my fucked up life, but a chapter. I was understanding the dark parts of myself that I was too ashamed to feel before.
He stood, grabbing the blade that was attached to his ankle, and bent down to my dick. I was a creature that was on display.
“El Monstruo, do you want to keep this?” he asked, laughing at me as the knife grazed my still soft cock.
I felt my bones shaking in my body as images of Ophelia’s bleeding head danced across my mind. In that second, I could feel her sandpaper-like tongue sweeping against mine as the whooshing of taxis lulled behind us. I was loving her the only way I knew how. Suddenly, without understanding, my body responded from the sweet remembrances.
“Good Monstruo. You can keep your cock. It’s grande; that would be a shame.”
I felt a whip across my cheek as my muscles started to make amends from the drugs, but I knew that I wouldn’t dare to try to escape. Through hell, it was also my sanctuary.
Victor turned me over, flopping my head against the uneven concrete of the cell. My face was rubbing uncomfortably against it, chaffing away the skin until blood started to ooze. His strong hand secured the back of my head, ensuring that I wouldn’t make a move. It was pointless. The blade moved swiftly over my back until it was resting against my ass. Victor took his free hand and pulled my hips up until I was fully open to him. I felt the prod of something sharp against my asshole, but still, the tears I have hoped for since I was small never came. Ironically, I was reveling through the madness, which was nothing more than the clarification that I needed.
“Malo Monstruo.”
I was a bad freak, and Victor was teaching me to remember the only way I could be loved.
The splintering of his zipper cracked the air, leaving me desperate for the end of this torture. Not because I wasn’t able to handle it, but because I craved my own beginning. I needed my own lovers to adore in ways that made sense only to me.
Victor pushed himself inside of me, and I didn’t even try to contain how my body would respond. I hadn’t ever been with a man, or woman for that matter besides Ophelia. Nothing prepares you for how your body acts. It takes over and does its own thing. I felt a gush of something from my ass, the stench of shit littering the air as Victor shouted with disgust, pulling himself out of me.
He turned me onto my back, and started to punch me in the face over and over again. My eyes were s
wollen, I couldn’t see, not that it mattered much. He was going to do whatever he wanted with me. I felt the blade push hard along my inner thigh, making sharp cuts and lines until the clink of metal indicated that he threw it back down.
“You worthless fucking monstruo! I should kill you!”
His knee pinned my chest, which made it difficult to breathe while his other hand put an overwhelming amount of pressure on my head.
“Open. Fucking open your mouth!”
I opened my mouth, and without warning, Victor shoved his shit covered cock into my mouth, pushing it to the back of my throat until gagging became inevitable. Vomit quickly rose up my throat, coating his dick as the taste of myself assaulted my tongue and filled me up with hate even more. He continued to fuck my mouth as my vomit seeped out the corners with each hilt until a spurt of warmth filled my throat.
He pulled himself from my mouth, and I opened my eyes to see, but they were far too swollen.
“You know the saying, ‘eat shit and die?’. Well, you literally did, I only hope you rot and die for what you did.”
He left me there, degraded and humiliated, naked and vulnerable, but that was the very place where I truly accepted myself. My fingers made their way to the inside of my thigh as I traced the lines he etched into my skin.
Monstruo. Freak.
“NO!” I shout, waking up as my hand clutches the inside of my thigh.
I look around, seeing the bricks dusted with graffiti and splatters of life. The smell of blood and shit still lingers heavily in the air, and all I hope for is to take my lover with me. To love him forever like no one has loved me before. I look down at him, his once bronze skin lightening as death sinks in. I smile, letting my hand cup his cool cheeks as my lips bend down to kiss his parted ones. How lovely it is not to be rejected. I melt into him, the warmth from my body creating a final pandemonium with his cold one. My dick is hard for him, for this moment that I have because I am the only one who can control it. He can’t leave me now.
The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) Page 19
