My Black Hole Heart (Colour #3)

by A. Giannoccaro

  I watched her slip out the window and down the fire escape stairs a few minutes ago, her hair was messy and she looked like the morning after. Even like that she is beautiful, she has always been a thing of beauty that I cannot look away from. She hates me, she would kill me if she could. You see, I stole something from her and I can’t give it back, so she will never forgive me. So now I work for them, forever paying back the mistakes I made. I was just a young gangster on the street trying to make my boss notice me, she was just another job to me and it all turned horribly wrong. Now she is an obsession, and infection I can’t cure.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket as she speeds away in that fucking conspicuous red car.

  “This is Eiran.” I answer it as if I wasn’t expecting the call. I am always expecting it.

  “I’m sending you an address, clean it up and make it go away.” Callum’s voice carries into my ears, he’s my boss. No, Avery is my boss and he is our boss. “Eiran, do it right please.” He hangs up, please is about as courteous as he gets. The message with the address is a wasted effort. He doesn’t know I’m already here. I use the time to phone my team and get them here. A bunch of street criminals with a special skill for cleaning up the scene of the crime and making it seem as if it never happened. I have been cleaning her mess for nine years now, and I have to say she doesn’t have her father’s finesse for a clean kill. No, Avery likes to make them bleed.

  The second floor flat is a typical guy pad, stand up paddle boards line the entrance—I knew he was a surfer. The place smells of cheap weed and sex. Oh Callum is going to go postal if she’s still high when she gets to work. Her lover’s clothes are on the floor in front of the beat up brown couch and I pick them up to bag them. The glass hubbly and weed lie on the battered coffee table, I point at them so that Frankie can clean them into a wet bin. We scour the area making sure there’s no sign of her or his corpse being here. I make my way through the living room to the door that must lead to his room and his dead body. The messy clutter of meaningless crap that fills the space is almost suffocating, there’s no order to any of it. What’s worse, the clutter is covered in a layer of dust that could suffocate you if disturbed. As I step through the door into his room, I note the faded navy blue bedding is tossed in a pile next to the bed with him on top of it; they look like his mother picked them out for him. At least she did us the courtesy of using a gun and not her favourite knife, there’s only a blood pool beneath him and most of it is caught in the bedding which we will bag and remove.

  Within minutes, the naked body of her dead play thing is wrapped in plastic and put into a municipal dustbins that we wheeled in with us so we can exit the building without raising too much suspicion. Being dressed in uniforms and driving a cleaning service vehicle, we go unnoticed for the most part. His body will be dumped in the acid reservoir at a local chemical manufacturing plant where he will dissolve and disappear for good.

  After he’s dissolved into chemical soup and the job completed, I stop at home to take a quick shower before I go into the office. I smell of stale dagga smoke and dust, it makes me want to gag. As I let the hot water wash away the dirt of another clean-up, my mind goes back to her, the way she moved as she exited the building, the way she slipped into her car. The way my heart beats when I watch her.

  I touched her once, she was so soft in my hands, her pale soft skin was like silk. I kissed her once, she kissed me back—a kiss of death, her pink lips claiming mine. I held her for a second and the world stood still, my heart beat faster and dreamed of love for a second. Then I raped her and I believed she let me, her body melted to mine as she screamed and yelled no until she had no air left in her lungs. The feeling of her virginity tearing and taking what was not mine, the power of her body responding to me, fuelled the villain below the face of a boy. In my mind, I was loving her because her body was coming apart, shattering and shuddering with every thrust, then she took out a knife and cut me to ribbons. I had a moment of weakness, a delusional second where I believed she loved me so I cut her free. In that moment she disarmed me, I didn’t even know it was happening. I stole from her and now I pay for it every fucking day. You see she didn’t kill me, no she would rather make me suffer. I had a moment of weakness where I touched heaven and it lead me to a lifetime in hell. Being a gangster on the streets, peddling drugs and kidnapping rich girls like her for money was easy, I was just a cog in the machine. When Avery paid her own ransom in exchange for my half dead bleeding body. I wanted to die, because I knew she was going to kill me every single day. Slipping on my jeans and a white shirt, I shake off the feelings and get ready to be cold, empty and impervious to her. That is the only way to survive. Survive is about all you can hope for when it comes to Avery.

  You will not be punished for your anger,

  you will be punished by your anger.

  BEING IN THE OFFICE all day is the worst kind of torture, I hate the way the four walls box me into the role of business woman. The corporate clothes I wear to hide me from the stuck up people that I need to interact with. You see, in here it is the civilised criminals I deal with. When I wield a gun or a knife, it is the other kind of monster that I’m working with. Neither are good, but it’s this organised evil that I hate the most. I tap my heel under the desk as I comb over the details of a diamond deal that needs to be closed before the end of the week. I have some very beautiful raw stones coming in from the Lesotho highlands and they need to be cut and polished and ready to sell fast.

  I hate diamonds, they are not this girl’s best friend, besides girls like me don’t need friends. The filthy stones that come from the despair and death of so many are not the jewels I want to adorn my body. I prefer the pure beauty of art. As long as I can remember I wanted to have the same beautiful drawings as my parents had adorn my body. My mother’s was a work of art. My father still turns heads with his coloured skin, the only space left on him are his lower legs and his face. Yet my exposed skin is still clean and pure, but beneath my clothes, a tapestry of colour is being woven. I’m painted in secrets and lies. There’s a line dividing me into two halves, from my chest to my crotch. One half is a colourful picture of birds and flowers, skulls and blood. There are numbers hidden in the pictures. Ugly numbers. Dad taught me that treasures are something far rarer than diamonds, something clean and completely out of reach for those who live in our world. Things like innocence, trust, hope and worst of all love are the gems that will never adorn the crown of this princess. Instead I have, blood, bones, diamonds and sorrow as the stones that shine in my tiara. I’m going to be in charge of all of this forever and I accepted that a long time ago.

  I hear the heavy footfalls of Eiran’s boots as he stomps down the hall towards his office which is at the end of the passage. Our offices are close enough that I can watch him and he can watch me, but far enough away that I’m out of his reach. He thinks I don’t know that he is my shadow, a silent presence that reminds me of my weakness and humanity when all I want is to forget. I need to embrace this life because Callum is dying fast and then it will be all that I have left. I know he cleaned up another dead lover this morning and that thought brings a smile to my face. They all get what he wants and cannot have. I love the slow torture of taunting him. A part of me belongs to Eiran you see, he took it from me and now he’s paying for it. Nothing’s free in this life and my virginity cost Eiran his soul.

  Slam.

  His door shuts behind him. I have a weakness—him. My mind doesn’t focus when I’m near him, my body betrays me wanting feelings that I know I’m not permitted to have. My eyes get lost on his looks, my heart pounds with the same fear that it did as he raped me. I know he wears scars of my knife all over him, I cut him to ribbons. Denying the truth is futile, I didn’t care that he raped me. His touch was a spark that set my demons alight and I have never again found the same relief. I should have killed Eiran like all the others since then, but as I filleted his flesh from the bones and his blood dripped on the floor by my bare feet
a better idea struck me. I decided to keep him, a trophy for anyone who decided to try and take what wasn’t theirs. As the blood of my virginity dried on my thighs and I burned from his assault, I learned a very valuable lesson about myself. I want to feel I crave the rush it brings me, but I loathe feelings. Emotions let me give up the fight that roars in me so that Eiran could make my body feel, but I will never let my heart feel again. I will feel with my body only. Touch me, I need to feel it, but don’t come near my heart or you’ll disappear.

  My phone causes the desk to vibrate and snaps me out of my stupid moment of nostalgic lust. Grabbing it as I rise from my seat, I shove my chair back and I get ready to go and sell some diamonds and souls to a devil in pretty boy clothes. Swinging my keys back and forth between my fingers as I walk to the lift, the jingle of the small metal key chain soothes me and I’m smiling again as the doors open. If I could whistle, I’d be whistling a happy song, there is nothing quite like being a murderer in the morning. Callum is on the other side, his sick body wasting away right before us, his eyes are grey where they used to be vivid green. The colour of his skin is ashen and the years of heartache have been etched into every wrinkle. It’s as if dying slowly has painted him black and white, the grey of living in purgatory has seeped out of his pores. I kiss his cheek as we pass each other, the sorrow evident in his eyes as he watches the doors close between us. There used to be nothing between us at all. Now, there is so much in the way that we will never get past it all. I failed him and he hurt me. Neither of us will ever admit our faults, I don’t know how to say sorry because I’m not.

  It’s lunch time before I reach the diamond store, the secret of dirty business is make it look so clean no one looks twice. The up market dealer in the huge shopping mall is far from seedy and suspicious while attracting rich housewives, business men and collectors are their clients. Death, blood and shiny rocks are the merchandise of choice. The silly electronic chime goes off as I enter the shop, plush carpet beneath my feet and the dirt of diamonds all around me.

  “Avery.” Sam greets me in his overly feminine voice, I have no idea how he even gets himself into those tight pants. “Sam.” I air kiss him as he takes my hand in a limp handshake and starts to lead me to the back of the shop. I’m royalty here. Their books show that I spend a fortune on jewellery. I don’t. I do supply them with illegal diamonds that allow them to turn massive profits. “I missed you, beautiful, what have you got for me today?” He continues our fake conversation for the benefit of the slutty looking sales girls in the shop. I’m amazed at these men here to buy rings that promise forever and the sales woman’s boobs are what gets them to blow all their money.

  “I need some stones cut to move elsewhere and emeralds from Zambia are for you, Sam.” I’m not in the mood for chatting. I never am. I cannot relate to these people, they’re criminals but they have no idea what blood feels like between your fingers or what the smell of a smoking gun is like. No, they are still normal. Clean and untainted by the true horror of their precious stones.

  “Oh, I love emeralds. The green is always so amazing and once you cut them, they come alive.” He answers as if I care. Emeralds remind me of the tears in Callum’s eyes after I cut Eiran to pieces and they found me. I fucking hate them, they represent disappointment and loss. There is no beauty in that.

  The stones are tipped onto a small table where each one is inspected under a magnifying glass and light, he makes a detailed list of every stone. It takes forever. “So I heard Callum is getting really bad.” His attempt at small talk is scratching at a raw wound. I ignore him. Not only do I not care to discuss it, we do not need the world knowing how sick the boss is. Not yet. I am not sure this web of crime is ready for a lady boss. They won’t have a choice, but I know there will be upheaval. Not everyone is going to accept me and that’s okay, I expect it. There will be war when Callum dies and I’m ready to fight it.

  “Are we done yet, Sam? I don’t have all fucking day.” I snap out at him. He rolls his eyes and picks up the shop phone. “Lydia, go get Miss Leahy some lunch while we finish up choosing her next piece. Vegetarian, no meat.” He gives me a shut up look and carries on sorting the small pile of gemstones. I don’t eat meat, Callum taught me to be weary of food, after all, he was poisoned for years. That aside, I cannot bear the thought of eating something bloody. Fish, even chicken I can stomach but red meat makes me want to hurl.

  “Meet any cute guys yet?” His idle chatter carries on.

  “A few, none that you’ll see around here.” I know my reputation is clear in our circles even though he would never say it aloud. “You like university boys too much, Avery? You need to look for a man. One that wears an actual suit not dreadlocks and a wetsuit.” The thing is, people would miss someone in a suit. A silly college boy doing stupid shit and disappear all the time. “Sam, you have far too much time to think about men. I’m not looking for nor do I need a man in my life. There isn’t room for it all.” The silent but underlying truth silences him for a few minutes. I am going to be consumed by this business when Callum is gone, I won’t have time for fun.

  “I had lunch with a hot guy from the Gucci store last week.” He could date a Gucci salesman, it would be a good fit. Dirty diamond dealer and fashion dunce. “And?” I ask not really caring about his answer but keen to pass the time. The silly girl from the front brings me a healthy sandwich and a cold pressed juice from the vegan shop around the corner and dumps one next to Sam before slinking back out of the office again.

  “I don’t like her.” I make the statement aloud when I really shouldn’t have.

  “Neither do I. I’m thinking of reasons to fire her, give me a chance.” He answers without looking up from the shiny stones in front of him, he is drawn to them where I am repulsed by them. We see very different things in them. By the time Sam is done the entire afternoon has passed and I’m loathe to return to the office, but I always do. I end every day running through the days’ work with Callum and tormenting Eiran.

  I STOP AT A LOCAL jazz lounge on the way home from the office, I know Eiran has followed me. I know he’s watching me I want him to watch. I get off knowing he can see me with them. I sip on a glass of wine from my family’s wine farm, each vintage is now in some way named after my mother. Rowan never let her go, he’s still mourning her absence every single day. I roll up my sleeves and unbutton my collar exposing my chest, allowing my true colours to leak out for the world to see. I lean back in the leather chair and listen to the humming of the music and the people. The eclectic mix of artists and business people, the rich and poor melt together over booze and melody. The smoke and wine mix to fill the air with life and lies, no one in here is who they seem. I like simple places like this, where I can let my guard down and live, even just for a little bit. My foot swings to the music and I watch the people fill up the space. The university students love the place and the crowd is young and vibrant, couples dance in between the tables and the smoke and wine smell mingles with lust. Watching them rub up against each other makes me horny and I squeeze my thighs together, but it just makes it worse. My eyes begin to wander, looking for someone that could be used for a little stress relief tonight. A wicked smile starts to form on my face as I catch a glimpse of Eiran across the street. He’s sitting on a restaurant balcony, eating food he doesn’t like so that he can watch me. I know he hates curry so the Indian restaurant is definitely not his idea of a good dinner. He knows I’m hunting, he knows me too well. There are two older men sitting a bit away from me, they’re up against the wall trying to look without being seen. I see you boys, let’s play.

  Sam arrives catching my eye with a small wave and a shake of his head, I wish I could say we were friends but I don’t have friends. If I did, Sam would be one. I usually save this sort of recreation for the weekends, today I’m antsy and something’s off. Something is making me want to kill. I start flirting with my eyes, they notice me—they always do. It’s too easy, they are all so predictable. When I walk by t
hem to the bathrooms, their eyes follow me first, I notice the subtle elbow and whisper as one eggs the other on. He shakes his head as I disappear around the corner, he’s a good guy, he won’t follow me in here, how boring. I’ll get him on the way back. Or them. I like the idea of them, anything that will scratch this itch right now. I don’t need to pee, nor would I use the filthy restrooms if I did, but I stand in the stall for a few minutes, reading the graffiti and waiting a believable amount of time. I stare down at the uncomfortable heels that have become my uniform anytime I’m not in my own house. I see my face in the shiny patent finish, a face I barely recognise anymore. I hear the band taking a break outside, the lull in music and buzz in voices alerts me to the fact this bathroom will soon be full of women so I flush the toilet I didn’t even sit on and exit. The long passage is filling with bodies moving against me, I hope I haven’t missed the two men I hoped to prey on. A familiar feeling starts to creep up my spine, I stand a little straighter and I smile. I like this feeling. The pins and needles of doing something that is wrong. I know it’s wrong. I crossed the line between what I do and who I am a long time ago. Incapable of separating killing for a job and fun, I became a murderer and not a hired hit. I like being wrong. It cancels out the need to have feelings that would fill the gaping hole in my heart. No one is meant to love a killer so my solitude is validated by what I chose to do.