The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) (10 page)

‘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 behind 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.

That’s the revelation that I have come to understand.

The love that I want doesn’t want me.

My laughter turns into screams as my dry throat cracks. My vision is still obscure, the only proof of my actuality the cold concrete that irritates the soles of my feet. A hard grasp tugs on my aching wrist, pulling me into a helix of warmth. Warmth. I hate remembering things. Good things. Sweet things. I try to focus, but the fog and heat are making the senselessness frame around me further.

‘Are you ready to be part of this empire Mrs. Alvarez?’
Words spoken by Mateo before the Mexican humidity swayed over my skin.
‘Are you my king, Mr. Alvarez?’
I answered back as lust and affection encircled me.
‘Oh, never fucking forget it. You bow down to no one else.’
We had a love, too. But it’s gone. I saw it behind the glass doors. He didn’t want to rescue me. He faded deep behind the blackness that I pulled him out of. He’s regressed. I’ve gone crazy. We are all fucked and destined for hell. I’m the lucky one, ready to meet it soon.

I’m pushed beneath the hot waterfall as soft hands dance over my body. You are worthless. But they loved me. You are destined for hell. I don’t care. I’ve seen glimpses of dysfunctional heaven on Earth. Your body is disfigured and disgusting. It doesn’t matter. They made me feel beautiful. My conscience is berating me, but I won’t let her win either. I smile under the waterfall as the smell of soap wafts up my nostrils while my hands remain at my sides. Several pairs of hands work on my body, cleansing the dirt and grime away, then moving up to my hair. I tip my head up as shampoo is lathered up, the aching of my abuse still lingering everywhere. I cannot kid myself, it has never waned.

Hands force me to look up higher and push my head directly under the water, rinsing the suds free. I open my eyes and stare at the white-tiled wall as the water drips down my face, creating one of the most therapeutic times of my existence. Strong arms force my legs apart as a soft cloth cleans my sore pussy and ass.

“Stand there and rinse,” a gentle voice coos.

I stare at the white tiles still, hoping that it’s an indication that I am soon to meet a wonderful end. I close my eyes and smile, letting my arms go out and pray in my head to a God I was sure never existed. Dirty, despicable girls never make their way to heaven. It’s useless to pray. I hate the internal voice that is playing in my head. She’s shouting more and more as time passes. The water disintegrates, instantly leaving me cold. A cotton towel is draped over my shoulders and I break again.

“No! No! He hates towels! Throw them all away! Now! Now!” I shout, tossing it across the showering room.

I refuse to stare at the people that are looking at me, judging, and seeing me as nothing but spare parts. My story is so much more than that. I can’t say goodbye thinking anything but that, but the wildness in my mind is becoming stronger.

“Take her in now,” the same voice says, making the nerves I don’t want to admit grow deeper.

I keep my head down as a chill bites my skin with each drip of water that rains over my body.

‘Stand over there by the heater, Mi Amor. You are still wet and need to dry. No towels.’

Before I understand what is happening, bright lights greet me. My legs have continued to move because this is something that I have wished for since I was birthed into this world.

“Lay here, girl,” a masked man states. His voice has a lighter accent than the others and less caring. Still, my eyes remain on my feet as the go in and out of reality.

I look up slightly, staring at a gurney with a white sheet draped on it. There’s a large, bright light over the top of the bed, probably so the doctors can see inside of the bodies that they take apart. My tired body ascends on top of the gurney, appreciating a bed to lie on, despite its stiffness. I close my eyes because this isn’t how I want to remember my goodbye. I hear footsteps, several sets, echoing heavily in the processing room. They don’t tell me what they are doing, because I know. I asked for this. A light sheet covers me and I have to withhold my urge to laugh again, yelling out to tell them that shyness isn’t in my vocabulary. Brief thoughts enter my distorted mind and I understand that this is the only way I will be good enough for Mateo.

I am only good enough if I am dead for Caesar and Mateo. If that is what it takes for them to love me, so be it. Stick the needle in my arm and let me have my last parting. I wonder if the images I saw previously of Mateo were real, and if so, will he take me like a lover just as the others?

A tough jab of a needle brings me out of my stupor as patches connected to wires are placed over my chest to a heart monitor. Tape is then placed over the area on my arm that will soon be injected with the concoction that will send me into a peaceful slumber. The beeping of the monitor starts and a rush of cold starts up my arm, sending a shockwave of anxiety through every cell of my body. I want to move and scream that I don’t want this anymore, but my mouth is paralyzed by the drug that was just injected into my vein. I open my eyes, the only sign that I have left before my goodbye is granted, one that I thought I wanted, but now I don’t.

Something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on it. My lungs constrict and I can’t breathe. My body is paralyzed by terror as I look around only to see masked workers checking the monitor and writing things down on a board. A shadow in the corner is lurking, watching as a piece of his heart is soon to die. Caesar stands there, pursed lips and arms crossed, still handsome despite the burn scars that cover him. His black eyes look at me just like the others. I want him to save me, and not like this, yet he stands there waiting for me to fall into a goodbye I thought I wanted.

“Her eyes are still open. Dale mas,”

My veins turn icy as my eyes beg to remain in the current to tell the people that I don’t want this. Fear. I am terrified of what I will see on the other side, but the drug wins and my eyes are too tired to fight. I am too tired to fight, and I fall asleep, greeting not dreams and happiness, but nightmares and pain.

The goodness I thought I had was nothing but a fucking lie.

Nothing is what it seems.

Dirty princesses were birthed from somewhere.

Cold shivers cover
my tiny body. I try, but fail miserably, to wrap my small arms around my skinny legs, but it wouldn’t matter. The only person I love is on the other side of the door; the door that used to mean good things to me. Warm water and soap. Lots of soap to wash the dirt away, but there were never any towels. I always had to drip dry by the rumbling heater while my mother huddled in the corner, whispering terms of endearment in Russian to the man that she worshipped as it made him angry.

I was thrown out to the sleep in the hallway hours ago because I kept coming out from hideaway spot when my mother was having her alone time with the man that cares for us. He hardly speaks and I wish I knew his name.

Those were better times, sweet little dreams and secrets that my mother and I shared of warm microwave meals and baths. My eyes focus on the door where we go when we are desperate. That’s where the man that feeds us, bathes us, and doesn’t beat us lives. I think he might love my mommy. Maybe one day, I will be good enough for him to love me, too.

I wonder if anyone will ever love me.

I push my ear, which is still sore from Pavel’s boot, to the door, hoping to hear something sweet. Instead, there are cries. My mother’s pleas cannot go unnoticed. It’s the only kind of lullaby I have ever been sung, besides the echoing of knuckles on bone. That is another tune that is played about in my confused little mind.

I wonder if anyone will ever love me.

“Get off of me, puta! I cannot give you what you want! Pavel is sure to kill you soon enough,” the man yells.

The same man that saves us at all the right times, wiping the blood free from my mother’s face, is mad. Is that what we are to do? Cry and beg when you want someone to love you?

“No, Caesar! Please!” my mother yells.

I can tell how sad she is in her voice. She wants someone to love her, too.

“люби нас, Caesar!”

Love us, Caesar!

“You know I don’t understand that communist fucking slang, perra!”

I hear the music that sets my heart alight. Smack. Slap. Punch.

“Love us, Caesar,” I whisper, pushing my tiny fingers beneath the opening of the door.

“Love us, Caesar,” I state, trying my best to grasp onto the last bit of goodness that we have had.

“Love us, Caesar!” I cry, tears clouding my vision as my little fingers try to dig their way inside.

The door swings open and the quiet man that always helps us stands tall above me, holding my mother’s hair in his hands with her submissive body dangling beneath. I sniffle, wiping my eyes free of the tears that are prayers for a freedom from the prison of hell that we have been delivered to.

The look on his face isn’t the same as the other times. His hair is a mess, hanging over his forehead and his jaw is clamped down like he trying to chew a tough piece of meat. His nostrils are flared and his chest is moving like he’s been running, but I haven’t seen him running around. He’s angry. I know that Pavel changes when he gets angry. So angry. That’s what is happening to this man. The man that now has a name…

I put on the last brave face I have, reaching out to grab the bottom of his pant leg, “Love us, Caesar,” my voice a small whimper as I plead with every last bit of faith that I have with my big brown eyes.

He immediately drops my mother from his tight grip and she goes limp for seconds, then wrapping her arms around the bottom of his leg.

I wonder if anyone will ever love me…

Instead, I was tossed out to the hallway because my mother and that man, now who I understand is Caesar, wanted to be alone, and telling me to hide away more than once wasn’t acceptable.

Caesar kicks my mother away from his leg, and she goes flying into the hallway like a ragdoll I always wanted. He grabs me by my dirty pink shirt, which is several sizes too large, but it was doable because it covered my bottom. He yanks me inside of his apartment, and I smile because I think that I am being stolen away from the blackness of the streets and hatred.

I think someone loves me…

My bare toes dance over the rough floors and I think of a graceful ballerina floating across a stage to the arms of someone that adores her.

I think someone loves me…

My small hands meet his grip. His skin is warm. It isn’t cold like Pavel’s and he smells like lemons, soap, and cigarettes. I had lemonade once at the homeless shelter. I think it smells a little bit like what heaven would be like. Before I have time to understand what’s happening, my slight lungs are knocked free of their air as the hard floor meets my back. My dizzy stare meets Caesar’s, the man who finally has a name. I decide to try one more time. Maybe he is God. He’s been the only kind of good that has come into my life.

“Love us, Caesar,” I murmur between panted breaths.

His eyes widen as his shaking fingers make their way to his belt buckle. Will he beat me now, just like Pavel? I gulp hard, understanding that this is just how my life is going to be, tainted by the darkness, soon to be swallowed whole.

A loud thump and screaming from the hallway breaks him from me and he walks backwards until his back is up against the wall. He’s shaking his head no. He can’t love me. I don’t understand it, but something in my heart just wants to make him better. I get on all fours, trying to crawl over to him to beg for his love.

His boot meets my nose.

No one will ever love me.

“You are no princess. You are dirty just like your fucking whore mother. Get out!”

His voice is colder than ice, and I’m certain that part of me has died. His heavy, bloodied boot steps over me as his large hand grasps onto my hair, dragging me out to the hallway to lay like trash and cry alongside my mother.

The dirty princess was birthed from the tainted king, and soon, they would fall in love and their empire would come crumbling down.