The Goodbye Man (16 page)

I awake after comforting
Caesar with alcohol and cigarettes. He is already gone and leaves a trail of butts in the ashtrays along with his empty tumbler. He is messy. I hate messy. It makes me nervous. My head is pounding as the taste of last night’s drink lingers on my tongue. I empty the cigarette trays and wash the dishes, making sure they line up perfectly on the drying rack. I can’t stop myself from turning back to the drying rack to ensure that they are aligned perfectly. I regret bringing his unruly fucking self into my place.

Even personal hygiene has a system. I shower, washing from head to toe, then dry myself off with a towel in the same order. Caesar hates towels. I hate being wet. I dress myself in my typical attire in a black T-shirt and jeans. I walk into the room that holds the reminders of all the love I have felt. It’s better to feel it and take it than to have it and let them run away with or from my love. I pull the glass jar from the top shelf with the blackest hair of them all. The one that holds the deepest meaning to me. I remember yearning to hold onto a piece of her, ripping it from her dead scalp and stuffing it in my pocket before I left her lifeless body in the alleyway off Melrose.

My heart is thudding in my chest as I prepare to have a reunion with the girl that stole my heart all that time ago. I pop the top of the glass jar open, pulling out the coal black strands of hair. I smile as my fingers touch the silkiness that I remember. My mind flashes to the night when I fell in love for the first time with Ophelia.

I gently pull the lock out and bring it to my nose, inhaling sharply. I’m instantly hard, but I won’t let myself stray from this second. It means too much to me. It smells just like I remember. So sweet and innocent.
So
Ophelia.
My mind fucks with me as I think to the images I saw the night before of the life I was so intrigued with.
Lettie
.

My heart starts beating faster as Ophelia leaves my mind while being replaced with Lettie. I don’t understand why my brain is working this way. It makes me nervous and I try to shake the images away. Ophelia is fading away, her memories are being replaced. This is not the kind of man that I am. I can’t let it happen. It will yield bad results. I don’t trust myself. Lettie is different. I don’t understand why, but I saw it when Caesar fucked her last night. I saw it in her blinking eyes, her clenching fists, and I heard it in her moaning voice.

Life isn’t supposed to be beautiful. Life isn’t supposed to be intriguing. I don’t understand why my tastes are changing and I don’t know how to fight them. I feel myself becoming enthralled with the fact of it all, but I can’t trust myself. I place the hair back in the jar and seal the top, trying my best to dismiss my chaotic thoughts, but they still tumble around in the most fucked up manner. I push my lips to the glass, giving Ophelia a kiss goodbye. I want to feel her love forever, but part of me worries that is soon to be replaced by a woman that is forbidden. She is forbidden because Caesar loves her. But he shouldn’t love her either.

And I shouldn’t because I would want to kill her if I do. I have never loved and wanted life. I don’t think it is possible. I need to free my frustrations. I need an outlet to let my anger run free and I know just the person that is willing to take it.

I walk down to the office to find Juan sorting through the papers. He is still on minimal restrictions after getting his kidney removed, but it has been weeks and he finds it hard to stand still. I see the way he looks at me. He fucks me with his eyes. I don’t particularly care for him while he moves, breathes, or asks for things, but now, I need a release. This is a first and my anger and uncertainty is bubbling high. Caesar said I am his boss and he is to answer to me. We will see how that works.

“Put that shit down, Juan.”

His lack of organizational skills was always tolerable until now. I was always able to control my emotions. Fuck, I never had them. I love. I kill. I fuck. I leave before they can leave me. That is how it works. That is always how it works. I don’t like disorder and it is creeping its way into my life.

He sits the papers down, looking at me through desperate eyes.

“Something you need, sir?”

“Fuck you. I didn’t ask you to speak, you little perra.”

He gulps hard. I smile. Maybe playing with life could turn out to be fun for a little while. Instilling fear is proving to be quite rewarding.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth like he wants to speak. Something inside of me breaks. I take my open hand and smack him across the face. His head whips to the side and the sound of skin on skin makes me want to fuck every part of him. Hard.

“Get the point now, cunt?”

He nods his head yes.

“Get naked.”

He swallows hard again and takes off his shirt. I look at the scar forming where they removed his kidney, part of what filters the toxins that keeps him alive, and the dancing between what I crave and what I am used to enrages me further. He removes his jeans and underwear, showing me that his cock is hard as fuck. There will be no pleasure for him. I am his boss. He is my bitch, and right now I need to get this anger out of me before I go crazy. Well, I may be a little crazy, but functioning and able to hide it from the outsiders looking in.

“Bend over the desk. Palms flat, legs spread. Ass up.”

He turns around quickly, assembling the position that I demanded. His trembling fingers fidget on top of the littered desk while his head turns around to look at me. Signs of life make me nervous. Movement makes me uneasy. I hate it.

“Bitch! Did I tell you to look at me?” I roar.

I punch him in the back of the head, watching as it bounces off the desk. He yelps out in pain. Pain is just a reminder that a person is still alive. That fuels my irritation. I grab a condom from the drawer in the desk where I hide them, making sure I put one on, knowing some of the sluts Caesar brings in are infected with disease. I tear open the foil packet. I whisk my belt off and yank my pants and boxers down to my knees, rolling the condom onto my hard cock, then situating myself between his small ass cheeks. I ram my cock inside of him and he shrieks out in discomfort.

“Fucking quit making noises! I will kill you! Just shut the fuck up!” I shout, thrusting my hips deeper inside of him.

I grip both of his hips to control my motions, but the warmth of his skin confuses me. He is getting sweaty and he is still moaning. I want to take his life, I want him limp. Dead and gone. The urge it almost too much. I feel myself being splintered apart as the man I once was is dissected by a woman that I loved and a woman that I have become enamored with.

“Please,” Juan whimpers.

I strike him hard to the back of the head again and he goes limp. Finally, peace. I fuck him faster and faster as the silence in the air calms my mind. Memories of the lovely dysfunction bathe me as I spurt myself into his tight asshole.

I pull myself out of him and I let him fall to the ground. I feel his skin. He is still warm. He starts to stir as he opens his eyes to look at me. I feel defeated. I had the chance to kill, but I let him live. Annoyance still prickles my skin and torture is still on my mind.

Oh, little Juan. You have opened up a can of very bad worms.

Love me, heal me, feed me all your sweet lies.

Leave me to be smothered by myself, waiting until I die.

“Will you still love me
tomorrow, Caesar?”

“I have always loved you, mi amor. Nothing will change that. Nothing can change that. Sweet dreams, little one.”

Lies. I wake up sweating, surrounded by sweet lies. Alone. Deserted, realizing nothing stays the same. Everything is destined to fall apart. The deeper I fall, the more I understand I am nothing more than a stupid whore. But I love him. I do. I feel my pulse fading away the further he is getting away from me.

My lifeline. My love.

I let out a bloodcurdling scream. Just as soon as I thought I could hang onto life once again, he leaves. Dead and gone is Svetlana. I might have been the lamb for all those years, but I am a lion and a lamb now as I await the perfect fucking time to eat myself alive.

Delicious reminders throb between my thighs, images of him between my legs flashing before my mind as I remember how he felt inside of me, pulling deep inside of my womb. A womb that was so damaged until him. Sickness bathes me as I hold onto a man that I love. I want to smash it away as craziness clutches me, telling me that I am not precious. I am unworthy. I am scum, preparing to be washed down the drain.

A disgusting little dolly, torn and tattered about to be thrown away. I want to be unable to recall him as I lay naked on my bed, screaming at the top of my lungs as my pussy gets wet with recollections from the love he showed me. I want it gone. I want to be gone because he fed me lies. He spoke false promises. I want the blood to seep from my body and die like my mother. Kick me in the head, rape me, and leave me to rot in a goddamn dumpster. But just don’t let me
feel
.
I want to die
.

I slip my hand between my thighs, feeling Caesar’s hot cum drip from my pussy, reminding me of his departure. I hit myself between my legs on my bare sex hard to induce pain.
Smack, smack, smack.
Pain, make the pleasure from before go away. Help me. I don’t want to be loved or healed anymore.
I want to die. I want to die.
I am in the center of the worst kind of aching, more than anything else I have felt before. Only to be rescued by a man, delivered to love, and expelled.

Kill me, please
.

I stand abruptly from the bed as the coldness from the hard floors makes me understand that I am not living inside of an unimaginable nightmare. My body betrays my mind once more as my breasts ache for his touch, thinking of how his mouth felt when he kissed and sucked on my nipple.
Deliver me to evil. That is better than feeling love only to lose it. I am going mad. Kill me, please.

My hands make their way to my breasts as I try clawing at them, ridding myself from the glorious memories of his touch. Healing is worse than brutality. Having faith is worse than giving up. There is no such thing as faith. Hope is a made up word for those that want something to believe in, when the fact of the matter is, we are all fucking crazy.

I blink, tears running down my face, wishing with all my being that I would turn into dust to forget all these beautiful moments that I shared with a man that has left me. Because he lied. And I would let him lie to me again and again, over and over, because he is my heart. My lifeline. My salvation.

I pace my living space, making my way to the door, but it’s locked. My heart pounds as I strike the door with my fist. I am locked away and he has the key to my heart and my room.
Hands, his hands, so rough yet gentle.
I recall how they felt on my skin; when they ran through my hair and pleasured my pussy. Oh, I can’t take it. I yell out again, for mercy from someone. Give me a goodbye. My wild heart can’t take much more. Drag me to the gates of hell. Give me a kiss goodbye and let me feel the fire that I am sure I deserve. I pull at my hair, desperately trying to rid my mind from his hands, his touch, his everything, but that only intensifies things. I need a remedy and I only have two.

Him or death.

I won’t get either right now as I think of ways I could kill myself. He has my heart confined in a goddamn steel cage as my mind begs to be freed to murder my fucked up self. I want to go away. I want to forget, to be a no one again. Bring the abuse. Let me be the broken girl I was, because being broken is better than this. What have I become? Who am I? Girls like me don’t find love.

Free me to be raped, crushed, and surrounded by the things I was before. Anything is better than feeling this way. I can’t take it. I bang my head against the door, yelling out as tears continue to stain my mottled face.

“Forgive me! Please! Please love me!” I yell, scratching at the door.

I am asking for forgiveness. What kind, I don’t know. I only know that I need him back. I need a reason to be his. I need a reason for him to come back to me.

“Come back to me!” I cry.

I melt down onto the cold concrete while shedding tears that represent emotions I never thought I was capable of feeling. Eventually sleep or unconsciousness finds me. It’s hard to tell the difference.