“Ophelia, doesn’t it feel better to stay? Not to run from me?” I whispered into her ear, clutching onto her soft locks.
My lips made their way to hers and I claimed her, invading her parted mouth with mine. With every sweep of my tongue to hers, it felt like a piece of sandpaper chaffing it. I remember how amazed I was at the loss of life. How something can be lost so quickly. Change sets in almost instantly. A dead body is just that. Dead without life. There is no chance of a rebuttal or fleeing. Simply, they stay quiet, get colder, and look at you through pretty, glassy eyes that hold secrets that they will only ever know.
Life had lied to me. Needing someone is a lie. Real people don’t exist. Everyone gets fucked by the world, thrown to hell, put through pain. Death is where it’s at. Death is beauty. Simple. Forever.
I stared into the eyes that I love and fucked her cold body, euphoria dancing on every inch of my body.
“Yes. Yes, niña. I will never leave you. I love you. Fuck yes. Fuck!” I chanted, spurting myself inside of her cold body.
I would never know the feeling of a woman getting off like I do. I have found pleasure in the most unconventional ways, but I am not a normal person. I may be living on the outside, but what you see on the outside and what is on the inside are two different things.
My heart may beat. My brain may work (sometimes, though not right), and my lungs may provide me with oxygen, but I am dead inside. I am dead just like the only woman I ever loved. After I loved Ophelia the only way I knew how, I needed a reminder. I ripped locks of her beautiful, black hair out, often bringing it to my nose to smell and feel. So soft, perfect… so Ophelia. My family, full of fucked up people that care too much about becoming exposed, threw me to my uncle. He has been the only person since that didn’t discard me like trash. He didn’t hate me for killing her, but he has never discussed it since. He covered up my mess, burning her in the incinerator like all the others he says goodbye to.
I say goodbye before they can, taking lovely little locks to remind me of the love that I took.
Caesar
Lies we tell ourselves to invent the truth.
Marta knocks at my door after a long day, the smell of burnt skin and medical soap doesn’t bother her. In fact nothing bothers her, all she seems to need is a little warmth and a soft touch to get her through whatever comes after me. I am not stupid. I know she is just a whore, but after the deafening chaos of my days, she is a relief at night. She brings mi amor with her now; it feels wrong that she watches us and sees this. Marta tells her to hide away in Russian so we can be alone. Marta comes to me because it’s clean here and she can have a warm shower and bathe the little one after. I don’t think they have had electricity or running water in months, in fact in the five years I have been fucking her, I don’t recall them ever having anything. I give Marta extra money over what I pay her sick husband to use her body for my comfort. Tonight I am angry when I undress her and find bruises and burn marks on her skin. I kiss her and my day disappears into silence, I can’t save her because I can’t kill her.
My memories are interrupted, rather I am saved from them when the machines attached to her start to beep louder and faster. The doctor shoves me out of the way as she lifts her eyelids and adds something to her IV, the liquid making the noise slow down and the alarms are silenced.
“Caesar, she is playing jump rope between life and death right now. I can’t make you the promises you need.” The doctor’s words are like daggers stabbing me right in the gut.
“What can we do? Can we do more? Should we move her?”
“No, no there would be too many questions and we would all be exposed, we can only wait and see. This one is special to you, no?”
What is special? I don’t even know. I don’t answer her, because in truth, I don’t even know myself why I care about her. Or if I even care, this may just be the stupidest thing I have ever done. Love makes people stupid and irrational.
“Go home, boss. I will stay with her,” the tired doctor says to me. I want to go, but I want to stay too. I want her to live, but I know she only wants to die. They always want to die when the world breaks them. There are days I want to die too.
“I can’t go because I don’t trust the boy. I will go sleep in my office for a while, then come back later.” She shakes her head. They all know about Mateo, he doesn’t even try to hide it. His mother said he was a silly boy who played with his sister’s dolls, and now he is sick man that likes to fuck almost dead women. We never can tell what our children will become, they will become whatever is in them. I wonder if Marta always knew her child would be just another whore for sick men to use and hurt. I wonder why she never tried to save her. Even before she died, it was like she just surrendered to the darkness that’s surrounded them, she had no fight. She begged me to take her away and say goodbye, but I needed her too much. I was selfish and her goodbye was brutal. I should have killed them both when Marta asked me to. She begged me to let her and the tiny baby in her arms die and I selfishly said no.
I leave the room, as the doctor is still writing stuff down on the make-shift chart she has stuck to the side table. This is not what my facility is designed for, people come here to die not live. I know they are doing the best they can and it feels like it will never be enough. I need to go and deal with my stupid nephew and that gnat Juan. He cannot be running around. I make my way to my office, my steps are slower and less determined than they were earlier today, and I feel tired and defeated. I find them both in the office kitchen making food. The upstairs kitchen isn’t operational so they have no choice really. Well, they could go into Mateo’s apartment but I think he hides something in there, as not even I am allowed in. They are laughing like today wasn’t the longest day of my fucking life, and I grab the plate out of Juan’s hands and sit down to eat his food. I am starving. “Caesar, I wanted to talk to you.” The way he says my name grinds me and I instantly want to slap him.
“My name is CHe-sa-ray you gnat. I am not a Roman, I am Spanish,” I grunt out at the twit.
“Sorry, I have decided I don’t want the money.” I almost spit the food right back out.
“So, you want to die then?” I ask, because that’s the alternative. He shakes his head and smiles, the cocky little prick.
“No, I want a job.” I take second to consider it, he already saw too much downstairs; if I pay him he could talk. I look at Mateo, who is just as amused.
“Can you use him? Sobrino, listen when I talk to you, you shit. Can he help you or not?” He is distracted. I don’t know where his mind goes, but it just fucks off completely sometimes.
“He can clean I guess, the office is like a fucking whore house. I could use a run around too,” Mateo answers me, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth.
“Okay, gnat. Once I have your kidney, you can stay. Pick a hole upstairs where you won’t bother anyone. Mateo is your boss, you are his little bitch, you do what he says and I will pay you every week. You fuck up and… well, you saw what happens when you were poking that nose in my business.”
He swallows the dry lump in his throat and nods his head over and over. “Thank you, Caesar.” At least the little shit got it right this time.
“Now make me another sandwich,” I demand of the irritating gnat.
“Mateo, we have three harvests over the next few days so I need things to go back to quiet. This chaos will make it too hard.” He is sitting now, paying attention. “Make sure everything is ready. Go and check that the clinic is ready for the recipients, there will be a few.” If I keep him busy, he won’t have time for her.
“Is she staying here?” he asks with a frown on his face.
“I told you she is mine. That means she has nothing to do with you. Or you.” I point at Juan, who is listening in now. “She is off limits to anyone who is not me or her doctor. If I catch you, I will kill you.” I make my stance on the matter very clear. “Gnat, go with Mateo and start learning.” I scrape my chair back along the floor
and stand. “I will be in my office sleeping, so shut the fuck up while you’re at it.” I hear Mateo whisper to Juan as I leave, “He hates noise, so shut up.”
I spend the next few days in the building, afraid to leave in case she wakes up or worse, Mateo tries his luck again. I sleep on the couch in the office when I can.
He is right, I cannot abide certain noises. I hate them, they are the cause of my disease, my insanity. Music is like torture for me and the human voice like a switch blade cutting me apart. I slide myself onto the plastic covered sofa in the corner of the office and try to make myself comfortable as my body melds itself to the synthetic cover; I am going to sweat like hell. When I close my eyes, the fatigue grips me and I plummet into the abyss of sleep and the torment of memories and dreams creeps in.
Marta is pregnant and it’s not the first time, all the others haven’t made it this far. Her distended belly puts me off, yet I still pay to fuck at least once a week, but I am not sure if I do it for me or her anymore. I just turn her around so I cannot see it. I have never had anyone that I can be with like her. I think it’s because she is quiet; she very rarely speaks at all. Her English is appalling and I don’t understand Russian, so there is no need for words between us. Even when we have sex, the only noise is her heavy breathing. She doesn’t make the sounds that will send me spiraling out of control. As I kneel her on the sofa facing away from me, my fingers trace the arch of her spine from her neck to her ass, which has gotten bigger. I have the urge to grab onto it dig my fingers into the flesh, but then she would make a noise so I don’t. I let my hand carry on exploring her softness and as I slip my fingers between her parted thighs, she throws her head back and arches into me, wanting more. The noise of the day has left me feeling wound up and my cock is aching for release as I slip it inside of her. Voices all day are driving me further and further into madness. I need this, and as I pound into her, my hand covers her mouth so she cannot cause me more agony when I want the quietness. When I am ready to come, I pull out and let myself go all over her white skin. She collapses onto her hands and knees, her skin flushed pink and she pants gently. I instantly want to comfort her now that the discomfort of my day has been taken out on her body. She lets me pull her next to me on the sofa, her warm naked skin against mine and as I sit with her and light a smoke, I am okay. For a few minutes everything is silent. Marta is silent.
I am jolted awake by the torture of voices, the worst fucking kind. Whispering voices. I try to clear the haze of sleep from my eyes so I can punch whoever is whispering in here. “Shut the fuck up,” I yell before I can turn around to see where the voices are coming from. I see Mateo shoving that irritating little fly with a kidney that I need out of the office. I growl out loud and my body reacts to the noise against my will. Fuck it all to hell. The Polish doctor is standing in the open doorway, looking a little tired and worried. I stand up, stretching out the stiffness that sleeping on the sofa has caused. “Why in the name of all that is fucking holy are you all in here making such a racket?” I adjust myself so that my raging cock is less visible to them
“She’s awake,” the doctor answers, turning and walking away. “You should come see her now,” she finishes off, already halfway down the passage. I glance at my watch and see that it is well after midnight, no wonder the doctor looks ragged. “You two, go upstairs. And Gnat, ask my nephew what I do to people who whisper.” I glare at them both. I hate having people around me, I should have just killed him for the kidney. I stomp my way behind the doctor, through the others, to her. The beeping is a sound I can handle, its voices that drive me to the very edge of reason.
Why do people even need words? I would never speak at all given the choice.
Svetlana
Through bloodshed and pain, the man with no name gives me hope once again.
Through the confines of fear, I have stayed locked inside of my head, raped, torn apart, sick, and waiting to die. I was simply surviving, but now I am on the brink of insanity. Time means nothing. Who am I kidding, my fucking existence means shit to the world. I am nothing more than a flea in the grand scheme of things. Still, rationality pulls me from limbo as my heavy lids open to the flickering fluorescence that I remember. The buzzing hurts my head and the sensation from my mouth is still very present. I thought I had felt pain before, remembering moments throughout my life that I wished I could forget, but that was nothing before now. Days, or weeks may have passed since I was taken by the Russians in that fucking disgusting place. Tears, they fall. I let them as they burn the scratches and cuts on my face. The overwhelming aching sensation that I have between my legs is too much. I want to cry out, but the scream that my body is having is silent. It’s monstrous in my head as I think back to the moments that brought me to a reality that confuses me. I want to die, feeling the sticky, burning sensation on my cunt. The orange flames flash before my mind and I am certain that I can feel it all over again. I am being thrown into a tunnel of irrationality and fear as my heart shreds itself from the empathy and hope that I used to have. Every surface of my skin cries out in discomfort. I beg for a grave, even a goddamn metal dumpster. Please, God. Not this. Remembering a life so gruesome and feeling this pain is too much. My ass feels like it has ripped straight into my vagina. How fucked up am I? Why live when I am of no use now? I need to stop feeling! Stop this madness! Make it all stop!
Feeling is not something that I am familiar with, but one that I am not accustomed to is tugging around in my belly as I talk my way off the ledge of losing my mind. The pain is daunting, too much, but a sensation that I can’t trust is tugging me further, harder.
Safety.
I look down at my wrists through dizzy eyes as the tightening of the cloth straps rubs on my skin. I don’t try to get away. If they wanted me dead, I would be gone. Instead, I feel better. I turn my head to the side to see the same woman from before holding a clipboard as she stares at the beeping monitor. I’m all for being unnoticed, but my bladder burns and feels like it is about to bust and I can’t bring myself to piss the bed. I clear my throat and even that hurts.
Her calming eyes meet mine and I sink down into the comfortable mattress, realizing it has been years since I have lain on top of a real bed. Surely this can’t be real. I gulp hard, wondering what I should say. I furrow my brows and take a sharp intake of breath into my lungs. Breathing is easier now, but still painful. Why, though? No one cares about me. Saving me means nothing for the world other than taking up wasted space. Overthinking the situation makes me want to pass back out into an abyss of blackened thoughts. I liked it better there because I didn’t have to search for answers.
I’ve never had to get answers. I never even had to question life itself because I always knew my place. No one ever made me feel important or worthy of breathing for that matter. None of this makes sense.
“Oh, Miss Svetlana,” the Polish woman whispers, taking careful steps over to my side like I am some sort of breakable doll. “You okay. I take good care of you.”
I want to reply, but I can’t bring myself to. My bladder screams out in pain and I bite my lip.
“You hurt somewhere? Tell me, I fix it.”
Her broken English reminds me of my mother. I shake my head no, convinced I can just hold it and deal with the pain. But I look back down at my restrained wrists and think that pissing the bed may just have to happen. I scrunch my eyes harder, wondering how I relieved myself before now. I don’t remember much except the tan skinned man who told me we could play dead dolly, but I think that was a dream. Men don’t treat me well in real life.
“You need to talk to me, Svetlana. I Dr. Bajek. I help you, not hurt you.”
She seems genuine. I want to believe her, but kind people don’t exist. I haven’t met one yet. Except him, the man with no name whose eyes held a softness that I would never forget. The place between my thighs that I thought was damaged forever throbs to life. I am all sorts of fucked up, letting myself become affected by someone that I don’t know as I
am enveloped by pain. I take a deep breath.
“I have to pee and I hurt everywhere.”
“No, no, Svetlana. Your body think it does. That is a normal body response when you wake up. You have a catheter in, draining your urine. But since you up, I take it out.”
My eyes grow wide as I realize that I have been pissing in a bag for God knows how long. I nod, embarrassed, and for the first time I feel truly alone. I have always been isolated, but something seems different now. When people care for those that are fucked by the world’s ways, it hurts more than being beaten. I want to cry at the doctor’s kindness as she drapes a privacy sheet over my legs, explaining what is going to happen.
“Take this first,” Dr. Bajek says, giving me a sip of water.
The cooling liquid is delightful down my dry throat and I find myself wanting to smile, but I won’t.
“Now, take this. It help with your pain, Svetlana,” Dr. Bajek says, placing a white tablet on my tongue.
I accept it, willing to defer this discomfort.
“We wait and let pain medicine kick in before I take the catheter out.”
I lie back onto the pillow, letting the effects of the medication start. The pain starts to become bearable and I relax further, still confused about why my restrained wrists don’t bother me.
“Take a deep breath, Svetlana. I pull this out now.”
I take a deep breath out and she slides the tube out. A rush of warmth follows and I want to cry from the burning skin and memories. What have I endured and why must I be here now?
“I undo you now, okay? I help you clean up now. You be on antibiotics for a little bit to prevent an infection in your bladder. You take it when you eat after you wake up more. After I get you up, someone wants to see you.”
The Goodbye Man (Red Market #1) Page 9