The Goodbye Man (Red Market #1)

by A. Giannoccaro

  pull me, only to leave me astray.

  There’s a set of windows above and I know he watches me. I find myself observing, knowing that his eyes can see mine. Part of me wants to undress myself to seduce him, to draw him towards me until he can’t avoid me any longer, but I stay stuck like a statue.

  Caesar walks into the treatment room and my feelings instantly change. Depression is settling in, which is unusual for me. Through all the heartache and abuse that I have sustained, I was numb. Since being here and forming a connection that I don’t even understand only to be rejected, I am spiraling into a deep depression as I reflect back on my life.

  I am irrelevant. I have always known that, but I am being pushed further and further away. I wonder how long I can stay holding on by a thread. My wounds may be healing. My skin may be brightening. My heart may be stronger, but I am dying inside. The medicine they fed me saved my body, but my soul is damaged more than it ever was before. I don’t wish for things that you may think since living within safety. Rainbows and sunshine are not what I hope for. Instead, visions of my salvation are all that occupy my fucked up brain. They feed me food and I take bites, but small amounts fill me because I am not used to so much consumption. I didn’t even know what to think when I tasted hot pizza for the first time. My mouth almost repulsed the idea.

  His presence does things to me that I don’t understand, but my mind has no choice but to welcome them. His black hair stands out, so dark and beautiful. I want to reach out and grab onto it, run my fingers through it, and tug on it as he eats me perfectly. His voice interrupts my inappropriate thoughts.

  “It’s time to move upstairs mi, amor. I need this space,” Caesar hums.

  Where? What’s upstairs? For a brief moment I am concerned, worried that I am being shuffled away to be forgotten about. Is there something they are hiding up there? Is he kicking me out of this little sanctuary that is sending me into a depression as I am consumed with thoughts of him, the only person that has cared to save me?

  I dismiss my thoughts, as his endearment makes my pussy clench and I find myself getting dizzy. I grasp a hold of the bed sheets like my life depends on it. Fuck, I don’t even know what my life means anymore. Again, I am stuck and unable to move. I am finding it harder and harder to exchange air in my once dying lungs as my eyes lock on his while I try to decipher what they mean.

  “You can get up and come with me, or I can pick you up and take you?” he questions.

  Oh, yes, please. Pick me up, slam me against the wall, and claim me. Break me into a million tiny pieces and make me yours. I wish I could tell him the thoughts that occupy my dysfunctional mind, but I am scared. Not of him, but of being away from him. I fear that if I tell him of my feelings, he will throw me out and I won’t feel him near me anymore. I will take the melancholy sentiments while dreaming of him over being away from him any day.

  “Come,” he states, holding out his hand.

  It was a command. He is the master. I am the submissive girl who will do anything to listen. Even if he told me sweet lies, I would believe them. I am certain that this man before me is sure to break my fucking heart and I don’t care. I suppose being birthed to the disgusting ways of the world just transcended into something different. I simply traded one kind of pain for another.

  I place my hand in his and I have to stop myself from moaning out loud. Finally, his touch warms me. His rough hands feel like they were meant for mine. He pulls me up and walks me through the doors. I lose my breath instantly as a coldness stops inside of my throat. Rows of bodies line up, connected to tubes and the all too familiar beeping. I should be terrified, but I am strangely calm. I see peace. There are no tears or fear staining their faces. Rather, it is replaced with simple tranquility as they are sleeping through the static of this fucked up world.

  “Don’t look at them, okay? And don’t worry, you’re safe now,” Caesar whispers to me. His voice sings to me like the sweetest lullaby.

  He continues on, dragging me behind, “So are they, mi amor. I saved them.”

  I want to fall to my knees and cry for the many stories that are before me. I know exactly what he means with one simple statement. I remember when I prayed for death to escape the cruel elements that consumed me on the daily. He is the man that makes that happen. Though it doesn’t all make sense, somehow it does.

  “Why not me?” I gasp, “Why you didn’t save me? Am I to be your whore now too?”

  This is the part where I need answers. Why am I not lying in the bed like the girl with freckles that dusts her nose perfectly? Instead, I am standing next to him. My eyes beg for honesty. For the real truth, but I see an impermeable shield in front of his sorrowful eyes.

  I may as well lay down my heart and let him dissect it. I feel it being torn as he continues to stare at me, tongue tied. Words don’t find him easily either. We definitely have that in common, too.

  “I have saved you, and mi amor, I don’t want a whore.”

  They say the truth will set you free. Well, I feel more imprisoned by confusion, lust, and addiction to a man that I hardly know. He leads me into the elevator and I let myself cry. Out of shame. Out of envy for being the one that lives, instead of being one of the almost dead girls who will soon meet their maker.

  “What do you do with them?” I ask, trying to find an excuse to engage in conversation. I don’t want to lose him again and I know he is soon to leave me.

  “I sell spare parts, little one. I give them peace to save many other who would die otherwise.”

  I hate myself again for asking as his accent dances around in my belly, setting fire between my legs. I want to crawl into a ball and cry myself to sleep as I realize that he is good. That makes my feelings for him even more complicated. I almost wish for him to be a bad man. That would be easier for me to hate him.

  “You are good then?” I respond.

  “No, I am not good.”

  His words bite every surface of my exposed skin. I believe him. I don’t want to, but something tells me he is truthful. We exit the elevator and he shows me my room. I’ve never had a room before. The small bed in the corner has a nice bedspread on it and I can’t wait to feel it. Still, nothing makes sense.

  “You want me to stay, but you don’t want me?”

  The courage that I have longed for erupts.

  “I always wanted you, mi amor. I have work to do today. Stay here, Juan or Mateo will come bring you food later. Goodbye.”

  Then he leaves me as his last words echo around in my heart, tugging at every string I thought was hanging by a thread. Now, those threads are getting stronger, beating faster, and yearning for him.

  I crawl into the warmth of my very first bed, smiling as I replay his voice over and over in my head.

  I always wanted you, mi amor.

  Visions of his lips on me make me shudder with delight. I open my eyes quickly to ensure I am alone. The wetness between my legs needs attention as I allow my hand to graze over the surface of my belly, down to my pants, imagining it was his strong, rough hand. My pussy is still tender, but it doesn’t hurt anymore like it did before. I rub my clit, letting my arousal cover my fingers. I urge my hips forward, biting my lip as his face is beneath my closed lids while he whispers, I always wanted you, mi amor.

  I need more. I need him.

  I finger myself, letting myself feel good. Tightness burns deep in my belly and I move my hips as I picture his cock filling me. Yes, he would be sweet and gentle. He wouldn’t be rough. He would tell me how beautiful I am and how long he has waited for someone like me, because there is no one out there like me.

  I always wanted you, mi amor.

  My fingers are bathed with my arousalas I explode into a thousand pieces of brilliant bliss. Tears leak from the slits of both eyes, staining my pillow with evidence of all that I want. Him.

  ***

  I wish that I could sleep. I wonder what time it is, but I don’t have a clock in here. Part of me wants to sneak downstairs to
see how it all works out behind the scenes as they take apart a human life, but I am certain that would enrage Caesar greatly. Instead, I repeat his words over and over in my head and I step closer to madness with each fleeting moment.

  I was destined for this. If not for death, then for a life of insanity and uncertainty as I play with the thoughts that I so desperately want. I curl up on top of the perch and hope for my fantasies to come to life as the sexual storm brews heavily in my body. I hear the buzzing from the elevator from outside my door and my heart whooshes in my chest. I feel it in my ears and my eyes pulse in perfect synchrony.

  Moments that I have yearned for are soon to come true. I see a shadow from beneath the crack of the door and I swallow hard, imagining it was his cock in the back of my throat. The door opens and Caesar walks in. A waft of cigarette smoke and sweat billows thickly in the air and sends shivers down my spine, making me more aware than what I was before.

  I am set free as his look tells me a story without words. He is tired, so tired, and he needs someone. He has come to me. I am his someone. I am comforted by this revelation as my soul swells to its limit. I smile at him as he makes his way over to me. He sits next to me as we stay silent; no conversation has been spoken yet. I feel the need to have him against me in some sort of way. I lay my head in his lap and the same connection I felt when his hand was laid in mine rushes through my body. Time is forgotten. Hatred is unknown and all I can focus on is the adoration that I have for the mysterious man beside me. His hand starts to dance in my soft hair and my scalp tingles. I wish I could understand why he wanted me.

  “Why me?” I ask, drunk in the moment.

  “Shh,” he coos, rubbing his strong hands through my hair.

  I feel his cock harden under me and I take this opportunity to make him mine. He is mine, I will make sure of it. He just doesn’t know it yet. I have traveled through hell and back to get to him. Something screams home with him and I won’t let myself let it go.

  “You say you don’t want me, but your body tells me different.”

  I grab his hardened length through his jeans, surprised by its size. He snatches my wrist tight. It hurts, but even that can’t stop me.

  “I am confused by you, Caesar.”

  He lets go of my hand as our eyes are magnetized by each other’s. Like a weightless feather, I glide over his lap letting his hard erection push down on my cotton pants. My pussy clenches in pleasure as I push my soft lips onto his. His tongue is just as I imagined, delicious and graceful as it strokes alongside mine with perfection. He has stripped me free from the old me with each flawless movement of his tongue, with each passing second that he spends with me, I am undone and made into a new girl.

  One that is loved and made worthy of this world.

  But just as soon as goodness is felt, rage consumes the lust filled night. Caesar throws me from his lap like the old, useless whore that I am. My head bounces from the concrete and he steps over me and out of my heart once again. I am locked away and he has the key. I am a foolish, useless girl.

  I want to drown in the old me. Suffocate me and leave me for dead.

  I scream at the top of my lungs and pull at my hair, trying to get the feeling of his hands through my hair out of my crazy mind. Instead, I beat my head against the hard concrete ground because that is what I deserve. I wanted him. I got a taste of decency, but it never lasts. I want to revert back to the girl who doesn’t feel, but Caesar holds the map and the key.

  I cry out again, out of fear, unknowing, and sorrow. My old, trustworthy friend creeps by me, hugging me, telling me in my ear that it’s alright to be crazy and unlovable. The voice in my head chants “Worthless whore! Worthless whore!” over and over again. Pangs of agony surge through my veins and existing is getting harder with each passing second.

  I hate tears. I hate him. I hate me. I try to get the tears to stop, but they won’t listen. No one has ever listened because my whispers never mattered. I never mattered to anyone. I haven’t ever been a real person before. I have only been a dirty fuck doll. Still nothing changes.

  My pleas for mercy are answered as the door is opened. A pair of familiar arms pick me up from the floor. I try to look at his eyes, but my vision is blurry from the crying. I swallow my fear, but it is still present. It will never be gone.

  “You remind me of a beautiful doll I once loved, Lettie.”

  His words shouldn’t ease my fears, but they do. I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me over to my bed, tucks me in, and whispers, “Goodnight.”

  I cry until blackness meets me again.

  Caesar

  Ugly lies, beautiful truths and the filthy honesty.

  I shower for longer than normal, letting the water cascade over my body. The white noise of the shower drowns out the voices that I can still hear whispering. When I step out into the steam filled room, I feel marginally better, the boiling inside me has cooled. I brush my teeth three times; I need the taste of her to be gone. When I think of her lips on mine I gag, I want to let myself love her, but not like that. I cannot hold it in, I bend over the toilet and let the contents of my stomach go. I can’t stop once I start and I heave until there is nothing left in me. I pull myself up off the floor and brush my teeth again before I go and collapse on my bed, the soft clean sheets cling to my wet body and I let the darkness of my dreams take me away. I tumble from here into sleep, where the faces of so many wrongs can stare at me.

  I can see Marta’s tears at what I did, and even though she is dead, I know I have done her wrong. I have hurt her. I want it to stop, the vision of her face streaming with tears, but then I have to tell the truth. I knew the truth, so did she, and so did Pavel, but not one of us spoke the truth. No one said it, so it was never real. Now it’s so real and so very, very wrong. Even in my dreams I am swallowed by shame, the guilt pulls me from my fitful sleep. I wake up cold and naked on my bed; sleep will not be peaceful tonight. Instead, I get up and pour a brandy. I search the dark room for my smokes and light one. I sit on my kitchen chair and drink and smoke. It is now long after the sun has risen and I am still there. My phone vibrates on the table in front of me, it’s Mateo.

  You hurt her.

  I know.

  The first replacement is on the way to you now.

  Fine

  What must I do with her?

  Nothing leave her alone Mat

  She is crying, she won’t fucking stop.

  LEAVE HER TO CRY!

  I hate myself even more, but right now filling those three beds is what I need to do. I wait for the knock on the door. I drown my feelings just a little more before she gets here. Mateo will have told them how it works; the new Madame was all too willing to fill the gap in my supply chain. My cigarette dangles from my lips as I close my eyes for a minute. I suck on the death stick, pulling the heavenly smoke into my lungs. We all have our vices, smoking is mine. When I snub out the last smoke in the over full ashtray, I stand up and pull on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. A knock on my door means that another goodbye has arrived. I open a little first to see who it is, revealing just a girl with no pimp holding onto her. She is cleaner than some, but her empty eyes tell me all I need to know. She is ready for it all to be over. I open the door and step aside so she can come in. For the first time in many years, it feels like it did in the beginning - almost wrong. She is a pretty thing, a bit older than Pavel’s girls at maybe around twenty two. Her long hair is snagged up into a bun and her hooker clothes are clean, she isn’t starving either. It’s harder for me when they don’t look like their lives are as horrible. I know that no matter what, she wishes to end it all.

  “Go shower please,” I tell her, pointing to the bathroom. She looks a little confused when she replies, “I am not dirty, I promise.”

  “I don’t give a fuck, go shower,” I bark back at her, because I am too tired for bullshit. I try to calm myself down while she does, telling myself I need her to feel safe and trust me. It is not easy to take them kicking
and screaming, but I will if I have to. I sit on the sofa and wait; when the water finally stops, she comes out naked and wet and vulnerable. Perfect.

  “Stand over there and get dry.” I point to the spot where I can admire the perfect line of her body.

  “You don’t have any towels?” she asks me, as if I am mad.

  “No, I don’t. I don’t like them. Stand still. And if you talk - whisper.” I need her to whisper because my cock couldn’t be softer if she was a man.

  “This is so strange,” she whispers. Her voice has a maddening feminine rasp and it makes me want her to stop, and not stop all at once. I adjust myself through my boxers so I am comfortable as I watch her shivering. She is so perfect standing there, but her eyes don’t match her body. She has a vacant stare that is begging for it all to end. When I am done looking at every inch of her naked skin, I call her over. “Come here, puta.” Her eyes immediately fall to look at floor when I use the word. Her crushed and battered spirit shows just then; she is waiting for the pain and brutality. I won’t give her that. She stands against the sofa between my thighs, cold and still a little damp. I run my hands up from her knees to her waist, her neatly shaved pussy right in my face. I grab her thin wrists, pull her down so her face is right in front of mine and seal her fate. I kiss her, but my mind won’t let go of another kiss. So I kiss her harder. Her moans fuel the noise induced hard on I have and I pull her all the way on top of me. My hands are all over her, in her hair, cupping her breasts, pulling her ass up onto my lap. She feels good, so fucking good and I want to make her feel even better. I don’t want to take her on the sofa; I want her to feel special so when she tells me she wants to die, I can hold onto her just for a little while.

  Hours later she lies next to me, her body limp from sex and her mind racing with what she is used to. Nothing I just did is normal to her. Her restless tossing and twisting is stilled when I pull her into me, my arm restraining her. “When they beat you and rape you, what do you wish for?” She turns herself away from my eyes. I know she has tears in hers.