The Goodbye Man (14 page)

Screaming whispers of half-truths and whole lies.

I manage to go four
weeks before I see more than a glimpse of her again. I have processed five new donors in the last three days and I am getting ready to leave when Mateo passes me on his way to do what he does. I shake my head and keep walking, wishing I could fix him too. Instead, I try and ignore how much it bothers me. I don’t know how he can want that. I love the feeling of a warm body that responds to my touch. There is nothing more gratifying than making a woman come undone; the way her body shudders and squeezes you in that moment is blissful. Yet I can hear his grunts and moans as he fucks a lifeless, cold, unresponsive body. I don’t know where to even begin, so I don’t. I am putting my coat on and searching the messy desk for my keys. I actually miss Juan since he is recovering from his kidney harvest. He was good at keeping things in order. I find them in the debris when Svetlana flies through the office door, pale and panicked, her breaths short. “He is, he is…” she points down the passage. She saw him, fuck. “He is fucking…” she doesn’t finish her sentence before she throws up in the small waste paper basket. Gross, who is going to clean that? Not me!

She breathes in and out to catch her breath and stop the dry heaving, “He is fucking her in there.”

“I know.” Her voice has already affected me.

“Stop him!” She glares at me, willing me to run down the passage and stop him, but I won’t.

“No, leave him alone.” I want to go home. I need to be away from her.

“Why? Why don’t you stop him? That’s sick.” She covers her eyes.

“No more or less sick than many of the things that have happened to you, mi amor. He isn’t hurting her, she cannot feel, and it makes him happy.” She gags again. “Go upstairs and forget you saw it.”

“This place confuses me. I cannot leave, but I am not your whore. Your body wants me, but you avoid and ignore me. I am not blind, I can see that.” She points to my crotch, making my shame even worse. “Mateo is fucking unconscious people, Juan is missing an organ, where the fuck am I?”
Hell, sweet angel. You are in hell. Welcome, we all fit in so well here.

I grab hold of her hand as she reaches out to touch me. “You are home, get used to it. And DO NOT touch me. Even better, don’t even talk to me. Just leave me alone.” There is jolt as our skin touches and I let go as fast as I touched her. Her stupid evil voice! She takes a step closer to me, and I take one back, connecting with the desk. “You want me, Caesar. Just say it. I don’t care. I will be your whore. That’s all I am anyway.”

Stop it! Stop talking! I cannot do that, it’s wrong. My body cannot take your voice!! Be fucking quiet.

“Shut UP!” I rage at her; the only other way I respond to the misophonia is with violence. I need fucking quiet. I want to go home.

“No.” Her hand washes against my chest, trapping me. I cannot move and I am either going to hurt her or fuck her, and I don’t want to do either.
I want to love her.

I take both her hands and hold them in one fist, as I side step her so that I can escape. “Leave me alone, mi amor. I am warning you.”

I have hurt her feelings now and she is mad. “Fine, I will just go fuck Mateo,” she hisses at me. I cannot help the laugh that escapes me.

“You are far too alive for him, mi amor. He likes girls without a pulse.” I turn and leave her hurt, rejected and utterly sickened at Mateo. It’s written on her face as the door swings closed between us.

I cannot sleep again.
Her voice made my cock so hard that it was painful as I jerked off to her whispers stuck inside my head. I shouldn’t get hard for her. I shouldn’t want her at all. I don’t want her, my head says. I don’t, but my fucking body reacts to that voice. She has to be one of the worst. I am hard just remembering her voice. I am disgusting. I am ashamed of myself. As I lie here with my eyes closed, fisting my cock with her voice whispering in my ears, I am revolting, but I cannot stop it. My sick, diseased mind imagines it’s her mouth on me, the mouth that spits those torturous sounds out of it. My cock silences her words as she gives me pleasure, sucking gently and licking at my balls. I come all over myself and lie there covered in my shame and I want to kill myself for my thoughts. Everything is wrong with me.

Whispers, brown eyes and soft lips keep me from my rest all night, and my fragile sanity splinters into dreams of loving her, touching her and making her mine.
She is mine, she was always mine.

When I do eventually wake up, I am more exhausted than when I laid my head on the pillow, my eyes and heart are heavy with guilt. I get up to shower my shame away and go to work; there are lives to save and entitled rich people who want their parts delivered.

Run from the sorrow. Run from the pain. Scream out for his mercy while begging to be bathed in his shame.

Again, time means
nothing. I have been rotting in my made up room for days upon days. Mateo speaks to me at times, trying to get me to eat, but I refuse. My body is accustomed to being malnourished. If anything, it felt wrong feeding it as much as I was being fed. Weeks have passed without a glimpse of Caesar. Juan is recovering and has finally moved back to his hole, minus one kidney. He tries to engage me, but I ignore him too.

I am falling.

Falling down and I don’t want anyone to catch me.

I am gone and as each meaningless day passes, I am regressing to nothingness. Black matter replaces the explosive feeling I once had in my heart when he was near. I find myself still dreaming of him and the idea of being his addiction, but I know that is not what I was meant for. If he won’t kill me, I will kill myself.

Slowly.

I will torture myself as I kill each tiny cell of life that I have, bit by bit. Strength leaves me sluggishly. My eyes are getting tired, so tired, but still I cling onto hope. Hatred fills me. I hate myself for not giving up when I had the chance. Life is never what it seems. Just when you think something ideal is going to be delivered to you, you become isolated, left to bask in your own demons. That isolation is harder than the constant turmoil I survived in before.

Still, his face haunts me. He is the reason I still survive. Why, I will never know. His eyes provide the nonverbal clarification that he will never give up his secrets. I am just a girl locked in a room, surrounded by her thoughts as insanity plagues me.

I have the urge to hurt myself, with something, anything. I get up from the cold floor and walk to the bathroom area. My reflection is like an undesirable nightmare, so vile and sunken in. Death stares at me as the greyish tint under my eyes turns darker with the ticks of time. I undress myself, first peeling my baggy T-shirt away, then my shorts. They provided me with underwear, but I never wore underwear before because they were a luxury. I suppose I have not put them on out of habit. My nipples are scarred, screeching memories invade my frayed mind from the night I was taken by the men who paid Pavel.

Dirty whore.

I yank my hair free from its tight bun, appreciating the discomfort that I feel. I have to withhold the urge to jump through the mirror and fight myself. Kill the girl before me for allowing herself to feel. It’s my fault for being here. If I didn’t look at him then, I wouldn’t feel. If I didn’t feel, I would have let go. If I let go, I would be dead and gone without anyone ever knowing. No one would have known when the last hot breath left my lips. For I am just a broken girl birthed from a no one. Grown to no one. Loved by no one.

I try to stop breathing, but my brain and lungs betray me. I scream out in agony, pulling at my hair.

I always wanted you, mi amor.

I remember how it felt when he ran his hands through my hair. I pace the bathroom area nervously, debating on how I could kill myself. There are no ropes or rafters to hang myself from. I have no access to medicine as I remain stuck in this fucking room. There are no knives or blades, instead I am slowly starving myself. It could take weeks. For all I know, I could succumb to the insanity far before malnutrition sets in. I can’t take it anymore. I have to rid myself from all that is running through my mind.

I pad over to the shower area and turn on the hot water, praying for a scalding temperature to burn my skin. Send me to the fires of hell, right where I belong. Make me numb again and let me forget
him
. The hot water sends steam floating through the room. I close my eyes as I feel the heat get closer and closer to my skin. I extend my arms like I am about to be crucified alive.
I only wish.
I push my chest out as my sensitive nipples meet the hot water. I scream out in pain, but I won’t back down. I need to be swayed from the emotions that are maddening me beyond words.

My cries are loud enough to shatter the mirror and windows. I lodge my entire body under the scalding water, crying out in pain as I flashback to being sprawled out on the dirty floor of the abandoned apartment while Pavel burned my cunt. The burning droplets stain my skin, yet I still shiver from the absence of him. The equation makes no sense, I have repeated it over and over again in my mind. Only one thing comes free.

I love him.

I bring my knees up to my chest as I rest my bottom on the cold tile floors, sobbing uncontrollably while water continues to scald my skin. I pray to be taken away from the confines of my mind, but something tells me that I won’t get what I pray for. I never really prayed much before because I didn’t have anything to believe in. When you live a life made up of sole distortion, you don’t believe in anyone or anything, therefore, you don’t pray. When you are given a reason to believe in something again, you grasp onto anything that will save that.

I wish I wasn’t. I wish I didn’t beg God for something more. For him.

I always wanted you, mi amor.

Haunting ghosts of what would be pull me in deeper, wanting to give up as I am sucked into a darkness I never knew existed. I beat my fists at the wall, “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

I try to cry, but I have shed all the tears that my eyes hold. My body is exhausted and I hang my head, ready to fall.

Fall and say goodbye to myself, because no one else will say goodbye to me.

I hear the clinks of his boots, but I dismiss it. My brain hears many things that it wants, never of which turn out to be him. He is gone. He is the Goodbye Man, the one who bids farewell to those who want it. Well, for fuck’s sake, I don’t want his goodbye. I want him! The squeaking of the shower knob makes me dive further into an oblivion of irrationality. The water stops raining over my skin, but I can’t convince myself that it is the man that I have hoped for. I keep my eyes shut, counting the beats of my heart while still praying for death to find me.

“I always wanted you, mi amor,” his voice awakens my heart.

I want to convince myself that it is true, but I am tired of lying to myself. It hurts and I hate hurting. I hate fucking feeling.

“Svetlana,” Caesar breathes.

I don’t listen. I can’t. It’s lies. All lies. The madness is getting worse. I need to die. I need to go far, far away from this place.

“Tell me goodbye, Caesar. I want to die.”

The tornado spiraling in my head seems like a concoction of perfect chaos. I smile, pleading for the end of my life as a figment of my imagination tells me what I want to hear. I burst into a fit of laughter as my sobs follow suit, further backing up that I am losing my senses.

“Tell me goodbye!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

I feel the cool leather of his boot on my naked thigh. Reality and my imagination do a vicious tango in my cognizance.

“I will never tell you goodbye. I have said too many.”

I force myself to open my eyes. I look down and see his worn, black leather boot. My heart drums wildly in my chest. It’s ironic how in an instant, one can want to die and give up everything, only to wish for life and something more.

I fall completely to the ground, pressing my lips to his boot, kissing it as my tears mark it.

He is mine.

“Undo me. Take me. Make me yours! Love me. Please, please I beg you. Take me, Caesar. Make me yours. I love you,” I whisper between sobs as my wet hands clench onto the bottom of his jeans.

I inhale his smell, the stench of cigarettes and soap settling in my nose and doing delicious things to my pussy.

“You shouldn’t love me, mi amor. This isn’t right,” he bites.

I push myself to stand. I shudder as the once hot water trails down every inch of my body. I won’t take no for an answer. I need him more than I need my next breath. I know that he needs me too. I look at him through puffy eyes, understanding that the wall I saw before is crumbling down before me.

I am ruining him.

He is ruining me.

My trembling hand reaches out to touch his cheek. He furrows his brows, but he doesn’t stop me. My hand cups his stubbled cheek and everything seems right. You always hear when people speak of moments in their lives when pieces fall into place. Right now, at this moment, I am living that as I look into the eyes of the man that I love without reason.

He screams home.

He screams safe.

He screams mine.

“Please,” is the only word I can muster.

I am begging for so many things; him, happiness, a life away from madness, even if only for a few seconds.

“You are trembling, Svetlana.”

He wraps his arms around my naked waist as his hands settle in the small in my back like I was made for him.

“I, I…,” he stutters.

“Shh, Caesar. Let me love you,” I whisper, bending my lips to his.

His hot breath is tickling my lips. I feel his hard cock against my leg; I gently urge my bare hips forward. He groans aloud as a pained expression washes over his face.

“Let me take away your pain, Caesar.”

He looks down at me through heavy eyes and smiles.

“If only it were that easy, mi amor.”

“I will make it that easy,” I hum, pushing my breasts against his still clothed chest.

“Fuck,” he bites.

He explodes, pushing me against the wall of the shower. Our lips collide as my worries are washed away and replaced with lust and adorations from the man that is my salvation. I kiss him fervently, like my life depends on it, because I think it does. Something in his look tells me that his does too. His lips taste sweet and smoky, the perfect combination to make me wild while yearning for more.

I explore his chest, ripping at his shirt. Our lips part for seconds as he takes it off, showing me his perfectly sculpted chest. I let my fingers dance on his bronze skin, then press my soft lips to the place over his heart. He lets out a throaty groan, grasping onto my still wet hair.

“Not here, mi amor.”

I can’t accept another rejection. I will NOT accept another rejection. I know I am his puppet, he knows it too, but goddamnit, I need him more than I need life itself. Can’t he see that? I grab his hand and lead him to my living area. I turn around to face him, ready to shout at the top of my lungs that he has no choice but to take me, but I am surprised to see his hands making their way to his belt buckle.

“Stand over there by the heater, mi amor. You are still wet and need to dry. No towels.”

I listen, walking over to the heater as he kicks his leather boots off. He pops the button of his jeans free, slowly peeling them down his long legs. I let out a breathy moan as he watches me intently, like he has waited his entire life to do this.

Next, he removes his boxers with fluidity. I have discovered that there is not much this man cannot do without the upmost grace. Though rugged and quiet, he is beautiful and elegant. His cock is before me, so perfect and hard. I want to take it in my hand and pleasure him like he desires. I want to be the girl that takes him to a place that he doesn’t let anyone else take him. I want him to beg me for more and tell me that I am the only one. I want him to tell me how beautiful I am as he digs his hips deeper inside of me, gently tugging on my sweet spot as I teeter the edge of falling.

Falling.

The good kind of fall.

“Come,” he breathes with open arms.

The heater has warmed and dried my skin. I pad towards his open arms, all uncertainty from before now gone. I smile at him, hoping to see his permanent frown leave for just a little while. What I hoped for happens as he shows me his stark white toothed smile. My heart flutters to life. A life I long for now as I am about to make love to the man that saved me. An hour ago, I wished for death.

How ironic our existent proves to be as fate plays its wicked hand.

As I greet his embrace, he pulls me into him while his hands grab my ass, picking me up. I wrap my skinny legs around his waist as he turns around and lays me on my back on top of my bed.

“I’ve always loved you, mi amor.”

His lips touch the most sensitive place below my ear and he sucks gently, while his other hand makes its way to my breast, massaging it with care.

“I love you too, Caesar.”

His mouth sucks on my nipple and I cry out, pleading for more as his free hand lazily makes its way down my belly until it settles at the top of my thigh.

“Please, please,” I beg, lifting my hips upwards for more.

His calloused fingers trace my skin in perfect circles. The waiting is beautiful brutality and these moments with him are ones that I feel like I have waited my whole life for. His lips make their way to my sex and he pauses.

“Svetlana,” he growls.

“Please. Kiss me,” I pause, taking my finger and rubbing my clit. “Here.”

I sigh out, telling myself that I want to remember this moment for as long as I live. My eyes remain on him.

“Fuck it,” he chants, moving my hand over and pushing his mouth onto me.