The Goodbye Man (22 page)

Mary had a little lamb, its heart was black as coal, everywhere that

Mary went that lamb was forced to follow. It followed her to hell one day, hell one day. It was against the rules.

My uncle had many
secrets, but none from me. When he put Ophelia’s body in his incinerator to save me from prison and my aunts, I became his partner. I became a part of all of this, I had to learn about his misophonia so he didn’t go off in a noise-induced rage and kill me. No whispers, no soft voices or music. Absolutely no crying, and God help you if you sniff. Lettie has changed him, it was in their lust-filled eyes I saw the resemblance and realized the dirty truth. He did a disgusting thing being with her, but I want her and he played right into my hands. I haven’t seen him since he forced my hand yesterday. Juan says he is gone. I guess he is home, hiding in his soundproofed haven, drinking and smoking his guilt. He has hidden away before, I must simply keep the cogs turning and make sure that the business is taken care of. So I do, we have a harvest today and he hasn’t returned.

I have not left the building since yesterday morning, before all of this chaos crept into my life. Chaos that threatens to disrupt the balance I had so carefully constructed to protect myself. I let a smile creep onto my face; I am fucking smiling.
I stole her from him. She is mine, her whispers drove him crazy so I could have her.
My mind lingers on her eyes and how they shimmer with life. I want to go get her right now, but I need to work first. I remind myself that she is upstairs and won’t go anywhere, she cannot leave me. She won’t leave me. Will she? I humiliated her, I made her piss herself, is she angry? Will she run because I did that? It was so empowering to have that control over her, a living breathing person who did nothing to stop me. As I walk through the beds of the bodies I have loved, the need to claim them has dulled a little. Her life has made me want things. Her pink lips and beating heart have broken me and I am falling apart. I knew he was her father, I knew it as I watched them come undone before me, I knew he was carrying a guilt deep inside himself. What I will never know is why on earth he has waited so long to save her, why he let her die with Pavel for so long. Stupid old man. This secret he kept too well. The beeping machines surround me as I look for the number that matches the papers I am mindlessly holding, everything seeming to have disappeared around me. My mind is on her and nothing else. I want her. I want to cling to her so she cannot leave me. I should have made her come down here with me. She should be here. No, she wanted to see if Juan was alright, to feed him. I am not sure how she can care after all she has lived, but she does. The boy just pokes at a part of me that I am afraid of, a part that would kill Lettie, a part that I am fighting so hard to put aside for her.

I focus on doing the job, saying goodbye to the girl with no name as she goes into the theater, waiting for the parts we need to fill the coolers and dispatching them. Caesar’s absence is heavy on me as I take the dead body, disemboweled and chopped to pieces, down to the burners. I have only had to do this a few times, as the smell is unbearable and the heat suffocates me. The blue linens cover her from my eyes, as they are a mess after. I only looked once and it was enough. I heave her onto the conveyor and flick the switch.
Goodbye.
He would have said it. I can’t, I just think it. As I turn to leave my boot kicks something and the sound of metal skittering across the floor catches my attention. The shiny object stops against the door and when I bend down, I have a sick feeling in me; Caesar’s lighter lies on the floor. The lighter he was never without. He hasn’t been down here, so it is out of place. I turn around as the conveyer shuts off automatically. Slipping the cold cigarette lighter into my pocket and go to find her. I need to make sure she hasn’t left. I can’t let her leave. I need to make her stay, she
has
to stay. I want to kiss her and feel her again. I need to remind myself of her so I don’t need them anymore.

My footsteps echo as I walk back to the office, it’s a disaster and I just close the door and go to the stairs, to her.
My Lettie, he gave her to me. She is mine. He fucked his daughter and then gave her to me. We really are sick, there is no cure for the rot inside people like us.

My steps echo on the metal stairs as I climb. A part of me stays behind and something, someone new is emerging, I am afraid of myself. What if she is gone? What if I can’t avoid killing her? I feel the slippery insanity slowly sliding into my head. That place that made me do things before, the chaos is creeping in. I feel my heart thudding in my temples and my breaths catching in my throat, as I ascend the clanging stairs, stopping at the top to consider what exactly it that I am doing. The lighter in my pocket burns with questions that I cannot answer; he didn’t return to say goodbye, he always says goodbye.
The Goodbye Man, he was an angel of sweet death for them all. He gives them the quiet of heaven and allows their dismal existence to end so that others may live. Caesar was an angel, to me too.

Her door is closed, where is she? I go to the showers, but she is not in there either. Panic starts rise in me, my blood heats with the fear of losing the life I just found. I force the door to Juan’s room open but the gnat is gone, hopefully to clean my office - the shit. As I stare into his empty room, the pit in my stomach is growing into a crater of despair.
Don’t you dare run from me, Lettie.
I can feel my tight frown as it furrows my brow, I am sweating with the anger that is brewing in me. I knock on her door with my fist, “Lettie, open the door.” I yell and my voice carries through the big cavernous building. “Lettie, don’t fuck with me, I will kick the door down!” I bang harder. “You can’t fucking hide from me, Lettie! Open the fucking door.” The rage is screaming from me now as the metal door shakes under my fists, I can’t breathe properly. Where is she? The sound vibrates in my ears as my knocks go unanswered and I try to listen through the door to hear if she is in there.
Where else would she be? Where would she go? She said she wouldn’t leave me!

With the strength that can only be found in an adrenaline-induced panic, I kick the door until it swings free. It only opens a crack before it is met with heavy resistance and won’t go further. I push it, forcing it to move inches at a time so I can fit my head through the gap.
Oh, Lettie. No.

Her limp, bleeding body is slumped against the door. Her skin is slightly pale and there is a bloodied gash in her face. I push hard to force my large body through the small gap so I can get to her.
Save her! Let her die! Save her, love her, let her die, you loved her already.
My demons chant to me and as I grab her small body against mine, she is still soft and warm. I put my finger under her nose so I can feel her faint breaths. I can feel her life; she clings to it and this time, so do I. Her pulse is still strong under my hands where I grip her, and I hold her to me, her smell and life filling me with chaos.

With her limp body draped in my arms, I go to my apartment at the end of the row of rooms. My little sanctuary from the things that make me crazy. The only person who ever went in there alive and left that way was Caesar. Now I carry Lettie into my lair of secrets. She is so beautiful,
so alive, but she appears dead and I love her like this.
As I lay her down on my perfectly made bed, I look down out of the windows and notice that Caesar’s van is still here. The lighter in my pocket reminds me he is gone, but where? He has money and he could go anywhere he wanted to. I shake the thoughts of him from my head and return to her, removing my shoes and climbing onto the clean bed next to her. So still, so close to dead, but still so alive. I lightly trace her pulse with my finger. Her soft neck is exposed and I lean in and kiss the heartbeat I can feel. I want her so much, but I am afraid of what that will do to me, and her. I allow myself to touch her while she is lifeless. I need to know how she feels when she isn’t so alive. My hands slither under her top, she is naked under my touch and her warmth is so inviting, yet foreign to me. I take my time to undress her so that I can see her. There isn’t the pure beauty of a model or a normal girl even. She’s scarred and marked by the brutality of her existence, she wears the badges of her torment on her body. Her pussy is still purple with scars from what they did to her, the faint silver lines of the years gone by paint a glorious picture of pain all over her. This creature before me has no true identity. There isn’t a person in there to get to know, but there is a canvas to create the one I need. My tongue traces the map of agony that is drawn out on her body as I find my way to accept the life that is in her.
My sweet Lettie.
I lose my belt and slide my jeans off, dropping them off the edge of my bed. My cock is hard just from the sight of her so still, so pale, and so
almost-dead
.

When my fingers slide into her, I am met with sweet warmth and slick wetness that I’m still unaccustomed to. When I am sure of her silence, I lift them to my mouth, sucking her sweetness off. She has a taste, a smell, and a pulse. Forcing her limp legs apart to make room for me between them, I fist my cock with the hand that touched her with and I force myself into her. It is easier than with a dead girl. I slide in with only a little resistance and as I slam all the way in with the force I would need if she was dead. Her eyes fly open and ruin my fantasy with her life. I can’t stop though; I started this, so I lean down and lick the blood from her forehead, the copper taste is so real. She stares into my eyes, dazed and most certainly concussed, but I cannot stop. She stays still and I keep pounding into her. Her body betrays her, as it’s getting wetter while I assault it. The feeling frightens me and I can’t stop imagining her eyes glassed over with sweet death. I put my hand over her eyes because I don’t want to see them. As I reach my climax, I slump onto her. I feel her pounding heart, I hear her breaths, not machine controlled breaths, but real ones. I kiss her because I need her. She kisses me back and her little hands come up to touch me. “No!” I yell at her for fucking up my dream. “Stop being alive, Lettie! Play dead!”
Oh yes, play dead beautiful, then I can love you.

Dead dollies love. Dead dollies play. Dead dollies have no choice but to stay.

Lost in a wonder of
blackness, I embrace the unknowing as I prepare to let go. The faint thumping of pain still lingers in the background, but I continue to try to run. Run away from the unease I discovered from Juan. Nothing is real. This life is nothing more than bittersweet, shocking lies. I thought I was living a nightmare before with Pavel. I was oblivious to true torment back then. At least before with Pavel, I knew what I was going to be subjected to; being beaten and raped repeatedly is nothing in comparison to the fact that I had fallen in love with my real father. Every part of my fucked up heart still loves Caesar, though forbidden in all ways. I pray in this void for death to find me, yet the dim throbbing continues to pulse in perfect synchrony with something else.
My heart? No! No! Let me be dead
.

Let these hauntings of what I don’t want to accept stop. A man that was put on this Earth to be my father had come to be something else; a lover in all ways. A savior. The black flame candle of my imperfect life is dwindling away. Let it burn out! Let me fall to soft, black ashes into the dirt! Plant me into emptiness! Let me fade away!

The limbo I was slumbering in is instantly halted by a set of eyes that make me shudder to my core. They shower control and anger, pitch black as night reminding me of a horror scene that I can’t look away from. As the haziness dissipates more and my senses greet me unpleasantly, I peer deeper into Mateo’s face, noticing that his stubbled jaw is clenched in fury. His plump lips are pursed with uncertainty while his hard features become tougher with each passing second. My legs are spread wide, his hips hilting inside of me.

I try to gather my strength, to push him away and tell him that this isn’t the way my goddamn story was supposed to end, but I lay ragged. I hate myself for being so fucking weak. That is all I have been; piss poor Svetlana, incapable of sticking up for herself. Not worthy of being strong. He continues to fuck me, deep, rough, and hard. The pants from his mouth make me understand that my brain is living in the now and not a dream. My body responds to him because that is what I was taught to do. Ever since I was twelve years old, I was conditioned to participate in these acts. To enjoy them.

Men pay more if you pretend you like to fuck, Svetlana. Teach your pussy to like cock. We get more money.
Pavel’s voice echoes loudly in my still-whooshing ears, threatening my sanity and pushing me to the precipice of a psychotic brink. I lay slumped, taking it like the whore that I am, because fighting back would equal too much effort. Well, now it’s time to fight for what I want. A fucking reason. What is my reason? I’ve failed to find one. Death must be the answer.

As my lips begin to part, he puts his hand over my eyes, shielding me from his hateful look. Just when I thought I had the courage to spit out words to him, telling him to go find a dead girl to fuck, my pussy hugs his cock tighter while my belly tightens, bringing me closer to a release that I don’t want. I am angry about so much and he is the only one before me. I involuntarily moan out loud as his hands leave my eyes.

Men like tight, wet pussy, Svetlana. No dry cunts. Learn to like to fuck, kisa.
Pavel’s thick Russian accent swirls about in my confused mind, teetering me between senselessness and rage.

Mateo’s soft lips meet mine, bringing me back to an actuality I don’t wish for, but my body responds to his like it’s a servant obeying its master with joy. His tongue sucks on mine, so needy, desperately clinging onto his stability as gloom plagues him. I kiss him back, out of want or condition at this point, I don’t know. I just continue with the movements of my tongue, tenderly caressing mine with his while coming to terms that I am soon to break. I reach up to touch his chest, wanting to hold onto a reason hoping that he is mine, but his lips instantly part with mine. Anger washes over his ruggedly handsome face with more vigor than before as I continue to lay limp under him.

“No! Stop being alive, Lettie! Play dead!”

This is what he wants. What he needs. I am alive, never enough for him. Caesar left me. I wasn’t enough for him either. I wish I could go back to panhandling for change or fucking for Pavel’s drug money. At least that was more tolerable than feeling this way. I didn’t hold any expectations for myself before with Pavel because I knew my place. I was a whore. A piece of shit from Hunts Point that no one loved. Then some fucking knight in shining armor had to rescue me from the fire, literally, and fuck my mind up more, making me think I deserved something. But I don’t.

I will never be enough for Mateo. Why? Because I have a pulse. My skin is warm. My pussy is hot and wet and grips his cock with need when he fucks me even when I don’t want it. My lips breathe and speak words to him. My fingers dance along his sweaty skin when he takes me while I moan into his ear for more. But that isn’t what he wants. He wants some lifeless doll. He pumps his hips a few more times into me, stilling himself inside, sighing loudly.

The bitch breaks free.

“Get off of me,” I state coolly, surprising myself with my stable tone as I stagger along the tightrope of saneness.

Mateo sits up and perches himself on the edge of his bed. I take a moment to admire the artwork over the rippling muscles of his back. I wish I could touch him, but I am the dead dolly and we don’t make the rules. I have to accept my role. I was made from nothing, surrounded by nothing, now molding into nothing. Being worthy enough for someone means something different to the other person, and I can’t see inside of his head. He doesn’t want me.

“Did you know I was fucking my father?” I question, knowing the answer in my gut.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

Everything stills as the clinking of Mateo’s belt brings me back to reality. He’s dressing himself as he turns to face me with his eyes still down. He doesn’t like movement or conversation. He likes control. I want to shout at him, tell him how much I hate him for making me feel like this, but what for? Only to understand that my feelings are validated?

“Why did Caesar leave me, Mateo?” I whisper, thoughts of Caesar flooding my mind with lust. I shouldn’t feel this way.

People don’t stay, Svetlana. They hurt you. They leave. You are a worthless whore who deserves to burn in hell. You loved your father. That’s a sin! The ultimate sin!
My conscience chants at me, telling me truths that I don’t want to hear. I don’t cry. I am numb. I revert back to the girl that is used to daggers of ruthless ways being jabbed towards her, awaiting for my claws to be released to leave a wake of damage.

“I shouldn’t have loved him. But I did,” I confess.

It’s true. I shouldn’t have loved Caesar that way because it’s forbidden and untamed. But the truth is, if he came back to me now, I would run into his arms, hug him tightly, and beg him to make love to me just like the first time. My realities twirl about in the air, so thick with tension it could crack. I want Mateo to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be alright, but it won’t. Empires such as theirs are destined to fall and Mateo doesn’t like to touch moving, living things.

You are enough, Lettie!
I want him to tell me those words, but they will never come because I am not what he needs.

“I have to sort some shit out,” he bites, pulling his shirt over his head. I watch him walk out of his perfectly kept room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I feel every part of myself shaking, ready to explode into tiny shards of the fucked up girl I am, only worse.
Don’t fucking leave me, Mateo! You are afraid of being left, well so am I!
I want to speak the words that I think, but my tongue is tied as I continue to tremble from fear and letdown. I hear the metal of his front door lock and I let myself scream out in unbearable agony. I’m pissed, so fucking pissed for not being good enough. I toss and turn as I lay naked and alone on his bed with nothing more than the fuckery that has disbursed through every part of me.

My temper is bubbling high. My face is fire-hot, sweat mists every part of my skin and moving is difficult. I want to lash out at everything and anything in my wake. I need to get out of here, but I don’t know how. It’s as if my body craves a command and I hate myself for that! I cry out again, turning from the bed still stark naked, standing until I am fully erect. The soreness between my thighs reminds me of the uninviting assault from Mateo and I yell out again, needing to find a way out of this perfected little sanctuary of his.

As I enter the living and kitchen area, still naked and muddled, my lungs constrict as a lump forms in my throat. Dozens of glass jars sit on shelves with various shades of hair. I start shaking as I stare at remnants of Mateo’s past, visions of him fucking one of the coma girls flash in my distorted mind. I am faced with the same facts again; not being enough for him.

Stop being alive, Lettie! Play dead
! I hear him repeating it to me over and over in my head. I try to cover my ears to stop it, but it continues, making me accept my instability.

“Fuck you! I hate you!” I cry, hot tears burning my face.

I charge over to the shelf, pulling down the glass jars one by one, slamming them down onto the floor as Mateo’s memories and love are expelled into nothing.
What will you have now, Mateo? Me, all me! I will be all that you have! I will be good enough because these bitches will be gone!
My pulse is coursing through my body with a wrath that I am not familiar with as my insanity busts free. My eyes feel like they are about to pop from my head along with my brain from so much fury that is being ejected. I want to devour it and spit it back out again a million times over, vomiting hatred for all these little whores that had his heart for seconds while I recognize mine will never be enough.

I grab my hair, desperately wanting to fit in with the rest of them while trying to ruin him. I pull at my disheveled strands, trying to yank them free from my scalp so that I have something better to offer him, but my hands tremble too much and my strength is depleted. My grasp loosens as my eyes meet the lonely little jar perched high on top of the shelf. I let a grin of pure malice grace my face while I hiss between gritted teeth as my inner monster destroys his past. I control this fight as I murder his love. What will have then?
Let it go, Mateo. Let it go.

My shaky, sweaty palms grasp the lone glass jar and I allow myself to stare at the hair, so black and beautiful, long and shiny. So goddamn
perfect
.

“Fuck you, cunt!” I scream, pulling it high above my head as I smile wickedly.

I still feel my tears wet on my mottled face, which angers me deeply. I cry out like a maddened beast wanting to kill whoever graces my path. Kill all those he has loved. This is the end for those that have given Mateo bits of love. I am putting an end to it now. I toss it down with all of my might onto the floor, watching the glass shatter into pieces that will never be mended back together again. My evil heart grins as I stare at the broken glass and scattered hair.
Goodbye, bitches. Farewell love
.
Will your heart hurt now, Mateo? How does it feel? How does it feel to hurt?

My body still aches from the forced fucking session I woke up to. I’m mad, so fucking mad. Jealously still swims heavily in my heart as my look meets a picture frame of a beautiful dark skinned girl with coal black hair, maybe the same hair that I smashed to nothing only seconds ago. Again, I am obsessed with recklessness as my naked body wreaks havoc on his house and heart. I claw at everything in my sight until the perfect little square frame meets my tiny fingers. Something tells me this bitch was important. I’ll murder her and fuck this up. Looking at her beautiful photo fuels my hatred further.

“Fuck you, bitch!” I yell to the girl in the photograph, knowing she meant something to Mateo. He wouldn’t have some goddamn girl in a frame for nothing.

I hate her. I hate him and I hate myself for not being enough. I rip her picture from the frame and throw it to the ground, watching it shatter. I take the photo out and tear it to pieces, screaming at the top of my lungs, then settle on my naked knees. Laughter takes over my cries as I look around his once immaculate living space. It is in such disarray, if he didn’t want to kill me before, maybe this will push him over the edge now. All the hair from the jars is mixed with the others in the middle of the floor; he couldn’t possibly put the strands back to their rightful owners again.

Cackles fill my lungs as I fall over laughing, then I let the tears of madness devour me once again. I bang my hands on the floor, welcoming the pain that is shooting down my arms.

“
Why?” It’s all I can yell. “Why am I not enough for you?”

I continue to pray to a made-up God as the clink of the lock turns. My heart drops to my belly. My tears instantly stop and my evil smile disappears as I look up, watching the knob turn in slow motion. Commands are inevitable and I find myself wishing for them. Mateo walks in, nostrils flared and palms clenched. He is angry, so fucking angry and it makes me hot as hell. My belly dances to life with lust and want while I watch his fingers make their way to his belt buckle. But something tells me I am not in for loving, no.
Lettie has been a bad girl and will be punished.