The Goodbye Man (25 page)

The bell chimes loudly
as we enter the dirty little grocer nearest to the factory. I grab a basket to put the few things I need, and a few things I am sure she needs, into. My stomach growls with hunger and I can’t actually remember eating today at all. I wind my way through the few aisles, picking out some staples that I can actually cook, grabbing a bunch of unhealthy junk snack foods too. I walk through the few rows of limited basic items that this place keeps; they don’t have much but it’s close to home and I didn’t want to go too far with Lettie. Her eyes are dancing over every item we pass, and I have seen her reach out and touch a few of them with her fingertips as if they aren’t real. I wonder how many times she has shopped for anything. As we stroll silently past the small selection of personal hygiene products, I grab a tube of toothpaste and toss it in the basket and she stands still next to me. Her eyes are fixed on the shelf of things I am pretty sure she has never had the luxury of. I feel the sudden need to provide for her and give her all the things she has been robbed of, even if those things are tampons and deodorant.

“Do you need some of these?” I ask her, pointing to the feminine products I would usually ignore. She cocks her head to the side a little and looks at them.

“I have never used them before,” she says as she looks at me, a slight glint of tears reappearing in her eyes. I take the decision away from her and grab a box of tampons, a ladies deodorant and some body lotions and potions; it’s not fancy shit, it is just basic stuff. She touches a packet of pink shiny hair ties so I add them in with a cherry lip balm. We keep adding things to the basket on the way to the checkout counter, and mindlessly I do something very strange. My body did it, not me. I snake my fingers between hers and hold her hand as we stand at the counter. She didn’t look up at me, instead down at our joined hands as a small smile, a sad smile made, its way onto her face and she was even more like Ophelia. More alive and it hurt me. I pay in cash and we leave the store, walking the short way to where my car is parked. Her small hand squeezed in mine feels so normal, so alive it burns. I can feel something stirring inside of me and I want it to stop.
Stop breathing, Lettie. Stop living, Lettie. Stop needing me. Stop. Stop. Stop.
The insanity that is in me speaks to me as I let go of her hand to open the car door for her. I was raised with manners and I might have some seriously fucked up perceptions of love, but my mother would have beat me with a stick for disrespecting a woman. My mother would have beat me for many of the things I do now. Lucky for me she is dead.

“You really never had, um, ladies things?” I ask disbelievingly, as it seems like such a basic necessity.

“No.” She gives me the one word whisper that would have caused Caesar to want to rape her.

“Why not? Was your life so bad?” I want her to tell me things, anything really so I can try to know her. The scars on her body tell a terrible story.

“Pavel wouldn’t have paid for things like that. I barely had food. I only know about them from what some of the whores told me. Bleeding didn’t stop them from fucking me.” This time she tells a little more, her sadness is still there. I hurt her deeply, showing her the harvest today.

“Did they hurt you often?” I push her for more.

“Yes.” Her arms move to cross her chest, showing me she clamming up again and stares out the window as we drive around aimlessly. I don’t want to go home just yet in case Caesar is there and she wants to go with him. I want her to go with me. No more leaving.

Burnt nightmares always come back to haunt the dirty princess.

Something inside of
me is dying again. I thought that I had begun to live again, truly feeling what it was like to be loved, not beaten. Cherished, not raped. Cared after, not thrown out like garbage, but nothing good lasts. My nightmares will always linger like a dark cloud, squeezing my heart just when it sensed it is starting to feel
normal
again.

I loved someone once, though forbidden in all ways, he left me. He is gone because for some reason, my love wasn’t good enough for him. Now with Mateo, I am desperately playing this wicked game of push and pull, and I can’t play it anymore. After watching the pieces of the life being taken away from the girl with no name, I came to understand something I have wished for that I was never granted, death. I am enveloped with envy and sadness. A mixture of emotions is overtaking my mind as I revert back to the girl who wants to embrace demise.

When I was sure that my despondency wouldn’t get any worse, the empty body of Mateo’s once-lover was wheeled down to the fiery gates of heaven below. I was reminded of stolen dreams again, along with my nightmares;
Kisa, you burn, you burn in the fire! What happens to bad girls who take what isn’t theirs, whore? They die!
Pavel’s voice disturbs me still as truth to his awful voice churns about in my dysfunctional mind. I wish for it again.

Death. For many reasons. For peace. For an end. For acceptance. To finally be loved. I have done everything to show Mateo that I can be his, yet still I remain second best to all these fuck dolls. That cunt still had the upper hand with me as I watched her skin melt away in the incinerator like candle wax, gracefully depleting to nothing while the stench of burnt skin made me revisit one of the single most horrifying days of my life. Not for reasons you may think. Not because I was tortured, burned, and shamed. But because I
lived
. I survived this hellacious place to embrace almost-love. To have that silly little sentiment that makes people useless. Hope. Hope is for the lonely.

I am turning into one of those. I wish Pavel would have succeeded. My heart is dying and turning into something that even I fear. Someone as venomous as the man that raised me. Anger is replacing the sadness with each passing second as I take everything in, dancing to my terrifying serenade while I imagine all the destructive things I could do to bring myself peace as I still seek death.

Push. Pull. Love.
Hate. That is the game that Mateo and I play. I am not playing it anymore. I can’t. I will never be good enough until I am dead. One second he looks at me with such hatred, then the next he takes me into a store buying me things I would have never dreamt of.

Mateo takes me back to my living space, dumping out all the staples he has purchased me. We don’t speak much, unless it is between our eyes. I can tell with one look what he wants. What he needs. What he means. His eyes can glaze pliability one moment and change to hardness the next. I know how difficult it is for him to withhold his urge to suck the life away from me so he can love me properly like the others. But what he doesn’t realize, I am wishing for that more and more.

He showed a side of himself that is make-believe in my mind. He feels pity for me. But he shouldn’t. Girls like me know nothing different. When you are born into the ghastly elements, it is all you are used to. Lovely little things mean nothing. Men didn’t care if I was bleeding from my monthly cycle, as long as they sheathed a condom over their cock, they would fuck me however they wanted. I would take dirty cloths and stuff them between my legs, or if I was lucky enough to slide away to a public bathroom, I would fold up clean toilet paper to stop the blood from marking my pants.

Pavel didn’t care. Many times if he knew I was on my period, he would ensure I wasn’t able to leave his side to find a proper restroom to clean myself. It was a form of public humiliation since the age of twelve. Conveniently around the same time I started to fuck men for money. It was all part of his game and I knew nothing different. I thought that was a
normal
part of life. The fellow whores would tell me other ways to stop the blood from coming out of me, makeshift plugs they would stick up there to make it stop, but I was never brave enough to wad up dirty cloths and push it up myself. I suppose I became accustomed to the embarrassment. Again, it was my life. What I was used to. Nothing else would have been normal to me besides that.

When Mateo showed his softer side, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to believe that it existed because that would mean holding onto a hope that doesn’t exist. That means hurting and I can’t do that. Hurting brings me closer to the edge of madness. Getting closer to insanity again turns me into someone scary. I wish death would find me before I continue to turn into someone else.

I feel the cramping in my lower belly and my palms sweat. I look at the box of tampons sitting on the table, but I don’t grab them. I clench both fists and rock back and forth nervously on my feet while Mateo fidgets around with the other stuff he bought from the store.

“I need to use the bathroom. I will be back.”

I have to tell him what I am doing. It is something that is my new normal. My heart thuds in my chest as I hear his footsteps follow me. Tears prickle in my eyes, but I am too strong to let them fall. I feel the wetness pool between my thighs as the warmth escapes me, evidence of my monthly cycle. I shouldn’t care about this as Mateo has watched me piss and shit, never mind the fact that I pissed on him while fucking him. Every form of degradation has occurred, though it hasn’t bothered me with him. Because I want him to love me. I understand his need for control. He doesn’t beat me, besides the day he took his leather belt to my back from breaking his jars of love, though some days I wish for it. A girl like me is so used to being mistreated and feeling unworthy, after so long it seems like a dream without it. When Mateo exudes his need to know everything I do, I know deep down it is because he is trying to figure out his own way to care. I just hope I can stay alive long enough to feel it. If not, kill me, then let him love me. Teetering between being his almost-lover is hurting my heart worse than rape.

I swallow hard as my eyes meet the commode. I can feel his strong presence behind me, his breathing is rugged and his stance is protective. He knows he affected me today. He questioned my life for the first time and showered me with little things that are big to me. I am confused. Very unsure about how to feel about all of it. I know I will have to face him when I turn around to sit on the toilet, and as much as I wish to avoid those black eyes of his, they magnetize me. They pull me in with unavoidable force. I couldn’t look away even if I tried.

I turn slowly on my heels, my shaky hands making their way to my pants. I gaze at him, my breath is instantly hitched in my throat. I feel like his little puppet, moving along to a rhythm that only he controls. Because I want it. I immediately feel drawn into him as my past clings its sharp claws into me, paining me with humiliation as I am faced with a welcome one.

I peel my pants away, stepping out of them while my womb compresses in pain with cramping. I feel the blood drip slowly down my inner thighs as I stand before my master, the man that I want to love me more than life itself. But he loves death. He loves order. I am messy. I am scarred. I don’t do order. I am unpredictable. This won’t ever work. I understand at this second as we look at one another through hopeful eyes that this will yield deadly results.

His eyes reek sadness. I don’t want pity! I want love! I stay stuck like a statue because I know that his strong hands haven’t moved my strings yet. I obey because I want to. My chest moves up and down harder as I let myself breathe a sigh of yearning. The need for comfort. For acceptance. For his goddamn humiliation. Yes, degrade me. Strip me down. Make me bare. Hollow me out and fill me up with all of your fucked up self. Because that is what I need right now.

“Come, Lettie,” Mateo whispers with his hand outstretched towards mine.

My heart thuds wildly in my chest as his words strike a chord deep within my fucked up brain. I take his hand as he leads me to my bed; memories of Caesar are becoming more distant with every single touch of Mateo. His hands grip the sides of my shirt and he peels it away, leaving me bare before him in all my marked glory. Scars are over my body, but I am not ashamed.

“Is this how those men treated you when they fucked your bleeding cunt?” he murmurs, gently cupping my breast, leaning in to kiss my neck.

The discomfort from my cramping coupled with lust is a delight I never have felt before.

“No,” I sigh, leaning into his touch.

I revel in the softness of his hands as they massage my breast perfectly, erasing the memories of walking around blood-stained and disgraced. Mateo’s kindness is different, but I want more. I hate that I am letting myself feel this, knowing this part of him won’t last. His hand travels over the scars on my belly, making me shudder with need. He tickles the inside of my thigh and I move my hips towards him, an indication that I have to have more.

“When you are raped and treated like whorish trash, do you feel like this?” he whispers into my ear, peppering a kiss beneath my ear while his fingers are so close to finding me, I am nearing my screaming point.

“No,” I state louder, moving my hips further.

His touch leaves me and I feel abandoned once again. He stands before me, brazen and needy just as I am. His steady hands strip himself free from his clothes and I look to his hand, marked with my blood. It makes me hot as hell and the need to be fucked by him has just risen a million times more. He grips his hard cock and strokes it in front of me. I want to drop to my knees and please him like the good girl that I am, but I am frozen in time as my eyes dance over every intricate detail of his body. His black eyes that usually haunt and confuse me make me feel safe. His mussed, black hair glistens perfectly beneath the flickering lights, and the artwork etched permanently on his skin tells stories that would trouble most people’s dreams. His olive skin ripples over his muscles and I want to reach out and touch every part of him, but I can’t. I am a statue and only he has the hammer capable of smashing me down to nihility.

“When you were made to walk around with your bleeding pussy staining your pants, did you feel like this, my little Lettie Doll?” he breathes, stroking his hard cock.

“God no.”

His words make my belly tighten and I swallow hard, watching his hand move up and down his hard shaft, wishing it was deep inside of me making me forget the bad.

“Lie down on the bed, little Lettie doll. Spread those bleeding pussy lips and let me see.”

I walk backwards until I feel my bed hit the back of my legs. I lean back on the bed, opening up my thighs until my dripping folds are before him. He turns his head, as if to admire me. A grin splays across his face and I grip my bed sheets for dear life, propping myself up on my elbows to look between my thighs. There’s a faint blood trail from where I scooted up the bed, but this kind of degradation is welcome.

I open my legs wider for him, the warmth trickling out of me a distant reminder of what it used to mean. Now I just need him. I need to remember this soft side of Mateo, because I know it won’t last. He climbs up my body until his eyes meet mine. It is taking everything in my power not to rake my hands over every part of him, but I have learned my boundaries quickly.

“Little Lettie doll, did your cunt get wet with need when they beat you and raped you?” he asks while my eyes gaze at his full, pink lips.

Silent tears fall from my eyes.

“No,” I respond.

He bends down, taking his tongue out to my cheek, licking my tears away.

“Oh, little Lettie. You are a precious doll that shouldn’t ever be broken.”

His lips find mine and I know that is my welcoming sign. I suck on his tongue and wrap my hands around his neck, bringing him in for more. Because more will never be enough for me and more for him is too much. We are a fucked up recipe for disaster, but neither one of us can say no. It is too beautiful to stray away from. Something about it screams out to the dark abyss of our souls. His fingers find me as he slowly finger-fucks me, his rhythm is gentle and full of intent. This moment is becoming too much. I find myself wanting more of it, yet wanting to push him away, fearing that the heartbreak from the fall will be my calamity.

He finds my sweet spot as he continues to kiss me deeply and I explode into a million bits of bliss, coming around his fingers. He immediately parts his lips from mine, withdrawing his fingers from me and shoving his hard cock inside of me until his hips hit me. His bloody hand grips my cheek.

“You are mine, little Lettie. No one else can break you!” he pants, fucking himself deeper inside of me.

I stare at him, acknowledging his words. They weren’t just words. They were pleas. Promises. Begging for me to be the only one as he tries to heal himself from his past too.

“Open, precious Lettie.”

I open my mouth for him as he sticks his blood-covered fingers inside of me. I seal my lips around him, embracing the taste of copper liquid.

“Fuck, yes. Such a good girl. You are mine, little Lettie doll. Only mine!” he growls, pounding himself inside of me.

My world becomes black, my new favorite place to be as we are sucked into a never-ending tunnel of healing that will never come. But deep down, we will always try. Try to run from the people that we used to be, when the fact of the matter is, I will always be a dirty whore and Mateo will only love dead dollies.