The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) (14 page)

I was born to die.

I never would
have admitted this before, well, before I thought about love, but as I lick death again, it’s at this moment in time when I come to the ultimate conclusion that this has been my only kind of peace. The nearness of paradise, lacking pain and punishment, threatens to greet me, awakening the grace that I never knew I could grasp onto, just as I am prepared to say goodbye. Those few moments that the tingling of death sinks itself into me are serene. The war of the world silences itself from my ears and my senses shut down as my body preps itself to die. My heart slows,
thump, thump, thump,
a melody that makes me understand life still hangs in the balance as the delightful blackness I have so long begged for hazes around my eyes, making me mute to the idea that life could be anything more than brutality and shame.

The man sucking the life out of me from above promised me something once. He promised to love me if I never left him. He never asked what I wanted from life. Mateo never knew anything else other than the fact that I am damaged goods; useless, unlovable trash.

I feel myself pulling away, swimming inside the fish bowl of my mind as the eyes that used to love me reek of desperation and disdain. I was never born to be loved. I was born to die. The moment I was birthed into this fucked up world, every insignificant breath that my tiny lungs took, I was taking a step closer to the place that so many have tried to send me.

Hell.

It’s ironic how one can wish for something for years until it is at the doorstep, whispering from behind with the finality of what will be. I may not be known to anyone anywhere, but something deep down in my belly is telling me to fight. The rational part of my thinking that I still hold onto is telling me it is nothing more than dreams, sweet little nothings that will never be, because I thought
he
loved me once too, but
he
said goodbye, just like the rest.

Eventually, the memories from the past will come up to the surface. You can either embrace them or let them suffocate you; the same goes with love…

The welcome ghost haunts me, his touch setting fire to my soul, the same soul that belongs to
him
, only
him
. The crash and burn of chaos around me goes quiet as the purr of his soft breath tickles my ear, but my lids are too heavy to open and my tongue is too tired to speak. His touch saved me before from the fires of hell, and I will be damned if I don’t let him save me again. I want him to protect me, but I have a feeling something more sinister stands in my way. Some things in Svetlana’s life never seem to change.

Clack. Clack. Clack
.
The rhythmic sounds from the monitor that I expect are absent and the clicking of metal on metal jets me from the bed with my eyes open, instantly overwhelmed by the light surrounding me. I bring my hands up to shield my eyes from what may be out there. I don’t trust the world. I thought I could trust love after Caesar, look where that ended up. My love was never enough for Mateo, no matter how much I tried to show him, despite how I attempted to be his in every way he needed. Mateo is a man that is bred differently, convinced that love is a fleeting emotion that is never truly felt or deserved. In my mind, for a brief second, I try to rationalize his attempts to kill me from this world. Can I really blame him when I did nothing but beg them to do such things?

My eyes finally adjust to the brightness hugging me, and an emotion I am not familiar with is plaguing me with uncertainty because its realness is false. Why should I feel such security in a place that means nothing? I have no idea where I am, never mind the fact that I could have very well been shuffled away to some other hell for another life that will be determined by none other than me.

The usual buzzing from fluorescent lights is absent along with the sterile scent of alcohol, and my gut and heart almost crave it. I inhale sharply, trying my best to find it, but the stale sense of death that hung so tensely in the air before from the deadly lovers that abandoned me is absent, and all that I am left with is the decency I have always craved. The trust that betrays me is clawing its way to the surface as my body tries to make amends, sinking down onto a soft mattress, different than the usual stiff hospital cot. The soreness from before is still present, but not as profound as before. Fuck, who am I kidding, it has always been there. I’m not sure I would know how to feel if my body were ever in a constant state of health or ease.

I feel a barrier covering my body, confusion bathing me heavier than before, and my eyes glance across the room as I attempt to study my surroundings as my hands dance over my clothed skin. I have never been cared for like this. Is this a joke? This must be a joke.
Let them laugh while the little lamb feels safe, then strip her free from her almost-healed skin will cackling at her like the leaper she was born to be.

The walls are white, not sterile or too clean, but comfortable with nothing hanging from any space. The brightness that I am still getting accustomed to is shining through a tiny window, the rays from the sun looking like a dream that I never thought I would see. I look down to the foot of my bed as my eyes dance over the antique-like iron footboard. I try, but fail miserably, to understand what is happening around me.

There is no one that wants me now. Why am I here?

I push the soft, gray comforter from my body, realizing the frown I am wearing as the cotton from my two-piece pink pajama set rubs itself against my healing skin. My mind breaks for reasons that make no sense as my eyes free tears and my lungs explode with fear and longing. Longing for faith and love. Understanding. I stand from the bed, staring, once more, at the soft linen that covers the body that bears the markings of the harshness I was born for. I gulp hard, letting my cries soften slightly as my dark strands fall over my shoulders, the coolness from the sun-burnt orange tiled floors sending jolts of pain through my legs.

Finally, I reach the window, looking out the smudged panes to the vast country-side as random chickens run to and fro in the yard. My tears become whispers, and for the first time in my life, I feel like a girl. My innocence has been stolen. My life has never been lived, and my heart has been shattered before I was ever given a chance to feel.

My revelation consumes me, making the emotional pain too much as I crumple to the chilly floor, crawling to the corner to huddle in a ball just as my body was taught to all that time ago. My pleas for mercy will never waiver. Trained dogs cannot be taught differently. I am a trained whore. Birthed from a no one. Loved by no one. Born to be no one.

I shake my head no at myself, rocking back and forth as his face haunts me. Caesar, the only man that has shown compassion, but what is that worth when he never fought? He didn’t fight like I have. He left me! The newfound anger that grips my heart leaves me disbarred from the idea of ever being normal.

Fuck, who am I kidding? Normal doesn’t exist.

I wipe my eyes, but it’s useless. My tears are trained just as my heart is. They fall and break until I am shattered into nothing. My body and mind have been proficient and used against me. How can I stop this? How do I get these feelings straight? I need life to make sense. I need to find my head again!

I shake back and forth until my back hits the hard wall. I wish for the warmness that surrounds me to disappear. I don’t know how to take it. The cruelty is all that I have been able to deal with and understand. Kind words and sweet gestures were not made for girls like me. Fires, dark alleyways, and blood are what make up my fairytale.

The memories, so awful and sweet, haunt me. Rats, fires, Russians, and The Goodbye Man; my fucking salvation comes to save me.

But his love is forbidden, so he left me.

I scream as loud as I can to free myself from the confines of the murderous and delightful life I had led up until this point. A cold whoosh of air greets my cheeks along with a familiar face.

My heart tells me not to trust him, but my body tells me I have no other choice.

“You take us.
I be good to you,” my mother said, cooing to the dark-haired man that gave us warm food and a place to stay.

But he was mad. Very mad, and I was about to see why.

“Please,” I begged, tugging on his jeans.

He smelled like soap and cigarettes. The rough fabric of his pants tickled my little fingers as I pulled harder, pleading with my dark eyes to save us.

Mother’s hands grabbed a hold off my tangled hair and jerked me backwards until my tiny body hit the wall. I tried to cough, but the wind was stuck in my lungs.

“You take me. We leave kid with Pavel.”

It was then, despite other times when I was difficult for Caesar to tolerate, that I understood that he loved me.

“I wouldn’t take you as mine even if you were the last fucking whore on the block.”

His hand met her face, and my mother’s head swung to the side as she cried out pointlessly. His heavy boots made their way to me, and I counted… one, two, three, four, five, waiting for my destiny to find me.

“Go hide in that corner,” Caesar paused, pointing his finger to the side of the room. “Duck your head between your legs, and whatever you do, do not whisper or cry.”

I looked up at him, the same face that saved me then would come back and save me again. I crawled over to the corner, bringing my skinned knees up to my chest as my head tucked itself between my legs. Down went his zipper and violent cries filled the air. I wouldn’t dare look up to see how my mother was being punished because of her remark. My brain was conditioned to believe that was how everyone lived.

Slap. Punch. Punch.

“You. Will. Never. Fucking. Whisper. Again.”

His words were like ice and fire together, a deadly combination that had you craving more, yet fearful for the next.

Something about that moment sank deep in the crevices of my fucked up mind, tucking itself away for a rainy day until I was ready to lose my shit. My little belly got butterflies. Those were the first ones I ever had. Imagine that, at four-years-old…

Finally, I got enough courage to look up at him, not even giving my mother a care as she laid slumped over stark naked on his couch, which oddly enough, was covered in plastic. He looked at me between panted breaths as he zipped up his jeans, and padded over to my shivering body.

His calloused finger made its way to my dark, matted strands and he pushed them away, then tilted up my chin to look deep into my eyes.

“Don’t worry, Mi Amor. One day you will be safe again.”