The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) (22 page)

Descending into Insanity for Forever.

I step out
of the cab, handing the attractive young Hispanic driver money to ensure he stays where he belongs, and into the Mexican heat allowing it to graze over my tattooed arms. I spread them wide as the sun bathes me, warming the coldness that will forever be buried deep beneath the scars and madness that make me who I am. There is no amount of digging that can unveil the tragedy I tried hiding from the world for so long. I am far too macabre. The realm became unjust the day I was born, and with each day as my existence threatens humanity even more, I become a fiend to all those who surround me, even myself. That is not even the worst part. My lips curl up into a devious smile as I come to such a conclusion. I enjoy these feelings. They make me whole. Every fleeting moment of my life isn’t plentiful; I crave a vast amount of darkness. I am becoming hungrier. Needier. The thought of death sets my heart on fire along with the recollections of my living dolly; how I would torture her to make her see that I was the one in control. Those memories make me lust after blood, craving both demise and cruelty.

I take a puff of my cigarette, letting the smoke settle deep into my lungs, my heart skipping a beat as the Mexican sun beats down onto my sweating skin. I hear the echo of a beautiful woman’s voice in the background as she sings
Ave Maria.
My eyes remain closed as my hearing increases, hearing birds flap their wings in an attempt to fly away to a false heaven. They must be flying toward the sound of the voice, the angelic little voice that would surely send Caesar into an irreversible nightmare. I let myself laugh a little, reveling in my madness as the hum of the aged cab brings me back to the present.

It’s ironic how I can think of something so beautiful one moment, only to prepare myself for the opposite, so fucking horrific the next.

I open my eyes, looking at the graffiti painted brick alleyway before me. My eyes trace over the brightly sprayed on letters as I try to gain the meaning of this second. I laugh louder. Who am I kidding? There is no such thing as having purpose, not when you are born into the Red Market. There is no chance for anything else but being fucked up and sick. There is no chance for anything at all.

Resonating beauty travels through the air so lightly, tickling the inhumanity out of my head for a brief amount of time as the sound of the lady’s voice continues. I can only assume it is from a local church. In a city so poor and crime-ridden, churches still litter every fucking corner as people hold onto a faith that doesn’t exist. My throat begins to tighten as my hands twitch with anger. My chest constricts as the disarray and disorder painted before me make me nervous and overcome with unease.

Honk!

I flick my cigarette, composed just as much as the day I threw the rock at the back of Ophelia’s head, and pause, taking a moment to look over at the cabbie who is looking back and forth in frustration due to my slow movements.

“¡Rapido, amigo!”

Stupid fucker will soon learn what happens to those who tell Mateo what to do. I hurry for no one.

I feel my jaw crack as my teeth clench together, begging for a piece of meaty flesh to tear apart as the screams of pain shred my soul to nothing, back to the only place I have ever known. Feeling is too much. Dead people can’t feel. They don’t love you back. They also cannot run or speak their feelings. That’s what’s caused me to break. My word was shattered when the one could sway me with her moans of pleasure, her pleads for more, and that fucking dirty wet cunt when I would fuck her.

That isn’t how I operate. I should have understood then that my days were numbered when her brown eyes blinked at mine, so alive, so fiery, and so goddamn hopeful. I never had room for those things in my world, but I tried, and she broke me harder than anyone before.

Lettie is the reason that I am the way that I am now. This is all her fault.

“Didn’t I tell you to hold on, puta? How many more pesos do you need to keep your dick wet?” I retort, throwing my cigarette down the dirty alleyway towards the trash that dances effortlessly in the thick summer wind.

I smile, walking towards the driver’s side door, seeing that my words have quite an effect on him. He leans further back into his seat, gripping the steering wheel until his bronze knuckles turn white. My eyes glance down to his throat, and he sees my actions, more than likely sensing the roughness in the air. I bite my bottom lip, and he swallows while his pulse in his neck throbs to life; a life that will soon be cut short. But I will not be slow, sweet or gentle. He will feel every painful minute. Every unwanted thrust, punch, prod, and slash, I will make him feel it.

“What has you so nervous, perra?” I whisper, grabbing another cigarette from my back pocket, lighting it as my eyes drift across the flames.

I can hear the faint pants coming from his mouth. His nervousness makes my dick hard and my veins fulfilled. My restlessness nearly depletes to nothing as the drumming in my ears quiets. The fire in my soul is set alight by the torment that my hands will soon deliver.

My fingers toy with the lighter in my hand, and for a second my brows furrow as my thumb traces the outline of the metal on the hard surface. I can’t believe I never got rid of this thing. I suppose when I found Caesar’s lighter in the incinerator room, I wanted to think he was dead, but I also wanted to hold onto the only good part of this disgusting life. He is the healer when I am the decaying body. I would have never admitted it before, hoping in my subconscious for him to be dead so that I could be the sole proprietor in something so dark and awful, letting myself be surrounded by the things that make me feel normal. But he came back. He is back, and Caesar fucked it all up. Lettie Doll destroyed my world, and even though she said she loved me, I know her love only belongs to him.

I flick the lighter, staring at the orange flame, playing with it with my free hand as my cigarette hangs out of the corner of my mouth. The boy in the driver’s side of the cab is still, unmoving and without words.
Perhaps I can keep him.
His attributes are more appealing as they relate to those without the ability to know any differently. My little dollies… My mind wanders to the pain that Lettie Doll must have felt as her cunt was burnt by the Russian. I should be ashamed at my body’s response, but I’m not. I have come to yet another conclusion that my ability to feel any sort of empathy is lost. It left when my Lettie Doll did.

I take a long drag from my stag, tossing the lighter down the alley and watching it sputter and clink on the dirty concrete. I can’t help but feel like I am throwing away another piece of my life as I toss away the last bit of hope that I held onto.

I walk over to the cabbie’s door, my fingers sliding beneath the handle effortlessly like I was made to murder and torture. My heart starts to increase its pace as I face my own suicide, the death of the last piece of humanity that I have. I open the door and lean in, cocking my head as I study the handsome young man. His arms are locked while his hands are gripped tighter than before on the steering wheel. The black strands that hung over his forehead before, highlighting his brown pools, are now stuck to his forehead. I can smell his sweat in the air as the thick Mexican heat sticks onto my body. It feels like the perfect concoction for a deadly disaster.

“I bet you never have had much money before, have you? You are a poor bastard.” I shake my head at him, wishing I could feel sorry for him, but there is no lost will for a man like me. What I am about to do cannot be undone. When I run with this, there is no turning back.

“No English, Senor,” his voice shakes. His eyes still refuse to look at mine.

“Out.” My tone is demeaning as my patience is wearing thin.

I look down the alleyway, appreciating this city for what it’s worth. It reminds me of New York City in some ways, driving in decent parts one second then minutes later arriving at poverty and shit-filled streets with grovelers.

The good-looking young Mexican man stays motionless. There are times when I would appreciate stillness, but now is not the time. I need him to understand that his inability to listen the first time will only equal more punishment. My hands were built to harm. My heart was built to hate.

I grab his throat; his thick lips purse letting out a high-pitched hissing noise as the air leaves his insignificant body. I tug him out of the car, his body feels like nothing more than a feather as he floats out like an agile piece of flesh that is about to be filleted alive. I still hear the whistling of the cars behind me and the shouting of the beggars. I feel at home, like I am right where I am supposed to be. It feels so close to Hunts Point; I am in the middle of hell getting away with the most notorious thing again.

History is repeating itself, though more grisly this time, I am sure of it. My hunger has become too great to be fed.

Every muscle in my arms flexes against the tension that the young man attempts to give me, but it is futile. I am not returning half of the strength that I have. My look gazes on down the dirty alley, littered with trash and dumpsters, and my thoughts are overcome with so many emotions, I fear I may lose it before I can fully enjoy what I am about to do. My eyes betray my need as I see Ophelia running before me, running away from me, and my feet move faster. I need to tell her that my love is worthy. Her perfectly round head splits open, oozing red as it turns around to face me, the monster, the man, the devil in the flesh… but it isn’t Ophelia’s face that I see. My Lettie Doll looks at me, a ghost from my past that splintered me apart into a million tiny shards. She left me incapacitated and unable to be anything more than a shell of filth and fowler, flying towards the deeper parts of debauchery.

The unwanted premonition in front of me fades away into the wind, leaving my throat dry and my vision hazed. My grip tightens on the man’s throat, his body going lax. I don’t want him to die, yet. I let him go until he falls down to the ground, looking as his head bounces off the concrete with such elegance, it leaves me at ease as the thought of the my only loves dissipates, making me understand my true intentions now. I study his chest, seeing it rise up and down with little depth and relief finds me. Not because he is still with life, but because I need him to feel all the pain that I have felt. I need someone else to understand all the pain that I have been through. There is no such thing as fair. I was birthed to the beasts of the world, raised by them, and left to die by them, too.

The plain white T-shirt is clinging to the man’s build, his perspiration coming through to show his modest physique. My hand makes its way down to my pants as I play with my hard cock outside of my pants. The lullaby playing about around me is so horrendous, my dread is at ease. I unzip his worn jeans, pulling them down with his boxers to expose his flaccid cock. My tattooed fingers push his shirt up as I admire the blank canvas of his body, the horrors that have not been painted yet. Fate must have been waiting for him, for me, for this moment. He can be mine forever…

My lips make their way to his stomach, and gently push them down. I trace my tongue over his belly down to still soft dick, bringing my tongue back into my mouth to taste the innocence that I will soon take away. I unzip my pants and free my cock, rubbing it against his soft body as my mouth appreciates the taste of his salty skin. His warmth invades me, but it is unfamiliar. Very few have tasted this way to me. I need the cold. I need finality. There is only one way, and the softness that has me like a puppet will need to leave. I need to allow myself to be a beast like my teachers. In time, I will paint the world black and collect all my lovers, because they are all that I need.

I bring my mouth down to his; the panting of parted mouth is shallow and hot. I press my needy lips onto his, brushing my tongue alongside of his still wet tongue. Pain shoots through me as blood enters my mouth. I open my eyes to see his, with life and fight. I remember what fighting looked like, my Little Lettie Doll, but she left me and took the last bit of real love that I had. My sanity leaves me completely in his moment as his small hands find my chest, trying pointlessly to push me off of him as my tongue stays between his teeth. I grasp a hold of his hair, yanking his head hard onto the ground until I hear a crack. My tongue is instantly freed.

I feel a small cut on the top of it as it still oozes with blood. I wipe the side of my mouth free from the crimson liquid that matches my vision; red rage. He continues to look at me through half-conscious eyes. I cock my head to the side and huff, laughing slightly.

“You are mistaken if you think this is a fight you could ever win. I am a wolf. You are a lamb. I have eaten many lambs before, and you won’t be the last.”

He tries again, uselessly, to push me away. I slap him across the face, his head whipping to the side like a ragdoll that I used to play with when I was a little boy. I punch him in his pretty mouth over and over again until my knuckles crack and his face bleeds steadily, splattering his once white T-shirt. It looks like a priceless piece of art that will never fade with time, symbolizing the end of a life at the hands of the devil in the flesh.

I flop him over, needing a release from the tension that is near the edge of exploding. He continues to stir, his hands desperately trying to grab onto anything, but it is a moot point. I find myself laughing like a crazed creature on the brink of disaster. Who am I kidding, my entire life has been a wreck.