The Goodbye Man (10 page)

He danced and he played before pressing the knife to her vein. After her life was taken, he laid next to her knowing she couldn’t be shaken. Death was his friend because it would never leave. He could love the dead ones, too.

“Niño, come!” she giggled,
running through the shadowed alleyway. My legs ran as fast as they could, taking me closer to the girl that had my heart.

“Ophelia, wait! Wait!” I screamed to my cousin, older than me by two years.

We wandered the streets aimlessly after drinking a fifth of cheap vodka and snorting low-grade cocaine. Being high was always something I enjoyed, but flying on the edge of contentment with those hips before me was too much. Not to mention my true feelings for her.

Love.

She had the face of an angel and her voice always made me feel safe. I loved her. Not like cousins do, but something more. At sixteen, I had already dropped out of school and was consumed by life of the streets. Her eyes sucked me in with an unavoidable force. My cock strained and peace is all I ever felt. Her hair was as black as night. Not the kind of night you see from the city streets in the Bronx, but the kind that you dream of in the middle of a field, counting the stars.

I looked at Ophelia differently since I realized what she did to my body, and my heart for that matter. Bad people were all that I knew. My mother never really loved me. She only tolerated me enough until I reached the age to get the fuck out and learn the ways of Hunts Point on my own. Sixteen was when that all started. Drugs, bad behavior, fuck school. The usual cycle that niños fall into in this piece of shit neighborhood full of false hopes and broken dreams. Violence and everything illegal is the only kind of life to lead here.

Ophelia was good, so good. Her heart was real and she always paid attention to me. I don’t think anyone before her ever really asked how I was, or realized I was alive unless it benefitted them; like my mother to increase her government assistance for food stamps, housing, and other shit that she didn’t need. When I became too much trouble for her, I was thrown out to deal with my own problems. When I was with Ophelia, it was as easy as breathing. She was the only kind of normal that I remember having. She never questioned me. I just was, well, me.

Until she ran.

Then everything changed.

But I would always love her.

I continued to run down an alleyway off Melrose with a smile on my face. My heart was full, so full, and beating out of my chest from the happiness and cocaine. But that day was the day that changed everything for me. The moments that happened soon after made me understand that I wasn’t chasing her, she was running from me. Maybe that is how it stuck in my already fucked up head, but how someone sees something and what really is are two different things. It doesn’t really matter when you are convinced that people run.

Because they do.

“Ophelia!” I yelled out once again, stopping for a second with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

I looked down and saw a piece of jagged stone. I picked it up and clutched it in my palm, not understanding what in the fuck I was about to do with it.

She was a feisty, fierce beauty. She turned around to face me, laughter still coming from her mouth. But I remember seeing something different on her face. She didn’t want me like I wanted her. Our eyes locked for an instant and she became frightened. She saw how I wanted her. And she ran again. Anger seeped from my innocent heart and bathed every cell, filling me with its fuckery. I would be stained for life. But what’s worse, I would grow to enjoy it, need it, and find myself going crazy without it.

With each passing step Ophelia took, she got closer to the edge of the desolate alleyway. I had reached my last chance to not let her run. My arm reached itself back behind my head as I gritted my teeth and clenched my jaw. How easy it was for me to go from love to hatred would never be understood. It never once made sense since, I only kept on with my cravings.

My eyes zeroed in on the back of Ophelia’s head, so perfectly round. Under her thick skull held her brain, full of secrets and fears. I would never know what those were. Her soft, black strands swept from side to side as she ran. I released my arm from behind my head, blinking back worry after the rough, jagged rock left my hand. Time stopped as everything went into slow motion. The gravel floated around in the air like a feather until it reached the back of Ophelia’s strikingly curved head.

I stood still, watching as her head cracked open. No screams came from her once giggling lungs. The only noise that filled the air was the usual buzzing of taxi cabs on the streets of Melrose and pedestrians going about their lives. Yet, we remained unnoticed. I can’t remember exactly how long I stayed there like that, I only know that I watched her fall and melt down gracefully.

Her body slumped over and a luscious red river started from the gash in the back of her head. When the blood finally met the tips of my used-to-be white sneakers, I walked over to the girl that I loved. The girl who cared about me when no one else did. But she didn’t care enough, because she ran. She wouldn’t stay. She would end up leaving like the rest of them. I didn’t plan on ending it like this. Many nights while I laid in bed, I thought about her warm body next to mine and how her tits would feel inside my hands. Then when I understood that I had killed her, that my Ophelia was dead and gone, she was more appealing to me than when she was alive.

Because she could never leave me.

I looked around to make sure no one was watching me. Fuck, I don’t think I would have cared if they were. It’s like an angel had fallen, hit her head, and laid herself to be mine at my feet. I bent down and turned her around to her back. Her skin had already started to cool beneath my hands and I remember how much I enjoyed that. Her once grinning face was in a permanent frown as her plump, pale lips begged to be kissed. Her black eyes stared at me in the face and started to turn glassy. She reminded me of the dolls I used to play with of my sister’s when I was little.

I didn’t even try to make sense of my thoughts. I only acted and it felt right. I leaned my head down to hers, my warm lips pushing against her cooling ones. My cock hardened more than it was before and I took her cheeks into my hands, opening her flaccid mouth with my hungry tongue. I parted my lips from hers, breathless, making my way to her ear, “You can’t leave me now, Ophelia.”

My hands pulled down her tank top. I was pleased to find her bare under her shirt. I wasted no time and took her cooling nipple into my mouth, nursing it like she would have enjoyed. I continued to whisper Spanish endearments to her, ones that I know she would have cherished if she were still alive. But she wasn’t. She was dead and nothing else in my life seemed more right because she couldn’t run from me.

My hand made its way down to her cotton shorts. I snaked them inside to her pussy. She was dry, so I took my fingers out and sucked on them a while to wet them. Again, I fingered her pussy and she was colder than what she was before. It got harder to withhold my urge to fuck her.

I peeled her shorts away from her legs and opened them up. She looked too delicious not to taste. My watering mouth made its way to her pussy lips. I flicked and licked her clit like I knew she would enjoy. Then, it was about her, not me. Soon enough, I would take her and make her mine.

Completely.

I freed my cock and climbed up her body. I needed to see her eyes again, the ones that reminded me so much of the dollies that I used to play with when I was little. So still, calm, and gone. I had control. She was mine and no one could take her away from me. Then, I could make her love me. No more running.

I guided my hot, throbbing dick into her dead pussy. The feeling was too much and one that would never be lived up to again.

“I love you, always you, Ophelia. Now you can’t leave me. Now you cannot run.”

I rocked my hips deep inside of her, understanding that the kind of love that I found, the type that I needed couldn’t be found in normal places. No. Because I was fucked up. I was not a normal kind of boy.

“Ophelia, doesn’t it feel better to stay? Not to run from me?” I whispered into her ear, clutching onto her soft locks.

My lips made their way to hers and I claimed her, invading her parted mouth with mine. With every sweep of my tongue to hers, it felt like a piece of sandpaper chaffing it. I remember how amazed I was at the loss of life. How something can be lost so quickly. Change sets in almost instantly. A dead body is just that. Dead without life. There is no chance of a rebuttal or fleeing. Simply, they stay quiet, get colder, and look at you through pretty, glassy eyes that hold secrets that they will only ever know.

Life had lied to me. Needing someone is a lie. Real people don’t exist. Everyone gets fucked by the world, thrown to hell, put through pain. Death is where it’s at. Death is beauty. Simple. Forever.

I stared into the eyes that I love and fucked her cold body, euphoria dancing on every inch of my body.

“Yes. Yes, niña. I will never leave you. I love you. Fuck yes. Fuck!” I chanted, spurting myself inside of her cold body.

I would never know the feeling of a woman getting off like I do. I have found pleasure in the most unconventional ways, but I am not a normal person. I may be living on the outside, but what you see on the outside and what is on the inside are two different things.

My heart may beat. My brain may work (sometimes, though not right), and my lungs may provide me with oxygen, but I am dead inside. I am dead just like the only woman I ever loved. After I loved Ophelia the only way I knew how, I needed a reminder. I ripped locks of her beautiful, black hair out, often bringing it to my nose to smell and feel. So soft, perfect… so Ophelia. My family, full of fucked up people that care too much about becoming exposed, threw me to my uncle. He has been the only person since that didn’t discard me like trash. He didn’t hate me for killing her, but he has never discussed it since. He covered up my mess, burning her in the incinerator like all the others he says goodbye to.

I say goodbye before they can, taking lovely little locks to remind me of the love that I took.

Lies we tell ourselves to invent the truth.

Marta knocks at my
door after a long day, the smell of burnt skin and medical soap doesn’t bother her. In fact nothing bothers her, all she seems to need is a little warmth and a soft touch to get her through whatever comes after me. I am not stupid. I know she is just a whore, but after the deafening chaos of my days, she is a relief at night. She brings mi amor with her now; it feels wrong that she watches us and sees this. Marta tells her to hide away in Russian so we can be alone. Marta comes to me because it’s clean here and she can have a warm shower and bathe the little one after.  I don’t think they have had electricity or running water in months, in fact in the five years I have been fucking her, I don’t recall them ever having anything. I give Marta extra money over what I pay her sick husband to use her body for my comfort. Tonight I am angry when I undress her and find bruises and burn marks on her skin. I kiss her and my day disappears into silence, I can’t save her because I can’t kill her.

My memories are interrupted, rather I am saved from them when the machines attached to her start to beep louder and faster. The doctor shoves me out of the way as she lifts her eyelids and adds something to her IV, the liquid making the noise slow down and the alarms are silenced.

“Caesar, she is playing jump rope between life and death right now. I can’t make you the promises you need.” The doctor’s words are like daggers stabbing me right in the gut.

“What can we do? Can we do more? Should we move her?”

“No, no there would be too many questions and we would all be exposed, we can only wait and see. This one is special to you, no?”

What is special? I don’t even know. I don’t answer her, because in truth, I don’t even know myself why I care about her. Or if I even care, this may just be the stupidest thing I have ever done. Love makes people stupid and irrational.

“Go home, boss. I will stay with her,” the tired doctor says to me. I want to go, but I want to stay too. I want her to live, but I know she only wants to die. They always want to die when the world breaks them. There are days I want to die too.

“I can’t go because I don’t trust the boy. I will go sleep in my office for a while, then come back later.” She shakes her head. They all know about Mateo, he doesn’t even try to hide it. His mother said he was a silly boy who played with his sister’s dolls, and now he is sick man that likes to fuck almost dead women. We never can tell what our children will become, they will become whatever is in them. I wonder if Marta always knew her child would be just another whore for sick men to use and hurt. I wonder why she never tried to save her. Even before she died, it was like she just surrendered to the darkness that’s surrounded them, she had no fight. She begged me to take her away and say goodbye, but I needed her too much. I was selfish and her goodbye was brutal. I should have killed them both when Marta asked me to. She begged me to let her and the tiny baby in her arms die and I selfishly said no.

I leave the room, as the doctor is still writing stuff down on the make-shift chart she has stuck to the side table. This is not what my facility is designed for, people come here to die not live. I know they are doing the best they can and it feels like it will never be enough. I need to go and deal with my stupid nephew and that gnat Juan. He cannot be running around. I make my way to my office, my steps are slower and less determined than they were earlier today, and I feel tired and defeated. I find them both in the office kitchen making food. The upstairs kitchen isn’t operational so they have no choice really. Well, they could go into Mateo’s apartment but I think he hides something in there, as not even I am allowed in. They are laughing like today wasn’t the longest day of my fucking life, and I grab the plate out of Juan’s hands and sit down to eat his food. I am starving. “Caesar, I wanted to talk to you.” The way he says my name grinds me and I instantly want to slap him.

“My name is CHe-sa-ray you gnat. I am not a Roman, I am Spanish,” I grunt out at the twit.

“Sorry, I have decided I don’t want the money.” I almost spit the food right back out.

“So, you want to die then?” I ask, because that’s the alternative. He shakes his head and smiles, the cocky little prick.

“No, I want a job.” I take second to consider it, he already saw too much downstairs; if I pay him he could talk. I look at Mateo, who is just as amused.

“Can you use him? Sobrino, listen when I talk to you, you shit. Can he help you or not?” He is distracted. I don’t know where his mind goes, but it just fucks off completely sometimes.

“He can clean I guess, the office is like a fucking whore house. I could use a run around too,” Mateo answers me, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth.

“Okay, gnat. Once I have your kidney, you can stay. Pick a hole upstairs where you won’t bother anyone. Mateo is your boss, you are his little bitch, you do what he says and I will pay you every week. You fuck up and… well, you saw what happens when you were poking that nose in my business.”

He swallows the dry lump in his throat and nods his head over and over. “Thank you, Caesar.” At least the little shit got it right this time.

“Now make me another sandwich,” I demand of the irritating gnat.

“Mateo, we have three harvests over the next few days so I need things to go back to quiet. This chaos will make it too hard.” He is sitting now, paying attention. “Make sure everything is ready. Go and check that the clinic is ready for the recipients, there will be a few.” If I keep him busy, he won’t have time for her.

“Is she staying here?” he asks with a frown on his face.

“I told you she is mine. That means she has nothing to do with you. Or you.” I point at Juan, who is listening in now. “She is off limits to anyone who is not me or her doctor. If I catch you, I will kill you.” I make my stance on the matter very clear. “Gnat, go with Mateo and start learning.” I scrape my chair back along the floor and stand. “I will be in my office sleeping, so shut the fuck up while you’re at it.” I hear Mateo whisper to Juan as I leave,
“He hates noise, so shut up.”  

I spend the next few days in the building, afraid to leave in case she wakes up or worse, Mateo tries his luck again. I sleep on the couch in the office when I can.

He is right, I cannot abide certain noises. I hate them, they are the cause of my disease, my insanity. Music is like torture for me and the human voice like a switch blade cutting me apart. I slide myself onto the plastic covered sofa in the corner of the office and try to make myself comfortable as my body melds itself to the synthetic cover; I am going to sweat like hell. When I close my eyes, the fatigue grips me and I plummet into the abyss of sleep and the torment of memories and dreams creeps in.

Marta is pregnant and it’s not the first time, all the others haven’t made it this far. Her distended belly puts me off, yet I still pay to fuck at least once a week, but I am not sure if I do it for me or her anymore. I just turn her around so I cannot see it. I have never had anyone that I can be with like her. I think it’s because she is quiet; she very rarely speaks at all. Her English is appalling and I don’t understand Russian, so there is no need for words between us. Even when we have sex, the only noise is her heavy breathing. She doesn’t make the sounds that will send me spiraling out of control. As I kneel her on the sofa facing away from me, my fingers trace the arch of her spine from her neck to her ass, which has gotten bigger. I have the urge to grab onto it dig my fingers into the flesh, but then she would make a noise so I don’t. I let my hand carry on exploring her softness and as I slip my fingers between her parted thighs, she throws her head back and arches into me, wanting more. The noise of the day has left me feeling wound up and my cock is aching for release as I slip it inside of her. Voices all day are driving me further and further into madness. I need this, and as I pound into her, my hand covers her mouth so she cannot cause me more agony when I want the quietness. When I am ready to come, I pull out and let myself go all over her white skin. She collapses onto her hands and knees, her skin flushed pink and she pants gently. I instantly want to comfort her now that the discomfort of my day has been taken out on her body. She lets me pull her next to me on the sofa, her warm naked skin against mine and as I sit with her and light a smoke, I am okay. For a few minutes everything is silent. Marta is silent.

I am jolted awake by the torture of voices, the worst fucking kind. Whispering voices. I try to clear the haze of sleep from my eyes so I can punch whoever is whispering in here. “Shut the fuck up,” I yell before I can turn around to see where the voices are coming from. I see Mateo shoving that irritating little fly with a kidney that I need out of the office. I growl out loud and my body reacts to the noise against my will. Fuck it all to hell. The Polish doctor is standing in the open doorway, looking a little tired and worried. I stand up, stretching out the stiffness that sleeping on the sofa has caused. “Why in the name of all that is fucking holy are you all in here making such a racket?” I adjust myself so that my raging cock is less visible to them

“She’s awake,” the doctor answers, turning and walking away. “You should come see her now,” she finishes off, already halfway down the passage. I glance at my watch and see that it is well after midnight, no wonder the doctor looks ragged. “You two, go upstairs. And Gnat, ask my nephew what I do to people who whisper.” I glare at them both. I hate having people around me, I should have just killed him for the kidney. I stomp my way behind the doctor, through the others, to her. The beeping is a sound I can handle, its voices that drive me to the very edge of reason.

Why do people even need words? I would never speak at all given the choice.