The Goodbye Man (6 page)

Part of the whole.

After many years
of trial and error and a wake of useless dead bodies, we know the best way to get them exactly where we need them to be. If you buy an organ on the red market it is not going to be a healthy, fit person who gave it up. It’s an urchin that has been used and abused by themselves and others. You never know what you are going to get and I really don't care. I save your life, but sometimes it’s not what it seems.

I let the girl lie next to me for the night. I know she doesn’t sleep much because she has to choose to suffer and live or to die and never hurt again. I have no problem sleeping at night as I am not conflicted, confused or troubled. I am who I am and I own it. I am able to sleep for six hours despite her constant tossing beside me, and when her shuddering from the cold wakes me in the early hours of the morning, I instinctively pull her into me. Her bony body stills next to mine, waiting for the horrors that should follow. They won’t come from me; the horrors that I have are silent, quiet and unseen. She won’t feel her death, but she can feel me taking her body in ways that she isn’t used to. There is little point to sex if you don’t both enjoy it, so I don’t understand the need to beat or hurt a girl to get off. I like them to feel good, because if they feel good I feel even better. She relaxes into me as I take her from behind, my slow rhythm making her breaths hot and needy, like the way she arches into me as we both get the release we were seeking. I don’t need sex for the connection. I need it to set the demons of my mind free, as it quiets my voices. The incessant din inside my mind where I hear the voices of a thousand goodbyes and the screams of those who I couldn’t save from the demons of Hunts Point. Sound is the one thing that can hurt me. I need quiet, and I crave silence. I have tried earplugs. I soundproofed my home, but somehow the voices always get inside. Soft, sweet, beautiful voices are the devil in my mind that drives me to do bad things.

I leave her spent and satisfied in my bed so I can go and shower for the day that lies ahead of me. The hot water warms my now cold body and eases the tension in my shoulders for a few moments. I let the water flow over me for as long as it stays warm, and when it turns cold, I get out and dress myself. I have a hard time sliding my dark jeans up my still wet legs; the dark black polo shirt takes less effort. Once I am dressed and my teeth and hair are brushed, I fetch the zip locked bag from the cardboard box in my room. It contains a razor, toothbrush and a simple ladies’ dress and a pair of flip flops. They are all identical and I keep them here so it is easy to get the girls ready to leave when it’s time.

“Go shower and clean yourself. When you are done we will go set you free, armorcito.” Her eyes twinkle with hope as she slides from my bed and scurries to the bathroom. I take the time to go through the emails and messages on my phone while I have my morning smoke or three. When she emerges, she looks almost human. The knitted dress hangs on her skinny body, and I am again angered at the condition of Pavel’s girls as it just keeps getting worse. I don’t have this problem with the others but that dirty fucking Russian. I am going to go pay him a visit later today. I need a kidney and he has a match for me. I hate these kinds of jobs where it’s just not worth them dying and I have to take what I need and let them go; it’s so much fucking work. I see that some new boy on Pavel’s list is a match and maybe this will scare him enough to run before he is sucked into the vortex of scum and shit that surrounds the Russian.

I don’t offer the girl a smoke, even though I can see her begging with her eyes. It’s time to start filtering the shit out of her body so I can use it.

“Let’s go, armorcito,” I stand up and grab my leather coat from the hook by my door. The little shadow follows me in her dress and flip flops. My van is parked in front of the building and I help her inside. The dinosaur of a car sputters to life reluctantly in the morning cold. I drive the short distance south to my place of business. Those who know me call it the butchery. Those who don’t see it for what it is on the surface, a medical waste processing facility. I park around back in the staff lot and open the passenger door for her to exit. I see the hesitation flash over her face. I hold out my hand to her, the innocent unthreatening contact relaxing her and she slides out of the car, landing on the asphalt below. The next part is no fun, I don’t do it. I don’t even watch anymore. We enter through the heavy metal doors and are met by a smiling Mateo. I let him live in the small loft space upstairs. He is too full of shit to pay rent and keeps getting evicted and this way he is on call all the time. He has strange tastes and unusual habits that draw attention out in the world, and here he can hide away.

“Hello, pretty,” he croons at her. Her instinct for bad things makes her cling to me a little tighter and she hides herself behind my back. My nephew is all kinds of fucked up and her instincts would be right if they mattered, but now she is just a number. The second the door closed behind us, she lost the last of her identity.

“Mateo is going to take you now, armorcito. He will take care of you.” I talk to him, but my eyes convey a message to my nephew.
No fucking around you little shit. Just do your job.
He nods and takes her hand from mine. Her eyes latch onto me and they are full of questions. “It’s this, or go back to Pavel?” I answer her unspoken words. She turns to walk with Mateo. Defeated by life, she gives up so easily - it’s like stealing from a baby.

They will go to the processing room where she will be disinfected from head to toe, examined by a doctor for any obvious diseases. They will take blood and tissue samples and a bone marrow biopsy. Mateo will hold her down when she kicks and screams and bites and he will hit her if she tries too hard. Then she will be given a drink that will let her drift off to sleep. Once she sleeps, she will be put in a bed, connected to a set of monitors and put into an induced coma of sorts; a minimally conscious state, as they call it. Feeding tubes and an IV will keep her alive until we are ready for her to say goodbye. I hate watching them be processed; the stripping of their humanity to become spare parts is brutal. They always talk and fucking cry. I would go insane from the noise.

I wait in my office, going through the list of parts we will need over the next few weeks; this damn kidney is an issue. It amazes me that dying rich men always believe they are entitled to live at any cost. If I have to do a live harvest, my price is three times as much, yet this man doesn’t bat an eye. The payment was made in advance without me even confirming a match for him. I look over the results from the free clinic I own that treats the riffraff off the streets and I know Pavel’s new boy is what I need. But I don’t want to waste the rest of him, so we will just take his kidney and let him go for now. When I have the parts matched up to their new owners and a schedule printed, I take a walk down my corridor to the room at the back. The beeping monitors and still bodies is not what catches my eye, I don’t even see them anymore. I see the doors to the theater and the potential income from every bed that lines the two walls. I smell the sterile air. The constant beeping creates white noise that dulls the intensity of my misophonia, making it bearable while keeping me calm.

The newest number is in her place, still and lifeless, but alive. The sheet that should cover her body is lying on the white floor next to her and the bed rocks with the hard movements of Mateo fucking her almost-dead body. His naked ass is flexing as he pounds his cock into her as hard as he can. I don’t understand his obsession with raping these lifeless corpses, but I gave up trying to stop him a long time ago. His grunts echo through the still space as he lets himself go inside her pale, limp body. I shake my head and try not to look as he stokes her cheek with affection and whispers in her ear. I make no excuses for his behavior, he is not normal. Mateo is a good looking boy. He could have almost any girl he wanted, yet he stays here and fucks these lifeless dolls that line the walls. He is even more enamored when I bring in a male donor; his attraction to them is not defined by gender. It is a need that I will never quite fathom. I think I would be shocked to see him fucking someone who is alive. I have wondered if I forced him to enjoy the pleasures of a woman if it would fix him, but I can’t be bothered to try, so I just ignore it.

Happy that all the spaces are filled, I leave him to his debauchery and exit the room again; he didn’t even notice I had come in. The girl who was warm in my bed only hours ago is waiting to be a corpse and I have other work to do. I sit in my office and chain smoke for a while, waiting for him to be done and for all the morning’s doctor’s reports. It is some work to keep a person in limbo between life and death, and they are monitored constantly. When Mateo does return to the office with her paperwork, I am agitated and ready to go and have a fight with Pavel. His sick whores are costing a fortune to get ready for transplant and I am having to waste good organs. I fucking hate the filthy Russian; he is a waste of breath if there ever was one. I should have known his type when he whored his wife out to me even when she was pregnant.

“She is not too bad, this one. But her lungs are fucked and she has pneumonia. She is pregnant, but one of the docs will get rid of it later today.” Mateo speaks about the girl he was just defiling as he sits down at his desk in the corner.

“Fucking Russian. I have to go see him anyway. I need his new little boy for a kidney - it’s a live donation so get ready for the procedure to happen next week. He will need to be kept in the lock up here. I can’t trust Pavel to keep them alive and healthy.” I have a sick feeling about visiting Pavel today. He is out of control and I think his drugs have finally fried his brain. My ability to sense impending chaos is on high alert today. The control we cling to is about to slip away into madness.

I play with you, you play with me. This will set the devil free.

Dreams. What do they
hold? Even when I sleep, I rarely dream of things that most girls do. There are no memories of family Christmases, loving hugs, or first milestones reached. I remember hearing about things like that from whores that ran away from their suburban homes to New York City in hopes of chasing dreams that they never could catch. I never could understand why they would want to run away from a life like that, but I never asked them questions when they cried to me, missing their families. Instead, I am surrounded by darkness because that is all that I know. I will forever be enveloped by the slimy, disgusting people that consume my life. I have become one of the filthy, worthless ones.

Little tickles swim under my naked stomach, making me understand that I am alive. My head is throbbing and there is not a place on my body that doesn’t hurt. I want to move away from the roaches that are burrowing beneath me to find safety, but I have no strength. It was sucked away from me, well, whenever that was. My concept of time is warped. There is light in the room and it difficult to open my eyes. They are swollen from the punches that I sustained, but I try again to open them further to see if my clothes are in sight.

Nothing.

The prickles of roaches under me cause an instantaneous plunge of bile to rise quickly in my throat. I usually have decent control over my body, making sure I don’t shit on a man that is fucking me violently up the ass or vomit when I suck a man’s dick because he smells so bad from not showering since God knows when. But bugs, I fucking hate them. They are horrible, worthless creatures. Maybe my hatred for them is so great because I am so much like them. Unusable for anything else. Wasteful. Toxic. Revolting.

The acidic contents of my stomach escape my mouth and seep through my lips, staining the molded carpet next to me. I moan out loud, unable to stop myself from dry heaving. My belly hurts so bad, I’m certain that it is to the point of eating itself I’m so hungry. I try to clench onto something, but the nasty comforter and carpet are all that fill my hands. My heavy lids are tired, so tired, but the light is too bright and I can’t allow myself to close them. I suppose it is just my body responding or holding onto a life that I want to give up. Give up, how amazing that would be, but my stubborn, stupid body is used to the fight and refuses to let go.

I hear commotion in the other room, but pay no attention to it. Fuck trying to figure out what happens next. I am like some sick scientific experiment to Pavel. He will do with me what he pleases. I’ve made up my mind. I will sit here and rot and fucking die. Hell seems more sublime than this.

Footsteps tap closer and closer to me, but I don’t flinch. My body is ready to be punched, kicked, smacked, or hopefully stabbed. Just put me out of my misery already. A feather light touch grazes my naked back over a gash I didn’t know was there. The man’s calloused fingers rub the wound, and I hate him for that. Providing comfort isn’t fair because it isn’t real. I blink between narrowed, swollen eyes and stare at the smudged window. A pigeon continues to fly back and forth before settling on the perch of the window. I envy that bird. So free, able, and willing to extend its wings and fly away to any place that it wants. Out of the city. Out of dysfunction. Out of hell. Yet, the bird stays within the nasty elements in which it was born because that is what creatures of habit do.

They stay.

I will never leave this place unless it is in an abandoned dumpster like my mother. Even a trip to the city landfill dead would be better than this. The man’s touch rubs along my damaged ribs, sending a feeling of unknowing between my fucked up sex.

“It’s okay, chiquitita. I won’t hurt you.”

His lush Spanish accent rolls through my veins like silk. He doesn’t sound like a full grown man, more like a teenager like me. I still don’t understand why he is being nice. Nice people aren’t real and they can’t be trusted. I don’t offer him a return because I was taught to stay quiet. I endure what is given to me. Words aren’t spoken unless a question is asked and he didn’t ask me one.

“I said I won’t hurt you,” he says again, bending down to my ear and planting a kiss on my neck.

Chills run down my spine and send jolts of electricity through my toes. The feeling that is brewing in my belly is wrong, so wrong, but I can’t help but be swayed by the boy who is showing me false kindness. His hand cups my bruised cheek and I wince into his touch. I hate myself more than the devils in the other room for falling for this act. My eyes move up to meet his and I lose myself again, lost in the depths of softness that they hold. His dark, chocolate eyes pull me in and I want to melt into him. His messy black hair frames his face perfectly and his plump lips are so pink and lively. I admire them because he is alive. I wonder what that feels like to truly be living.

He has a small amount of dark stubble on his chin and I find myself wanting to touch his face to see if he is a figment of my imagination or not.

“Let me take care of you, little one,” he whispers, offering me a smile I still can’t believe to be loyal.

I remain silent, turning over onto my back. I let a cry escape my lungs as agony deluges over every cell of my body. I scream again as I try to move my legs, realizing I am more than likely damaged forever down
there,
and my use for Pavel will be no more. My bottom is aching and with every tiny movement from my body, the horror story from the night before is retold in my mind as my body remembers every single fucking part.

Tears. I let them fall and stain my cut and bruised face. The vomit still rests on my lips, but the boy doesn’t care.

“Calm down, little one, or they will kill you,” he whispers, his hot breath making me relax onto the dirty floor.

He takes his hand and wipes the puke off of my lips. Even that hurts. I continue to look at him, wondering why a boy who looks so well is doing in such a place like this.

“Who are you?” I finally ask.

“Juan,” he answers sweetly.

But even the devil was an angel once. Nothing lasts forever.

“Why are you here?” I muster.

I haven’t had this much courage in my entire life.

“To chase my dreams...”

“There are only nightmares here,” I state, staring into his eyes, hoping and praying that he sees I speak the truth.

“No, no, chiquititia. Let me make you forget your nightmares.”

I don’t have the strength to say anything else. I stare at him and understand how jealous I am of his vibrancy. If he only understood that the slate will soon be wiped away and replaced with awful things.

His hands rub my scabbed nipples, yet they still respond to his touch. I am fucked up because part of me craves it. This is the most normal thing I have had. I wish I didn’t want it. I wish I hated him like the rest, but I can’t.

Juan plants his soft lips on my breast, kissing me tenderly. I lie there because my body is too damaged, but I crave to grasp onto his hair and tell him how much I enjoy it. I want him to know that he is making me wet, but I am not a normal lover and I never will be. Instead, I lie here like a broken ragdoll while he believes his kisses will heal me. People like me don’t change. We can’t be healed no matter how much a person tries.

His lips move down my belly and anxiety flutters in my chest. I open my bloodied and battered legs for him, screaming out in pain. What a terrible place to be, yearning for normalcy while fighting against aching and wishing for death. I’m caught between a tug-of-war of emotions that I am not familiar with and for the first time, I fear which one may win.

My hips fall apart and my bruised and fucked up pussy is throbbing; throbbing for a boy who has spoken words I have wanted to hear my entire life. Pain and pleasure are meant to be together. It’s at this moment that I fully understand that. I try to move my hips towards him, his mouth or cock, I don’t care. I only know I need some sort of relief from the tenderness between my thighs.

“Oh, baby, your pussy…” he trails.

“Please,” is all I can murmur.

Give me something good before I’m delivered to evil again. I can handle the pain while feeling the pleasure. Just let me have it once.

“Soft. Very soft, baby,” he breathes against my naked thigh.

His tongue darts out and he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of my leg. I’m panting like a goddamn dog in heat, but I can’t help it. I haven’t wanted anything more in my life. I moan out loud again.

“Shh, quiet,” he whispers.

I am trying, but it is too much, the feeling of almost goodness is flooding my veins and planting itself in every poisonous part of my body. He flicks his tongue over my clit and I wail out loud again, teetering on the edge of madness due to pain and wanting a release so badly because I haven’t ever felt anything so good. He doesn’t finger me, which I am grateful for, only flicking his tongue over my sensitive flesh, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of a release. One that I want.

“Yes!” I let my lungs explode as I melt into nothingness, letting my orgasm bathe over me.

Juan continues to suck my clit and I am nearing the edge of a release again. Something disturbing is pulling me back from it and I have the urge to open my swollen eyes. I see a man in the doorway that I haven’t seen before, standing tall with olive skin and dark hair. I’m paused in time as we exchange looks while he puffs on his cigarette with intent. This man exudes power and so many other things. His eyes remind me of a story I have read before and draw me in. I find myself wanting to submit to him. His eyes, so dark and brooding, hold secrets. I want to know them, all of them. I watch his thick lips wrap around the cigarette again, imagining that it was me his lips were on.

I fall apart, letting my orgasm consume me again, but the man standing in the doorway doesn’t seem pleased. I wait for the hurt that will be my punishment for having sexual relations for fun. For all I know, he was sent here to take me. He clenches his jaw and swallows hard while furrowing his brows. I feel like he is holding something back and I wish I knew what it was. This man is intriguing. He leans forward and grabs Juan by the neck, throwing him to the side with little effort.

And he’s strong too.

My insides swim deliciously as the man takes a step in front of me, bending down to inspect my bare sex.

“Who did this to your cunt?” he asks, reaching his hand out, then withdrawing it before it touches my flesh.

Touch me, please.

“Pavel’s men.”

He stands abruptly, walking up and looking at every inch of my skin.

“And this?” he asks, as his hand finds my damaged breast.

Undo me.

“Pavel’s men.”

I want to beg this man to take me and make me his, but something in my heart tells me he doesn’t play well with others.

He stands back up, turns on his heels, and grabs Juan.

“Pavel?” the man screams. “Pavel, you fucking prick!” he yells again.

“He be back later, Caesar,” a Russian man says back to him.

“Tell him he has fucked up big time. I’m taking the boy,” he seethes back.

My father is more than likely fetching more prime pussy for his clients. I watch as the man leaves the apartment with Juan. Again, I wish he would have taken me instead of Juan. I thought I liked Juan, but I fucking hate him now. The unfamiliar tears that I despise return with vigor and I let myself weep as I am left alone to rot in hell.