The Goodbye Man (27 page)

Once upon a time, the little gypsy princess had dreams within the hellacious concrete jungle. But, dreams would soon turn into nightmares and darkness would be the only way she lived. The tarnished, unlovable girl promised herself she wouldn’t remember the day she was broken, but like all bad things, it would sidle up as hopelessness snaked its way around her heart, killing her slowly.

“Svetlana, get dressed.
You need to go back to your room for a while until Mateo figures some business out,” Hugo barks at me.

I try to tell myself that he isn’t being mean, that it is just the way he is. Tall. Muscular. Deadly and fucking intimidating. Silent tears continue to stain my face while I look at the lifeless boy beneath me, so peaceful and empty. I hate him. I wish I was there, escaping the confines of my past and the love that I will never be good enough for. Is Hugo taking me back to my room to beat me? Punish me like I used to be punished? Did I cross a line that will never grant me any sort of redemption with Mateo?

Panic slowly rises through my body, starting at my toes and working its way up until it grips my stomach painfully. Being hungry and foodless for days was a better feeling than this. This is just worse. Knowing that you committed something that can never be taken back and not sure of the consequences, not to mention silence from Mateo. Can he not even face me? For a few moments, I contemplate ripping out the needle from the handsome dead boy’s arm and sticking it into the fat vein in my neck, letting myself bleed out a life that was meaningless to everyone that I met.

Including a father I never knew. A father that I loved with forbidden passion. One that left me because I wasn’t good enough for him. I am not the kind of girl that can be loved. I was okay with that until I felt what it was. Everyone always talks about love, how it takes over your bones and makes you feel weightless and crazy. Little bits of happiness explode in your gut when you meet the eyes of your lover, but having it sucked away is far worse than anything else I have felt before. I am being broken all over again. I want to ram my body against the wall of bodies and explode into an oblivion. Scatter my pieces into insignificance and forget about me. Because Svetlana is a girl that was born and bred for use and abuse. Nothing more. Love is a façade. I may have loved, but no one has really loved me.

My hot tears continue to stain my face as my naked breasts chill from the creepy stare of Hugo, “Clothes Svetlana. Then to your room.”

I let myself sob, because I don’t care. Regardless of my actions before, certainly letting myself cry loudly won’t warrant anything further. I am destined for great punishment. Maybe I will be locked up and left to rot. I killed a precious fucking dolly of Mateo’s. I am not a precious one. I am broken and breaking all over again. Stop. Stop! I need this madness to stop! I was always able to deal with it before.

Before what? Love! Love is an illusion. It isn’t real. I pull my clothes on as the sterile walls that surround me make my anxiety climb a million times higher. My heart is racing and I want to scream at it to stop! To give up! Hugo’s bug eyes are staring at me while I dress, clearly I am not moving fast enough for him. I should be embarrassed being naked in front of him, but being naked before a man is nothing compared to the things I have had to endure. It is my normal.

Time is blurred and the only thing keeping me stuck in the reality is Hugo’s fat hand wrapped around my upper arm. The buzzing of the elevator is making my head hurt and the throbbing between my legs reminds me of the dead boy I fucked and my aching ass makes me yearn for the man who’s heart I will never have. Because mine is warm. It beats with insignificant, worthless life.

Hugo fetches his key ring out of his pocket, my senses on overload as the jingle from the metal on metal makes my head throb more so than before. My eyes burn from crying as the pain in both palms is welcoming while I dig my nails into them to keep myself from pouncing on Hugo, though my latter thought wouldn’t be in my best interest. He unlocks the door and shoves me inside. I try to tell myself that he wasn’t doing it to mistreat me, but that is just that fucked up sense of faith that isn’t real. Of course he was. That is what he does and who I am. Why would he behave any differently and why would I expect anything else? Silly girl. Broken girls never get their jaded pieces put back together again.

“Mateo says stay here.”

The metal door slams in my face and the turning of the lock on the other side sends me into a hell that I don’t wish for. I was a bad girl again. Why couldn’t I just give Mateo what he wanted? What he needed? I am a selfish cunt! I want to hurt myself, but that is just a grisly reminder that I am still alive. Living is too much.

I walk over to my tiny bed and pull back the covers, securing them up to my chin in false comfort as warmth envelops me. I let tears mark my face, though I am not sure they ever stopped. I stare up at the stained, water marked ceiling as the pounding from my aching head intensifies. Before I can understand where I am at, I am revisiting the day where Svetlana was broken, torn by the wolves, and made to understand that love is nothing but a dream.

Well, the red stain started again this month. One of my mother’s old friends told me that means I need to watch out for being a whore now because I could get pregnant. Father makes me walk around with the red stuff on my pants. I am wet, smelly and uncomfortable. People look at me, but Father seems happy about that. He says that means I am a woman now.

After panhandling for five hours off Melrose, I got eight dollars. Father and I just hiked over the subway station rails to catch a free, warm ride on the 6 train. As soon as the metal doors open and the gush of warm air dances over my wind-burnt cheeks, I let myself smile. It is my favorite part of wintertime, letting myself feel safe and warm.

Father doesn’t talk to me much. He doesn’t like me, or love me for that matter. I don’t think anyone has loved me before. Maybe Mother did, but only pieces of her come back in my dreams. Little bitty pieces of a movie that I have always dreamt of watching, but I will never be able to see.

I hold onto the silver, metal bar of the subway car as the flow of red liquid oozes from me. I cross my legs, trying to stop it from marking my dirty, grey sweatpants as I chew on the inside of my cheek nervously. I can feel people staring at me, but that is what they do. I am used to it. I think I would feel weird if they didn’t.

“Sit down, Svetlana,” Pavel states, patting to the fiberglass seat next to him with an evil smirk on his dirty, scruffy face.

I know if I don’t listen, he will beat me, but if I sit, I will mark the tan colored seat. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I thought I couldn’t get ashamed, well, seems I can. I am just a twelve-year-old girl who is trying to figure out the world. Suddenly the warmth that made me feel safe is gone as I let go of the metal pole, stepping towards the icy eyes that hate me.

I wish Pavel would love me. Open his arms and hug me like fathers do. Kiss my cheek and tell me that he will keep me safe. Instead, he slaps me when I don’t make enough begging the streets of Hunts Point. He kicks me when he is drunk and high and laughs at me now that I leak red blood.

He puts his arm around my shoulder. I should feel safe. I should feel loved, but I feel like I am closer to the bad side. The place that you read about where the mothers who care about their daughters tell them to avoid. Instead, I am stuck in the middle of it all.

“Svetlana, you a woman now.”

I gulp hard, nodding my head. If I don’t show him some sort of acknowledgment, he will beat me in front of everyone in this train car. His rough thumb strokes my cheek and I want to cry, but I can’t. Girls like me don’t. That shows weakness. Weak little lambs will never survive the scattered wolves if you let yourself bleed tears.

“You getting tits now. I think it time to be like your Mat’.”

Love? Is this what love is? Am I being loved by my father? I am stuck, frozen in time as my tongue ties itself to the idea of fucked up love. His hand grabs my neck as he pulls me closer into him. People are watching, but no one cares to save me. Even if I decided to run, I would be sent to another side of hell just like this. Might as well live in the type that I am used to. Slaps and punches aren’t all that bad as long as you get the occasional soup kitchen and half eaten cold cut wrapped in paper. My belly is grumbling at the thought. Pavel’s breath is thick with alcohol and his Russian voice is slurred.

“You learn to fuck like a good slut. We get better. More money, Svetlana.”

Fuck? Is that love? Is this what I am supposed to do now? I remember little parts of Mother being touched by different men, one with dark eyes and hair, but he was the only one that never hurt her. He was always the quiet one in the corner. Did he like me?

My thoughts are interrupted by a strong grip around my neck.

“You learn tonight Svetlana. You a woman now.”

I nod my head yes as my tiny heart thuds in my chest wildly, like a desperate butterfly craving a release into an existence where the threat of torn wings won’t occur. The screeching of the subway car wheels jolts me forward, but Pavel’s hard hand digs its way into my hip.

“You learn from me, Svetlana. Then I share you. And we get money.”

The doors whoosh open and he grabs my hand, whisking me away. I let myself close my eyes as I drift off to an island of brokenness, promising myself that I will try my best to never remember this hell ever again. This isn’t love. This is something much worse than anything else. His grip tightens as I am greeted by the cold wind again. I scurry behind him while I beg to hold onto the bits of love that I remember, little clips of my mother and her faded, chopped accent, “You are my gypsy princess, Svetlana. I love you.” Yes, someone has loved me once. I let myself smile with the thought.

Memories are too painful. I want to hold onto them, but I need to release them. Because love like that never lasts. Not for a girl like me. My mind floats on to another time as I see my mother’s blonde, tangled curls swaying as she turns her head to meet the gaze of the man’s black eyes. Eyes that scream security. Eyes that scream love. His lips don’t turn up into a returning smile, but I can tell that he loves her too. Yes, there was love there too. Mother tells me to go hide away and I listen, scurrying to a corner in the tiny apartment across the way. The man that I remember becomes a distant memory as a hard blow meets my cheek.

“Wake up, whore! You just like Marta! Always somewhere else! You pay attention to me!” Pavel screams.

His eyes are bloodshot and I can tell he has murder on his mind. Red, blood, death. My mother’s shattered, glassy eyes were so still and lifeless when she laid dead in the alleyway. Why is Pavel keeping me alive? It doesn’t make sense.

He shoves me into a backstreet, rats trotting off to safety. The hardness of the bricks knocks the wind from my lungs as I am forced to look into his eyes. Hatred. Lies. There was never love there. I am a game for him. A chip in life. A way to gain money. His knuckles meet my nose and I feel a crack, the warm liquid starting to flow from my nose.

“Whores need to know how to take it, Svetlana. You need to like it rough.”

He slaps me again, the cold winter’s night breeze brushing against my bruised cheek. I wish I could let myself huddle into a ball and cry, but I stay still on two feet at twelve-years-old, taking the horrendous punches that he thinks I deserve. Maybe he is right. Everyone is born into this world with purpose, both good and bad, influential and indifferent. I am bad and indifferent. I must accept my fate and promise myself to put this at the dark edge of my brain until I die. Being forced to take my father is a memory I wish to never remember.

“Look at me you skinny slut!” he yells, grabbing my cheeks until I am forced to look into his eyes. His tall stance is a good seven or eight inches above mine. I am just a girl, but now a woman. He yanks my shirt up, leaving me bare before him. I am still developing, but he seems pleased with what he sees.

“You getting tits. Good tits, Svetlana,” he whispers, taking his fingers to twist my nipples.

My gut aches in agony and I can’t help myself as the acid rises quickly in my throat. I vomit over my chin. Not a good idea. Not at all.

“Bitch! You better learn to control yourself!” he wails, tossing me to the ground like a piece of trash.

I hear the zipper from his pants unraveling along with the shards of my imperfect, unlovable heart. I stare as my stained sweatpants are pushed down so that my small bottom can be shown to him. He hits me hard and I let myself lose. I cry because I am just a girl in a world full of bad men. Horrible people that eat me alive and spit me back out as they watch me die painfully. Slowly. Over time until I am nothing more than darkness and void.

He slaps me again, over and over on my back. The pain is something I am used to, but the waiting for the taking of my virginity since I am now a woman is something that I can’t bring myself to accept. I let the vomit escape my mouth again as my belly continues to clench, not willing to accept what is about to occur.

“Dumb cunt. Just like your mother,” Pavel spits.

He pushes himself inside of me and I try to scream. My mouth opens, but a silent whisper is all that my small body will allow. Tears sear through my eyes, marking my face as I try one last time to yell out, clawing at the hard, cold pavement as my fingernails break while I desperately try to hold onto something that will show that it cares.