The Goodbye Man (4 page)

Through lust and gore, the little girl was birthed a whore.

This is the worst part
of it, the walk of shame. Every person that I walk past as the fall night bites my skin stares at me. Paranoia and insecurity settles deep in my gut. Who am I kidding, they are the only feelings I am familiar with. With every long stride of my legs, I am reminded of the man that tore me since re-enacting the taking of my virginity was so goddamn important. The twisting of my leg as I was taken down the stairs is the least painful part of my body, as I want to cry from the swelling between my thighs. I think the bleeding has stopped by now. At least Pavel walked away with twenty dollars and a happy vein full of crack cocaine.

My eyes are growing tired as the swirling of taxis and pedestrians zoom beside me. The empathy I once had in the subway tunnel is gone while a disheveled homeless veteran holds a sign up with one hand and a tin can with the other, pleading for money. We are all in the same kind of hell here, only surrounded by different monsters. With each passing step, the care that I have is leaving. The honking of the taxi cabs is making my head hurt. I jolt backwards a bit, terrified that I will be taken by someone again. I bite on the inside of my cheek, reminded again of the forceful blows that Mr. Gory induced on my face. My body hurts and all I want to do is fall asleep to escape in my dreams, but I can’t even travel to a place that is tolerable there. My nightmares still find me. It seems like hours ago that I emerged from the subway tunnel, but time doesn’t hold much significance when you hold no purpose in the world. I am nothing more than a pesky cockroach that has learned the ferocious ways of the world. A whore birthed a whore. I bet my mother would be proud of me.

I continue to walk behind Pavel like a trained puppy as my eyes stay on his heels. I try to disassociate myself from the world surrounding me by counting his steps, but the pain will take days to subside. His steps slow and he takes my hand, grasping it hard. I am not moving fast enough for him. I wish I could tell him that it hurts to walk so fast because my sex is so fucked, but that would only enrage him. I stay quiet. Most things go better left unsaid. Only a few more blocks until we arrive at our used-to-be-home on Kelly Street. Pavel couldn’t pay rent on time, so we were kicked out years ago; however, one of his many acquaintances told him of an abandoned unit on the third floor. Pavel decided that he would take it over tonight. There is neither electricity nor running water in the apartment, but when you are used to sleeping on the streets through the rain and everything else, a roof over your head seems divine.

I think Pavel is more excited about the fact that it is a place for him to house more of his whores. He treats me the worst. I am the black sheep, the lonely little gypsy princess clinging onto her own idea of normal. I dismiss my chaotic thoughts as Pavel’s hand clenches mine harder. He snakes his other arm around my waist and whisks me behind an outdoor newspaper stand. His eyes draw me in and suck the air from my lungs. Fear doesn’t even begin to describe him. He is the root of all evil. I find myself wishing the worst for him, but even when I do, I am scared. I feel like he has some sort of grasp over me and I don’t understand what it is.

Like always, his eyes are full of hatred and sorrow. His face is sunken, the result of his drug addiction and lack of proper food. He snarls at me and for a brief moment, I swear I can hear him growling like a dog. I wish I could find the courage to ask him why he hates me so much, but terror always comes around as the winner and one simple question is never asked.

He skims his trembling hand along the side of my belly, and for a transitory moment I feel comforted. My father has never shown me any type of affection before. He only spouts off demeaning things or uses his fists to crush my face and my heart. Something is different with him. For a few seconds, I convince myself that he has a softer side. That he isn’t truly a killer, a rapist, or a taker of decency.

But I am very wrong.

“You too skinny, kisa,” Pavel sneers as his lips turn down in a frown.

Pussycat, what a term of fucking endearment. Aren’t you father of the year?

“I get extra money for you to eat, kisa.”

Is this a joke? He turns on his heels and yanks me with him, dragging me behind tightly. If leashes were legal, I am certain I would have one. Something about today seems wrong, very wrong, but I have no choice but to follow him wherever he goes. He is the captain of the ship that I sail. My heart tells me that his intentions are far from good and I can’t help but feel like I am in the middle of a sick and twisted joke. I can already see and hear it now, his devious cackle echoing loudly in my ears.

The walk of shame ends as we arrive on Kelly Street. The apartment building looks like shit, just as I remember. We walk to our old building and enter the main door and walk up the stairwell. A crackhead is huddled in the corner with her knees up to her chest rocking back and forth. Her red, tangled hair is stuck to her face from the sweat coming from her body; a likely result from withdrawal.

The bones of her fingers and arms are bulged through her skin, she is so skinny. This isn’t out of the norm for what I see, but something is different with her. I am fixated on the drug-addicted woman before me, watching her sway back and forth like a distorted lullaby in my brain. It’s soothing me.

Her head darts up as her green eyes pierce mine.

“You will burn. Burn in the fire, girl.”

She offers me a wicked grin and then starts laughing like a crazed lunatic. I should dismiss what she says, but something deep inside of me is telling me that there is truth to it. My steps cease as her words boom loudly in my mind, tormenting me. I can’t help but think that may be my fate.

Pavel’s hard hand pushes my back and I stumble forward, bringing me out of an epiphany I didn’t wish for.

“Kisa, go!” he shouts.

I pick up my feet faster, walking past the lady whose words haunt me more than the acts that I was subjected to before with Mr. Big Daddy. Pavel passes me by, grabbing my hand and dragging me faster up the stairs.

“Kisa, you eat. Your dinner in the house.”

My belly grumbles with thoughts of a decent meal. I can’t imagine him providing me with food, which has never been something high up on his priority list, even when I was younger. Dumpster diving was learned at an early age and soup kitchens were a luxury. The moments that I shared with the unknown woman in the stairwell, coupled with Pavel’s need to feed me leave me uncomfortable.

Pavel opens the screeching door to the abandoned unit. It smells like trash and mold, but that is all that I am used to. There is no electricity and I can’t see anything past the small window that provides light shining in from the street lamps. Little pecks walk in the corners, which causes me to jump. Rats. I fucking hate rats.

“Kisa. Your dinner over there,” Pavel whispers, pointing towards the other half of the one bedroom apartment.

“I can’t see, Otet. Where?”

I know this is game. He is the cat and I am the mouse. The mouse never wins.

“You see in the bedroom, kisa.”

Pavel has an evil look on his face. I may not be able to see it, but I can feel it. I walk further into the apartment and hear deep Russian voices in the back room. My senses are on overload as the overwhelming smell of garbage coupled by the rats walking to and fro in the corners is making me sick. My feet ache with every step that I take, and horror washes over me as I place my hands in front of me, barely able to see. I continue walking toward the direction of the thick Russian words, knowing that tonight I don’t get dinner. Well, maybe I get fed in Pavel’s eyes.

Heavy footsteps creak loudly behind me. I feel like I‘m starring in the worst horror film while people watch the big screen as the girl is about to get killed. I keep walking because that is what I do. I have been given no other choice in this world.

“Russian food in there, kisa.”

Pavel erupts into a fit of laughter and then pushes me onto the ground. The squealing of varmints is louder as I feel one crawl over my hand. I clench onto the dirty, moist carpet waiting for the next blow. A whoosh interrupts and scares the rats away as I am greeted by a cloud of smoke and cackling men. I find the courage to look up and see a flashlight pointing at my face. My eyes burn and my body aches, already prepping itself for what it is about to endure.

“Prime girl pussy you say, Pavel? I pay $50 like we say,” the deep Russian accent growls.

“She is seventeen and know what to do. Right, kisa?” Pavel croons, bending down to rub my face.

I hate him.

The men in the room laugh at his endearment.

“Pussycat! Come here, pussycat!” one shouts from behind.

Pavel tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear and I wish I could kill him. Each day of my life with him gets worse. I wish I could understand why he did this to me.

“Be good, pussycat. Show men how you fuck,” Pavel whispers, sending shivers down my spine.

I don’t cry. Girls like me don’t let tears happen. Tears equal more punishment. More punishment sends you closer to death. It’s not until now that I realize death would be more appealing than trying to stay alive. Every day that I survive is more fearful than the next.

I nod my head yes, pushing myself up from the dirty, musty carpet. I wipe my hands on my pants with the flashlight still on my face. I narrow my eyes to try to count the men in the room, but the light is preventing me from seeing anything clearly.

“Go, fucking bitch!” Pavel yells, kicking me in the back.

I am forced through the threshold of the bedroom, stumbling and coughing from the thick cigarette smoke in the air. I don’t have time to cope or prep myself as a strong arm grabs one of my wrists and sends me back down onto a makeshift bed. My tank top is torn away from my body as my pants are yanked away. My naked skin is rubbing against the rough material and I feel something crawling beneath me.

I hate cockroaches
.

“Little girl, you never be the same after tonight,” a man whispers into my ear.

If only he understood I have never been
the same.
I was born for this, into this, ready for it. It is all that I know.

I wish I could block out my hearing, my feeling, and all my senses, but my body is relying on them since I can’t see well. The light shines in the corner of the room to a man who is unzipping his pants. Pavel is still in the room, crowing like a goddamn crazy man. Who am I kidding, he is crazy. The light moves to show my body and I am finally able to see the shadows of three men.

I try not to notice him, but my eyes betray me. Beneath the shadows of the night I see his messy blonde hair and light blue eyes. He can’t be much older than me. He isn’t smiling or laughing like the rest. His demeanor screams something else. But I have learned not to trust that. Sometimes the quiet ones are the worst ones.

“Igor, you do this bitch!”

The man clenches his jaw and exposes his erection. My eyes meet his and I allow myself to feel safe for a moment. Safe, what is that anyway? As quickly as it is felt, it disappears with a slap of his hand.

“Whore,” he bites.

Nice people don’t exist
.

He grabs a hold of my hair, forcing me to look into his eyes. They scream death. I have decided that I hate him too.

“I bring you close to dying, bitch. Then I fuck you. Then they fuck you, yeah?”

His accent isn’t as thick as the others. How is it that I notice things like that when he tells me he wants to almost kill me? My brain won’t ever work normally. I pray for tears, to feel something, but I think I am a girl that is incapable of feeling.

He strikes me in the chest, leaving me winded. I cough wildly, trying to breathe, but my lungs burn and I can’t. His killer hands find my breasts and he twists my nipples until a rush of warm liquid bursts from both. I feel a kick between my legs from another unknown man that sends pain into my womb. My head is spinning out of control. I’m trying to hold onto reality, but it is getting harder and harder with each passing second. Another jab lands on my side into my ribs.

Crack.

“Prime pussy, eh? Seems a little dirty, Pavel. Guess we better show her what a dirty bitch deserves,” a voice shouts in the distance.

Pavel laughs in response. He doesn’t care as long as he gets his fifty dollars and a vein full of crack.

Kick.

My sex is writhing in pain, throbbing and bleeding as I feel myself falling apart down a tunnel of darkness. I’m trying to let go, pleading with my heart and my brain to die, but I remain stuck on this piece of shit floor being tormented like I deserve.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

My eyes grow swollen from the repetitive punches to my face. I can’t see what is happening before me anymore. Now, I can only feel. Feeling is horrible. I ache everywhere and I wish that I would die. If there is a God, why won’t He let me give up?

You will burn! Burn in the fire, girl.
The woman’s voice from before plays like a broken record over and over again. Fuck heaven. I will take hell over this. Throw me into the pits of doom and set me on fire. Surely that is better than this.