The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) by A. Giannoccaro

loud rumbling of the Mexican rap station booms loudly through the speakers. I open my eyes, but it’s pointless as I am shrouded with a black hood. My naked body waves back and forth as the vehicle weaves through the busy streets. People shout and horns honk. Taxis zoom by. My senses haven’t lost their spirit, but I fear that my heart and will have diminished to nothing. I hate myself right now. It’s as if my body was designed for this kind of life. The chances of being brought back to the ones that I love are slim to none.
    Today, I choose again for myself. I choose death.
    I smile under the black hood, my warm breaths causing sweat to pool over every inch of my face. My skin is on fire and the air is humid. It’s ironic for me to appreciate such a thing as temperature, but if I were back home in Hunts Point nearing winter, I would be begging for a warm place to stay. At least I am not worried about impending frostbite.
    My lax body continues to move back and forth as the van turns to and fro. I hear a conversation, fully in Spanish, and laughing around me. Their accent booms loudly in my ears, and again, I let myself grin remembering how Mateo and Caesar sounded. I try to think of all the wonderful things that they did for me, making me feel strength that I would have otherwise never embraced. Death won’t find me easily. I understand that. I will have to deny myself food and water, watching and feeling as the life slowly leaves me. I remember how I boycotted that when Caesar denied the love I had for him. It seems that some things never change, because he left me, and Mateo didn’t rescue me.
    I am the dirty princess who will go down and be burned in the fire.
    Literally.
    I clear my throat, unknowingly grabbing the attention of the men that fill the van. Someone grabs my ankle, discomfort skulking up my leg and through my spine like a venomous liquid. I didn’t recognize how injured my body was until now. I ache everywhere. With this realization, I close my eyes and try to drift off to a place that I am sure doesn’t exist. One where there is warmth and goodness. Life, not murder. Fuck, I am not even part of those that are considered good. I have killed out of spite and jealousy. I am no better than the fiends that I despise. I can only wish for my own version of peace as I continue to go in and out of losing my mind.
    Blinding light makes my eyes hurt as the black hood is released from my face. A thirty-something year-old Hispanic man, fully tattooed, leans down in my face. I study his features, wondering what kind of macabre situations he has been in as my eyes dance over the ink on his neck, face, and bald head. His eyes are black, same as his intentions. I do something that I have never done before when I have found myself in such situations. I grin. My smile upsets him as he curses to me in Spanish, then spits on my face. I remain stoic, looking into the eyes of the man that will soon steal more from my heart. I welcome it, as it will bring me closer to a death I have been praying for since I knew what life was. Maybe when I die, I will see my mother again. I will be able to push her blonde curls away from her face and her pretty, round head won’t be scattered with blood and brain bits. I certainly won’t be greeted with heaven, but I can only hope that my own version will be waiting for me.
    The man’s tattooed hand leaves my neck, again sweet reminders that I don’t wish for flood my dysfunctional mind as irrationality drinks me up. I remember how I submitted to Mateo’s hands. They dominated my body, and I loved every moment. I miss him! No! I cannot let those memories sway my will to die. But, they are. I can feel my heart speeding up and delivering adrenaline, allowing the fight or flight response to kick in.
    “Apurate carnal, ya casi llegamos agarra eas perra.”
    Hurry up, bro, we are almost there. Take that bitch.
    Fists meet my face over and over, the cracking and whipping are cathartic as