Free The Goodbye Man by A. Giannoccaro, Mary E. Palmerin

something not to fuck with. He hard jawline was dusted with stubble and I find myself dreaming of licking it, wondering what it would feel like as it scraped my hungry tongue. His black eyes hold fear, but that is all that people know around here. I want to know what it means. Who is this man and why do I want him to save me?
    The loud, familiar Russian voice is getting closer and closer with each passing second. I squeeze my still swollen lids together and see him, tall, dark, and bad, so bad. My voice betrays me as I scream out as I hear him speak the word c-un-t, emphasizing the ‘t’ in a deep, silky Spanish accent. Confusion swirls deep within my core as I hear a man enter the room. Fuck it. I let myself explode as I cry out with visions of the man that I am dying to meet. Yes, dying. I am dying in this piece of shit apartment and the only friends that I have are the birds that tap on the window and the roaches that sleep beneath me for comfort and safety.
    Kick .
    Comfort and safety do not exist for long, lost gypsy princesses like me.
    “Fucking whore! Just like ya Mat’!” Pavel screams, echoes of madness bouncing around the room.
    I keep my eyes closed, promising myself that I will hold onto the dream of Mr. Dark and Dangerous. If I die tonight, at least it will be with something decent. Yes, he showed me seconds of decency asking who had hurt me. But why did he care? Fuck trying to figure that out.
    Kick. Kick. Kick.
    Crack. Another broken rib.
    My eyes are forced open to see the monster above me; the very one who has raised me all on his own since I was four-years-old. But I was never wanted or loved. I was nothing more than an issue that he had to often deal with. His blue eyes sparkle with hatred as his blonde hair hangs over his forehead. Still, part of me wishes he would love me. Why? Why must I feel this way when I know it will never be reached?
    “You take what is mine, kisa. You should die.”
    I surprise myself as my belly erupts into a fit of laughter, sending jolts of unease and discomfort through every pore of my body. This is what rotting alive feels like; being beaten alive, tortured, raped, and starved for days, yet still I cling onto life like a pesky little fucking rat.
    “Kill me, Otet. Kill me!” I yell, laughing hysterically.
    I think I’m going mad.
    Pavel bends down to me and grabs my damaged pussy. I yelp out as agony sears through every part of me, “This isn’t yours, whore. This belongs to me.”
    Pavel clamps down harder than before until I feel his pointy fingers prodding into my pubic bone. The aching becomes too much and I try to vomit, but there is nothing in my stomach. As my belly continues to contract to rid its non-existent contents, Pavel releases his grasp. But something in my gut tells me this is just the beginning of my punishment for playing with what isn’t mine.
    I look up at him through heavy lids as he undoes his belt, yanking it free violently. His chest is heaving up and down and I swear it seems like he is foaming at the mouth like some diseased dog. Maybe that is just the hallucinations setting in, but the more I am fixated on him, the more terror that fills me.
    Whip.
    Whip.
    Whip.
    “Kisa, what happens to bad girls who take what isn’t theirs?”
    He retrieves a lighter from his pocket, flicking it until a small flame appears at the end of the metal. I look, inspecting the beautiful orange light, wondering how badly it will hurt me, hoping that whatever he does will make me pass out, never to wake back up again. This terrible life delivered to me, and so many others for that matter, is too much. Being a fighter isn’t always a good thing. Right now, I pray to be weak enough to let go, but still my body remains hanging by a thread.
    “Cat got your tongue, whore?” he whispers, licking his lips, then settling his chapped lip between his teeth.
    Thrash, whip.
    I’m unaffected by the brutal slaps of the leather on my skin. Multiple gashes mark my belly