Page 11 of Burning Souls

I need you to understand I wasn’t given a choice. Your father is a ruthless man. I hope one day you can be proud to say you rid this world of him, but for now, be a good girl.

I never wanted this to happen, I promise.

Let me tell you a story about a man I met when I was seventeen. We were in college, and I would’ve done anything for him. He would take me on weekly dates, but we had little money back then, so we would settle for microwave popcorn and rent a movie.

That was the man I fell in love with, not the man who worked all day and was never in a good mood, or a man their kids feared. I always noticed when you would bow your head so he wouldn’t look at you or get angry when you would beg him to take you to the park, or you wanted him to check your maths homework. Even when you would draw him photos, he never showed interest. Sweetheart

I promise I loved every photo. All the photos you ever drew are in a special box, and sometimes, before bed, I would look at them and tell myself how proud I am of the person you are turning out to be

Please, Ash, take what I'm telling you to the grave. Your dad is ruthless and isn't a good person. Please try to leave and do what you have to do to survive.

Sweet dreams, Mummy loves you. I’m sorry.

Stay safe.

Love mum ?

My eyes are sore,red, and puffy. I cover my mouth, trying to cover my trembling tears. I don’t know how to feel: Should I be grateful my mother wrote me the letter, or should I be angry because she knew this was planned?

All that letter did was confirm that my mother did love me. My father, on the other hand, is incapable of loving his children, and we are just a burden to him. What do I do with this letter? Show it to my father or confront him about what happened? No, I would get into trouble because I was up past my bedtime and snooping.

My face still stings from the harsh slap my father gave me at the dinner table today.

The way those men looked at me still gives me goosebumps and makes me uncomfortable.

2 YEARS BEFORE

“Daddy, look, I did it. DADDY!” I shout, waving my math homework in his face while he looks at his phone screen, not noticing his daughter who just worked out the maths questionsI had been stuck on for hours. I thought he would be proud, but he couldn't care less.

I slam my hand down on the table, leaving a red mark and an indentation on his office desk. As his eyes look up at me as he slams his phone down, he reaches for my hand and pulls me up over the desk.

“What do you want, Ash? Can’t you see Daddy is busy with work? Show Mummy, let Daddy finish work.” He kisses my forehead, letting me down as I walk out of the room. As the door closes, I walk across the hall to see if Mummy is busy. She’s passed out on the couch. It’s only two in the afternoon; she shouldn’t be passed out. I remove the empty bottle of wine from her hand, place it on the table beside me, and cover her with a soft throw from the other couch. My mummy has been getting worse over the past few weeks; she is always sleeping, and if she isn’t doing that, she’s pouring wine. I’m worried Daddy pays no attention to her and never seems to care, but I do. I love her and I’m going to help her.

I go upstairs to my bedroom. I like it here; it’s quiet, and no one shouts at me or checks on me. I lay on my bed.

I love my daddy, but I wish he loved me as much as I love him. Sometimes it feels like I’m an outcast in this family, and they are waiting to ship me off.

I bring my Annabelle doll toward me, opening my bedside drawer where her hairbrush and choice of clothes lie. I pick them all out, laying them out on my bed as I untie her two plaits and let her hair fall while I brush the knots and repair it. Trying to choose which outfit she will wear today. I scan each outfit, taking a second to look each one over. As I settle for the baby pink dress, I unzip the white and red one she wears now. I switch her outfits and lay her back beside me.

It’s been hours since I last checked on Mummy; she must be awake now. I want to go to the park. I sprint down thestairs, jumping off the second-to-last step and running toward the couch. My mother lies there on her back, foaming from the mouth. I shake my mother to wake her, but nothing happens. I take my finger, opening her eyes, but still nothing. I run into Daddy’s office, nearly slamming the door off its hinges. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” I scream at the top of my lungs, my throat hurting and my face bright red, as I try to crawl up on his desk, but I’m too little.

“Daddy, please. Mummy won’t wake up, and she's shaking, things coming out of her mouth.” My voice scatters as I panic, and then he looks at me, and his eyes furious.

What did I do wrong?

“Ash, Daddy’s trying to work,” he scowls, looking back at his laptop while he types and pays no attention to his screaming daughter.

“Daddy,” I yell louder this time, hitting his knee repeatedly. I’m picked up viciously by the throat and pinned against the wall while my father squeezes me in his hold. I kick my legs trying to get free, but I’m too small and young to break free.

He throws me down and I land on my knees, my hand rubbing my throat from the pain.

My father runs to the living room, and I follow him. As he comes to a stop, watching my mother foam at the mouth, he opens his phone and dials 999. The operator tells him what to do. My mother wakes but is in shock.

I was told my mother had overdosed on pills. She had taken one too many and tried to convince everyone it was an accident. She was taken into a mental health ward and put on suicide watch. We see her once a week, and it’s the happiest day of the week.

Since my mother isn’t home, my relationship with my father has gotten worse. When he isn’t working, he is drinking, and when he isn’t drinking, he is working.

I tried to get Daddy to take me to the park like he used to, but he said no, he always says no. I think he blames me for my mother’s overdose.

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