Page 9 of Burning Souls

I’m in danger with the devil, but have never felt so much peace.

The only thing that has gotten worse is my skin picking. I pick my skin so badly I bleed not from one but several wounds. The man came down, cleaned me up, and put a dressing on.

I got diagnosed when I was thirteen with a skin-picking disorder. It took a lot for me to accept that I was sick and that there was something wrong with me.

No one tells you about how there is no way to fix it, only ways to manage it, and I'm yet to find something. I have no control over the urges, no matter how much I know the voicesscream at me to pick or that I look disgusting. It consumes me and I hate it, but I also love it. Sometimes the worst pain can feel good.

The door opens, and he walks in, handing me a tray of food—a bowl of porridge in a plastic bowl and a plastic fork. This guy isn't taking any chances. I was given an apple juice box like a kid and then sliced up apples, though I’m a hostage.

4

THE LOST DOVE

ABOUT FIFTEEN

My mother disappeared three days ago, leaving me and my sisters in the hands of my father. Something I know she wouldn’t do even if she had no other choice, which is why I'm starting to get worried. Daddy’s growing more frustrated the longer she's gone.

He isn't used to looking after his kids. I'm not even sure he ever has. It's always been my mother or me.

Daddy hasn’t tried to bond with us. He spends most of his time in the office downstairs on the phone or with people coming in and out.

I get scared when strange men are in the house. It makes me feel on edge, like I have to be cautious about going near them.

The landing is my favourite place to sit. It keeps me from being seen as I watch what goes on downstairs past our bedtime.

My sisters are always asleep. I make sure to tuck them in and kiss them goodnight while I'm here. Skyla is only ten, and Jasmine is nine. I'm the oldest, meaning I have to pick up the slack and act like a mother more times than I should.

I don’t mind caring for my sisters; I truly love them, but going to school and trying to have a social life is complex and tiring.

For the past week, I have been dropping them off at school before me, and then leaving school to run and pick them up later every day.

I'm sure their teachers are concerned, but not enough to ask or ring home; something I wish they would do.

They won’t as long as they turn up clean and look fed. It isn't their job to care, but it is their job as teachers; if they think something is going on at home, they are to safeguard us.

No one cares, they never do.

My sisters and I sit at the table tonight eating steak; I watch my father cut his steak, and blood oozes out, making me feel uneasy, and suddenly, I'm no longer hungry.

The two men stayed tonight. They both look older than my father. The man on the left looks deep into my eyes. His eyes fill with fury, narrowing in on me as he looks at me as if trying to warn me of something. I move my gaze off him to my food, eating the steak, wanting to puke from the blood. I have no other choice but to suck it up and eat.

“Daddy, where is Mummy? I miss her.” I want him to tell me Mummy is on her way home and has a good reason for being gone.

“Ash, what have I told you about interrupting me while I’m speaking?” That earns me a harsh slap across the face, leaving an imprint of his hand on my cheek.

I’m a mummy’s girl, and the table feels empty without her. Why isn’t she here sitting with us like a family?

The night she left, she came into my room, kissed me on the forehead, and laid my Annabelle doll with a letter in the doll’s arms, addressing it to me, in my arms to hug while I slept. Shewhispered to me,“Mummy loves you. I’m sorry, sweetheart, please forgive me…”

Did she give my sisters the same thing? I haven’t told anyone, not even my father. I’m scared he’s going to get angry at Mummy. What if I’m not special, and she planned this for all her children to get one? Does that mean I’m just a normal person to her?

Does she love me less or more? I’m confused.

I want my mummy back so I can have a clear headspace. I want to sleep, but all I can think about is her, and it’s driving me insane.

All my classes have been awful this week. I can’t concentrate, and I’m scared they might ring home if I carry on. If possible, I’d like to avoid that problem. The thought of my father screaming at me for failing classes isn’t something I want to endure.

I have seen him do it to my younger sisters, and it made me feel sick. I know he would do more than scream at me since I’m the oldest.

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