Denial

Martin shot upright from his sleep gasping for air, his body covered in a hot sweat. This had become recurring, happening for the last six weeks. As with every previous occasion, he crumpled into a devastating howl. As he cried his torturous mind reminded him of the things he had witnessed just a few weeks earlier. He viciously shook his head, hitting the palms of his hands against the sides of his head. Perhaps if he hit hard enough those memories might disappear. So far that wasn't working.

                He stretched his arm out patting the bedside table, searching for the glass of water he so desperately needed. With finding it he instantly threw the water in his face. The sharp coldness detracting from the hot sweat. The water trickled down his chest, dripping from his chin. He drew the glass to his mouth but no water had remained. Smacking his lips together in an attempt to salivate, he pulled himself out of his bed, leaving a soaked patch on the mattress. Martin stumbled around in the dark, the only light coming from the phone charger. How he longed for someone. Anyone. Just someone who he could talk to, but he couldn't speak of the horrors he witnessed. Not to anyone.

                He picked up his phone using it as a torch and stumbled to the bathroom with his glass. As he splashed more water on his hot body he filled his glass as best he could in the pitch black. He picked up his phone once again and followed its light back to his room. Sitting at the edge of his bed he again began to weep. He needed to hear her voice. To know she was well and safe. Gliding his finger across the screen revealing his contacts he stopped at her name. Ver, his first daughter. Now a young adult at twenty-two. There was no option, he had to call.

                'Hello?' Ver's voice was gentle and soothed his pain immediately, then 'hello?' her voice began to get agitated by the lack of response. Martin had been clever this time, buying himself a new phone, a number she wouldn't recognise. Ver sighed deeply before raising her voice. 'If this is that fucking sperm donor of mine, I suggest you learn the definition of fuck off, because this sure as hell isn't it.' And with that she slammed the phone down.

                'Was that your dad?' Katherine, Ver's mother asked knowingly, a glass of red in her hand, her eyes half open. 'You should talk again. He's been calling almost every day recently.' she slurred. Ver rolled her eyes. What a fucking tragic family she came from. Her mum had turned to alcohol over the last eighteen month. Her dad abandoned the family for a girl just a few years older than herself. He had really rubbed salt into her mother's wound when it was learned that his bit on the side was pregnant.

                'He's a sad fucking idiot, who put a bit of young vagina before his kids and wife.' Katherine broke into hysterics at her daughters comment. Ver closed her eyes as she rubbed her ears to relieve the pain from her mother's shrilling laughter. Finally Ver got up from the armchair and went to her bedroom where she laid down. She looked at the clock and it was 1 a.m. Neither she nor her mother had slept well since her dad had started bothering them both again.

                He had been begging Katherine to come back to him in recent weeks, but he looked like a fool in doing so. Ver couldn't help but wonder what had happened for this change of heart. She suspected as did Katherine, that the birth of their new baby was taking its toll on the old man.

Martin stroked his face in the bathroom mirror. He had heavy bags under his eyes, a symptom of his lack of sleep and stress. He opened the cabinet door and behind it was a rattle a colleague had bought them. Instantly he broke into tears. How could he ever forgive himself? Inhaling tearfully he recalled the foul smell of burning meat, that undoubtable stench of death he had breathed in as he watch his second daughter set alight, flames encompassing her.