His Daughter

Chapter 11

He laid there, awake as the night grew colder, listening to the incessant noise coming from the hallway. It started slow, just footsteps here and there, running or walking. At first he told himself that it was the girls knocking about before their bedtime, but soon the lights went out and the house begun to finally awake, showing poor Greg just how much alone he was. He could hear all of it, the tiny hands banging on all four walls of their room, the heavy bangs echoing through the empty room. There was nothing he could do to stop it, as the banging and thudding begun to increase in volume, being accompanied by small giggles and whispers, as if an entire primary school rolled through the corridors of the cottage.

Greg laid there, curled up underneath the sheets like a little boy scared of what is in the shadows of his own room... only his childhood room bared no monsters, no ghosts and no visions. He laid there alone, truly feeling the weight of all of his sins crawling up his back as he let the tears flow freely down his face.

Scared.

Alone.

The door handle begun to jingle angrily; the unknown force manifesting it's impatience with Greg's attitude. He didn't want to listen to it. He didn't want to...

The pain of solitude weighed his bones down rendering him motionless, as the events of what felt like all of his life rolled before his eyes; the symphony of the thuds outside drowning him in his memories.

How could he hit a child? His own daughter? Just an image of Jenny's pained eyes, filling with fear sent a new wave of tears. He was disgusted. He felt disgusted with himself, feeling his skin suddenly feeling stretched and slimy; the odor of his own sweat making him want to vomit. It all felt too slippery and moist, his t-shirt clinging to his body in a truly vial way. But he wouldn't dare lift the covers. Not as long as it was dark outside. He would remain hidden, drowned in the wet darkness just like the little boy he was; deep within himself. Only his father would not come to calm him, placing his warm hand on his back.

There was no James.

There was no Gabbie.

There was no Jenny.

There

Was

Just

Greg

He choked back tears, feeling the wave of sudden nausea hit him with a force of a bullet train. He swallowed down on the bile of liquid rising in his throat, releasing only a choked sob.

He was truly alone this time.

There was nobody to help him.

There was nobody.

Just him and whatever was hiding in the shadows under his bed, scraping it's nails along the boards supporting the mattress.

A knock startled Greg awake, making him jump sluggishly. Gabbie opened the door slowly, a small plate and a glass of water in her hands as she approached the bed.

- Made you breakfast .- she said unceremoniously, extending the glass of water towards him as she put the toast on the bedside table. Greg grasped the glass, taking a small sip, then another and another, while Gabbie watched him with swallow down on the liquid, her eyes not leaving the glass. Greg felt the uncomfortable prickling of being stared at a little bit too much...

- What? – he asked; his voice scratch like a sheet of sand paper, making Gabbie wince and look away.

- You don't look very good...- she started awkwardly. Greg sighed, rubbing his face only to find it puffy and swollen, with a scratch stubble growing out on his chin.