The Ghost of You

Chapter 12 - Saahar's POV

"Saahar!" he cried, "Hold my hand"

"I can't reach you" I whimpered, with heavy tears and smoke blinding my vision.

"Just push forward, you can do it".

"I'm too scared".

"I know, me too. But, we have to go. Please, just grab my hand".

Just grab his hand Saahar. All you have to do is grab your brother's hand. Grab his hand and we'll be out the fire. Just grab his hand and we'll be safe. Mum and Abba will be home soon and they'll sort everything out. They won't be mad. They can't be mad.

But, it's your fault Saahar. You left the fire when he told you not to. You decided to go back for the guitar. He came chasing after you because he couldn't leave you. He's in danger because of you. So, because you put him in this position, you have to grab his hand. Grab his hand Saahar.

I grabbed my brother's tiny hand and he pulled my small body under the fallen door. We both coughed loudly as the smoke got heavier.

"There's the front door" he celebrated. He held me tight as the smoke made my strength weaker. He guided me through the lit frames around us until we approached the door. Then suddenly he stopped.

The flames are too strong. I can't see the door. Where's the door? I can't breathe. There's too much smoke.

Then a strong force pushed me forward. I landed face down in front of the door I couldn't see. While I made it to the door, a loud crash followed behind me.

"Saahar!" He screamed.

He's meant to be behind me. Why isn't he behind me? I can't see him behind me. Why is he screaming when we're at the door? Is he at the door too? Why isn't he behind me?

"Keemi?" I cried

"Sahaar!".

I woke up from my nightmare drenched in sweat. My heart was beating so fast it felt like I had undergone intense training.
They were back.
My nightmares were back.

After at least four months of having peaceful nights, the nightmares were back to ruin my life.

The nightmares that even therapy could not fix. The nightmares that anxiety tablets were not enough to control. They weren't just nightmares however, they were trauma responses. Memories. Memories I knew that I could never forget but begged for the day I would.

I placed my hands on my booming chest hoping to steady my breathing rate. I watched as Amay lay beside me sleeping peacefully. I envied him. Even though he was a cat, he had better sleep than me. He had peace. I hated the fact that I was envious of an animal.

I really thought they were gone. I don't know why I let myself get excited at the absence of the recurring nightmare. This always happened - there would be a few months when they'd stop, and then for a reason I wasn't aware of, they'd start again. Well, I say I didn't know what made them start up again but really, I did. It was stress. Stress about not being good enough.

I sat there for a few minutes rerunning the memory in my head. Even detail was still crystal clear.

The smell of the smoke.
The crispy sound of burnt wood panels.
The strong, blinding flames.
The sweat dripping from my brother's nervous palms.
My brother.
My innocent, sweet brother.
The brother I killed.

As my heartbeat wouldn't settle, I opted to go downstairs to get some water and steal some of my father's sleeping pills. As I walked through the silent, house, my bare arms shivered as the cold air hit them. The windows were closed but it felt like I was standing outside. It wasn't that our house was cold, more that my body was struggling to recover from the nightmare both mentally and physically. Every step I took was unbalanced.

When I arrived in the kitchen, I darted for the glass cabinet. However, as I opened it, I was shocked by the sudden burst of light that illuminated the room. I quickly turned around to see my mother sitting on the sofa, with her hand on the switch of the coffee table lamp. She was covered in a blue satin robe, with a book in her hand. 

"Sari?" she said softly, "It's 4 am, what are you doing up?".

"I, uh..." I stuttered, still shaking from the nightmare, "Can't... sleep".

"Your skin looks red, are you coming up with something". I shook my head, quickly realising my hair from its ponytail to cover the streaks of sweat dripping down my neck.

I stumbled over to the sofa and sat a few seats away from her. I curled up my knees and buried my face in them, fighting the tears that were desperately trying to escape.

"Sari, is everything okay?".

My heart began to beat faster. Just tell her, Saahar. Just tell her the nightmares are back.

From the moment they found out what that day had to my mental health, my parents had found me the best therapist money could buy. However, after I had successfully convinced the therapist that I was fine over four years ago, my parents were under the impression that I no longer suffered the way I used to.

To be honest, it was true. I was a lot better than I was in the years that followed my brother's death. However, I had yet to fully heal. The nightmares weren't as constant but the memory still haunted me. The memories and guilt stopped me from healing. But I couldn't go back into therapy because therapy wasn't what I needed. It was never what I needed.

I slowly lifted my head before tucking my hair behind my red ears. I rest my chin on my knees, still hugging them tightly.

"You know, your grandmother's seeing someone now" my mother began.

"Is that so?" I replied. I turned to her to see her weak smile. She knew something was wrong. I could tell by the glimmer in her eyes - maternal instinct you could say. But she also knew that I wouldn't tell her.

"Your Dad's pissed" she laughed, "He blames your aunties of course for allowing her to... well... have too much fun".

"She only has a few more years, she should be allowed to".

"Exactly what I said". She moved next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. She then placed a soft kiss on my burning forehead before beginning to stroke my head.

"But, here's the funny part," she continued to say, "He's 29".

"Ew" I cringed, "Is there a lack of eligible bachelors her age in Bangladesh?". She laughed at my disgusted reaction. As she continued to stroke my head, I could feel my heartbeat slowing down.

"You're not going to date 29-year-olds when Abba dies, right?" I begged.

"Oh, baby, I don't even want to think about that time" she sighed, "My life revolves around you and your dad, I don't think I could live without either of you".

"But you guys might be gone before me". Suddenly, she stopped stroking my hair and stared at me as her eyes began to fill with water.

She pulled me into her chest and held me tightly. "We will be gone before you, not might" he corrected, "I refuse to bury you".

"Mum?" I called, as a tear left my eye.

"Yeah, baby".

"It wasn't my fault, right?".

For a second she thought of what to say. Every time I asked her she did that and it scared me. It scared me because it always made it seem like her answer wasn't genuine.

"It was never your fault, Sari" she answered, "You were a child, so was your brother".  I was a child. A stupid child. A selfish child who killed her brother.

"You know that right?" she asked. Just like her, I had to pause before answering. Just like her, my answer wasn't genuine.

"I know" I lied.