Captive{ated}

Twenty: Yours

When you came home that evening with your face cherry red from the still brisk temperatures, I did not have dinner ready. I was not awaiting your company, nor did I pleasantly smile when I saw you. You called my name, but I didn't answer.

I was too upset with you to do any of these things, too pained to even think about it.

There was only so many places I could be in that house, so it didn't take you long to find me upstairs in our room, reminiscing, sulking. I sat on the bed, my back towards the door, as I delicately observed the only picture of my family I had.

My father, with his brown hair and full beard, was forcing a smile since he was never one to take pictures, but for my graduation, he was willing to make an exception. Then there was my mother, with her auburn hair and kind eyes. It was because of her, a teacher herself, that I pursued education. Then there was my younger brother, Jacob. I was his senior by three years, but he was already taller than me with his cheesy, mischievous grin and curly fawn hair. Secretly, he was trying to step on my toes. My own smile held some annoyance with him, but in my eyes, you could see only happiness. By no means was it a perfect picture, but my God, it was my family.

They were mine. In memories and in dreams, they were still mine.

And now that I knew this truth about you, I never missed them more. There was so much hope in one photo, now all gone. I slipped the picture back inside the book, wanting to protect them from you, from me. I had to keep that moment safe from here.

You treaded carefully in the doorway, knowing just from my slumped stature and absence downstairs that something was wrong. But you weren't careful enough. "You are so bad at trying to go unnoticed," my voice was hollow.

I heard you take in a deep breath. You could feel the immense tension in the air. I was obviously not okay, and the source of my disjointed feelings: you. I don't know how, but somehow, you knew. Perhaps you were waiting for this day, dreading it. "You know the truth then," you said with sadness dripping from your words.

Though you hadn't actually taken your father's place as Prophet yet, I still felt so betrayed. You hadn't physically taken a life by your own hand, but it felt as if you took mine. I held contempt in my words, "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I tried to get you to read the texts," you said feebly. What a sorry excuse that was. "I could never find the words or the will to tell you." You paused, "I knew the truth would hurt you."

This betrayal didn't hurt as much as the first, but that might just be because I had grown to expect disappointment from you. With you, I knew it would always lead to pain. Still, you let me get closer to you all over again without telling me the truth. You knew that it would hurt me, but you kept it hidden instead. You made it hurt all the worse because I had to feel it all over again.

I sighed dismayed, anguished, "I'm so tired of being deceived by you." My voice was coarse. It hardly sounded like me.

"I was only trying to protect you," you tried to justify your actions. You still stood in the doorway, not daring to come closer.

I turned to look at you, my angst very apparent on my features. "Protect me for how long? Until I found out myself? Until one day you stood holding the dagger yourself?" I shook my head, feeling so cheated by you that I was barely holding myself together. "If you truly mean those words, you would have never took me to begin with. You would have done the merciful thing and broke my heart only once instead of continuing to break it here."

You looked a loss of words. Your eyes glistened in the dying sunlight, appearing so vulnerable, so open. I looked away, unable to face you anymore. I put up an act much stronger than I was on the inside. Within me, I was as fragile as a thread of twine, as tiny as a speck of dust. I felt so broken by this news, so weakened. Going on the offensive was my defense from letting you get closer, because if you did, I knew I would break in your arms.