Captive{ated}

Twenty-Five: Truth

My first few days being able to teach by myself were blissful. The rambunctious little children kept me on my toes, but they all held a piece of my heart already. I was completely happy with life. I was happy with my job. I was happy with you. I was just happy.

I now looked forward to waking in the morning, to having a purpose and a reason much greater than myself. It was the most like myself I had felt since being brought to the Village. The bounce had returned to my steps, the slight smile constantly tugging at my lips made its reappearance.

I was alive.

It was almost a foreign feeling to be so at peace, but of course, in a place like this, it couldn't last forever.

It couldn't last even two full weeks before it ended. The stars had aligned in a catastrophic fortune. A storm brewed on the horizon. This world I had finally begun to accept as my own was about to be turned upside down.

It was the day of the August new moon, which I knew because I didn't have class that day. Whenever there was a religious ceremony or gathering, classes were cancelled so the children didn't have to sit around too much. Regardless of what day it was, though, my body didn't care. I had been feeling a dull pain in my side for a couple days, which was fine. It was nothing I hadn't dealt with before, but it was something I wished to end rather painlessly and swiftly.

I got neither.

Instead, just after breakfast, as I was laughing with you about something small, I felt a sudden sharp pain so intense that I could barely walk. It was a sharp pinch in the side, a much too localized cramp. I hunched over myself, gripping the countertop for support. A gasp escaped me as I nearly dropped the plate I was holding. Of course, this didn't escape your notice. You rushed over to me, supporting me as you took the plate from my hand. Your grip was warm, caring. Concern flowed in your words, "Are you okay?"

I took slow, deliberate breaths. They helped to subdue the pain, but I was scared to move from my position. I think my own worry paralyzed me more than the pain. The thought of you seeing the excruciation I was in petrified me because then would come your question, and I would be forced to give you answers.

"Y-yeah," I lied. My hands were clammy. "My stomach just hurts."

Your frown deepened. "Maybe you should sit down?" You suggested.

"Really, I'm fine right here," I answered.

No matter how much I protested though, you eventually led me to the couch since there was so way I was making it upstairs to bed. Without your support, I probably would've just laid on the kitchen floor, unable to make the walk on my own. Each slow step brought a new wave of pain, of irritation, of fear.

Why couldn't you just leave me alone?

You helped me down, still coddling over me. "Are you sure you are okay? This doesn't seem normal."

Little did you know, it was normal for me. I knew well enough that the pain, pressure, and bloating would all start to subside soon now. I was through the worst of it, but I still had a ways to go before I was in the clear. I forced a smile, trying to appease your curiosity, "Maybe my cooking is going to kill one of us after all."

You didn't laugh like I hoped you would. Not even a smile. You saw through my weak facade, eyes narrowed. Your tone sounded like one of a parent berating a child, "Evelyn, be honest with me."

Lie, lie, lie was all I could think. In life, I had learned that if you were backed in to a corner with no way out, always fake ignorance. It had saved me from my parent's wrath more than once, so that is exactly what I did. Although, I didn't do it in such a nice manner. Already I was annoyed, so I cried, "I don't know, Caleb! I just don't feel good. Is that a crime?"