Captive{ated}

Ten: Wilting

Our illusion ended the day you came back from a meeting with you father, Issac. You came back antsy, on edge. Your cool and collected patience was disrupted. You didn't speak a word to me that evening when you came home, seeming so troubled that even my presence didn't help.

Not that I tried to either.

I went to bed early that evening, and when I woke up the next morning, you were already gone. The oatmeal you prepared for me was still lukewarm, and it's safe for me to say, that only made me dislike it more. I could tolerate it warm, but being borderline cold? I had simple bran cereal instead.

My thoughts that day were full of wonder. What was happening? Why were you so off the night before? Did I do something wrong?

Or maybe it was good news?

Though it was a long shot, I had the slightest hope that maybe people were getting close to finding me. I'm sure that there had to be some sort of search party because knowing my family, they wouldn't accept me disappearing without a trace. Although, I did make it hard on them by not telling them much about you for the sake of my own privacy. I couldn't even remember if I told them that you and I were taking a trip to the U.P. or not. I know I meant to, but I was always forgetting little things like that. It was something I was mentally beating myself up for, not telling anyone where you and I were going.

For all I knew, the trail of where I went was freezing cold. Your family- no, this village- must've been quite good at making people disappear if they haven't been caught, and who knows how long this had been happening for? I wasn't optimistic.

When you arrived home, I was up hiding in my room pretending like I was reading The Scarlet Letter for the fourth time just to look like I was busy. In truth, I was nervous about what was happening. I didn't read a single word as I listened to you move around downstairs. Soon, the aroma of food entered my room and I knew that there would be no more hiding.

Begrudgingly, I shut the book and left it on my bed. You'd be requesting my audience soon enough so I slowly crept my way downstairs. I didn't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I saw.

You had put a white table cloth over the dining table, finer dishes than usual placed at our spots. A candelabra with three lit candles was the centerpiece. It was very reminiscent of the set up of the family dinner the night you brought me here, but there was only two place settings. I became more wary. This was much fancier than usual. What was the occasion?

I quickly decided I didn't want to find out. Unfortunately, though, just as I was about to turn around and pretend to be sick for the night, you walked in from the kitchen, your eyes quickly finding me. "Evelyn, I was just coming to get you. Dinner is about ready."

I remained on the bottom stair, holding on to the bannister for support. "I- I- it smells good." I couldn't hide my nerves, and you didn't comment on them, too trapped in your own thoughts.

God, the more I thought about it, the more I didn't like the situation at all. Even you weren't acting yourself. "Come along then. Take a seat." You said quickly as you retreated to the kitchen.

Not really having another choice, I begrudgingly did as you said. By the time I was sitting down, you were carrying out two plates of chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. You placed them on the table and took your spot across from me, the flame from the candle bathing you in an almost ominous glow. I suppose that if I weren't so nervous, it may have been a comforting one.

You quickly mumbled your strange prayer as you did every night before dinner.  Never loud enough for me to hear it, yet I could still tell it was the same one from my first evening here. While you did this, I always wished I had a prayer of my own I could say. One strong enough to block yours out completely.