Captured

C h a p t e r || 1

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It's a difficult place when it gets like this.
It's hard to teach a child when it gets like this.
What they offering you in a place like this?
What they promising you when it gets like this+

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The ceiling fan whirs above me, the incessant hum of the motor creating a steady rhythm. It stays on high in my bedroom, or my hot natured soul would sweat off pounds throughout the night. I'm well overdue to get out of bed, but there isn't a bone in my body telling me to get up. I sit up with the sheets at my knees, my body almost bare as I push the loose strand of hair behind my ear. The walls pale white, and the wood floor free of all furniture. Boxes stacked upon boxes are piled in the corners of my bedroom.

Haven't really gotten around to that yet.

The tall, floor length, double window is at the right of my bed. It casts a dim light on the grey hardwood, and broadcasts the 6 AM skylight. My knees slide to my chest on their own as my legs prickle with bumps from slight chill drafting around the bed. I decide to go ahead and make my way out of bed and follow the smell of breakfast wafting up the stairway.

House number four in six years. I may as well promise myself not to get used to this one either.

My father travels for work more than I can keep up. and we move more than I would like to. I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona. My father inherited Papa Haven's construction company when he passed, and we have been relocating ever since. He manages current construction and oversees the companies project, to build Papa's empire further. Don't get me wrong he loves what he does, and it has blessed my family financially, but it has also made my dad absent in our family for most of my memories. I have learned to live with it, but it takes a toll on Jackson.

Jackson Havens. The most hyper, irritating, witty, yet incredibly intelligent little brother. His accomplishments this week are saying his ABC's backwards and using the office printer to copy dollar bills so he can buy more candy from the lunch lady. He's five years old.

He is in love with the ocean. He loves sharks. Everything he owns is blue and sea animal related. From his shark bitten pillow, to his sea turtle rug that spreads underneath his little wooden twin bed. Every morning he goes on and on about what color his room has to be. He even says it has to be the right shade of the sea so the fish will swim with him when he sleeps. He has begged my father to paint it with him for a week or so now, but it will probably have to be me that helps him get it done. I hear the patter of his little feet as he runs up and down the long,wooden, upstairs corridor. His light laughter echoing through the halls.

I drag myself downstairs to the kitchen where my mom is also laying breakfast out on the table. She always went overboard when it came to cooking. I looked at the muffins, croissants, pancakes, and other breakfast items an decided to grab a blueberry muffin and a couple slices of bacon. I slide into an end chair just as Jackson comes sprinting into the kitchen on full turbo.

"Jackson! Slow it down bubba and park it, you need to eat and get ready for school." My mother states, just as she pulls a breakfast casserole out of the oven.

Bubba is what my parents have called Jackson ever since he was a toddler. It just stuck one day and we have called him that or Jack ever since.

"But the sea monster is coming, he's gonna get you if I beat you to the table." He yells as he runs a circle around her and our large kitchen island, before dashing to the nearest breakfast chair.

"And MamaBear is gonna get you and the sea monster if you don't sit down and eat your breakfast."

Jackson puts a hand to his ear and leans to the side as if he is trying to hear something. He squints his eyes and squishes his face together as he smiles a big smile as my mom join his side at the breakfast area.