Hitman: Captured | #1 - HIATUS

► Chapter 1

They're doing it again.

Their voices bouncing from one wall to the next, spreading the wavelength of their echoes upstairs and weakens when it reaches my bedroom door. I look up from my phone in the middle of texting Brian—one of my close friends since elementary; I stay in utter silence listening to their voices growing louder from their spats until my phone vibrates in my hand capturing my attention.

Christopher and I are making plans to head out tonight. You coming?

I stare at my phone contemplating my response; my younger sister—Phoebe—is staying at a friend's house considering it's our summer vacation and I graduated from high school a month ago, ready to begin college the following month. I can't remember when exactly their arguments began but what I can remember is how it changed things, making it tense, suffocating, and unbearably toxic all at once.

After thinking it over for the first three minutes I decide to go. It's better I'm not home when they start to argue again tonight. I hear the door slam downstairs meaning one of them left the house; I wait for a long moment of pause when I hear the door again. They're both gone. Sometimes it's like they forget I'm here, it's not as if I want to be involved in their problems but I wish they would consider how it'd be for Phoebe to be raised in a toxic environment.

I stay on my bed trying to remember when the argument began. When they went from loving each other unconditionally to consistent spats back and forth. Maybe it was after my birthday party several weeks prior to graduation, the academic year coming to an end and as always everything was normal. I'm interrupted from my rumination by my phone vibrated again, blue eyes scheming through the text message.

Great! See you at eight.

I check the time on my phone seeing I still have several hours to spare which at the moment I have no idea what to do. I can always play some video games, watch a movie, or take a nap but for some reason, I don't want to stay here. The argument from my parents hung so thickly around the house it disrupted its earlier serenity; I sigh to myself steadily getting off my full-sized bed.

"Might as well find something to do." I mumble to myself, stuffing my phone in my pocket and search through my side stand next to the bed frame for my wallet. I find it, stuffing it to my back pocket and walk to my closet beside the entrance of my bedroom; opening it I take out a random sweater, closing the doors as I slip it on whirling to the direction of the door.

I pause for a moment glancing at the side stand—hesitating but soon brush it off and walk out my room after opening the door and closing it behind me. I descend the flight of the stairs meeting another door; twisting the knob I see the familiar double door closet like the one upstairs. Next to the closet is the entry to a two-story living room that's viewable from the second floor when walking to the stairs or bedrooms.

Pivoting to my right, the entrance of the two-story house comes into view. A key hanger nailed to the right side near the door and only one remains belonging to me. I remove it from the hanger, unlocking the door and step out, locking it behind me. When I whirl around, my blue eyes survey through the neighborhood I've grown up in for as long as I can remember.

The air is moist when I inhale and exhale to see white puffs of fog leaving my lips. A soft wind ruffles my wavy brown hair, shivers raking through my body as I pull the hoodie over my head and stuff my hands in the pocket of my jeans. With no particular destination in mind, I start to walk, strolling through the silent neighborhood—it's expected to be after the heavy rain that fell half an hour ago. I could have taken my car, but I don't feel like driving at the moment.

I just need to walk, relax, and think. I love my parents but sometimes I have no idea what to do or think when they argue. I feel as if they started arguing because of me, I'm to blame for their consistent arguments and hopefully they don't end up divorcing like most parents would when they argue too much. I turn a corner, reaching a street with several stores open but none of them necessarily captures my attention.