Captive{ated}

Twenty-Six: Red

When you returned home from work, your stress was apparent. You hair was disheveled from all the times you must have ran your hand through it, and your white shirt was only half tucked. The biggest tell, though, was your eyes. Bags sat beneath them and they almost appeared dull, but when your gaze met mine, the dullness turned to something I couldn't quite decipher. "How was your day?" Tara asked you, but you paid her no mind.

You wasted no time in putting yourself together before coming over to me, your mother, and your sister. Your eyebrows furrowed, gently asking, "How are you feeling?"

Though it was fairly warm outside, I sat beneath a thin blanket with a warm rice pack on my side to help with the cramps. I imagined that I must've looked quite the mess, too, with my hair falling everywhere and puffy eyes, but I tried to push these thoughts from mind. I had to keep my composure. "A little better," I said.

Sitting beside me, you released a heavy sigh. Your head hung low, your shoulders hunched. The expression you wore darkened. "I suppose that's better than feeling worse." The bitterness in your tone was startling.

"Is- Is there a problem?" With a slight stutter, my voice didn't sound as strong as I had hoped.

You ran your hand through your hair disheveling it more. "No. I guess I was just hoping you would be more than just a little better." You sounded condescending, accusatory.

I was speechless. "E-excuse me?" I stammered. I could hardly form a coherent thought about how you were acting. So cold, so full of blame. The air was stuffy, weighing down on us like a heavy quilt. It was then that I noticed you sat with some space between us, your body angled just away from me.

Were you mad at me?

Everyone else could feel the tension, too. "Rebecca, why don't you run home and get some water boiling for dinner?" Tara asked. Your sister took this as her cue to leave, not giving us even a goodbye. Seeing her reaction made me wonder if she was used  to being around fighting. Maybe she was exposed to it far too often as a child, seeing her own parents bicker frequently. I couldn't imagine Tara was always complacent with your father.

Your mother made no move to leave herself, however.

The silence in the room felt like it stretched for too long. Your fingers fidgeted while you were deep in thought, tapping your legs in a random pattern. You were antsy, guarded, and I didn't like it. "Caleb..." I coaxed. It was as if you were full of suspicion, but when you left this morning, you were so understanding. The man who returned home was not one I recognized nor one I wanted to be around.

Suddenly, any contempt you held was brought to the light.

Your body turned to me sharply, your posture straightening. "You know, I worried about you all morning," you told me.

Assuming as much, I stared at you blankly. What were you trying to get at? Pulling the blanket tighter to me, I found myself leaning away from you. Seeing my apprehension, your eyes narrowed in on me like prey. "So now you're afraid of me?" You snapped. The edge of your words was so dangerous it could cut. "But why would you be afraid of me, Evelyn? What are you hiding?"

Having no idea where you reached such conclusions, I had to make a decision to either brush off your accusations or twist them against you. "Maybe I don't want to be around you right now when you're the one who came back all hostile." Seeing your hands clench in to fists, I continued, "I don't feel well enough to deal with whatever problem you have."

You chuckled, but it wasn't because you found the situation humorous. "That is so rich. Of course you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"What are you talking about?" My voice rose. This whole confrontation had me confused, and rather than diffuse the situation, I senselessly decided to ignite the fuse. "You're the one acting a fool right now-"