Captive{ated}

Twenty-Seven: Joy

I didn't let you off the hook so easily in the following days. Whenever you did something to cross me, it seemed it always took you longer to earn my favor back. Each time it was harder to trust you. It was harder to give you the ability to hurt me once again.

I made my disdain evidently clear the next morning. As an apology, you had stealthily made my favorite breakfast without waking me from the couch. Instead of thanking you for it, however, I wordlessly walked passed you, pulled the container of plain bran cereal out from the cupboard, and poured myself a bowl. I looked you daringly in the eyes as I did so only to rub salt in the wound: you knew how much I despised this stuff, but I still chose it over the banquet you had prepared.

You followed me into the dining room like a dog with your tail between your legs. Swallowing my disgust, I ate breakfast quickly so I could get on with my day.

"Are you feeling better, I hope?" You words were another poor attempt at building our bridge again.

Why couldn't you just not burn them in the first place? Why was that so hard?

Nodding, I was far from being in the mood to talk.

"Well enough to have class today?"

Why else would I be eating so early? Not only that, but it was my escape from you. "I think I'm going to be late today," I said evenly.

"Oh," I could hear the disappointment in your voice. "Will you be back for dinner?"

Where else was I to eat? But then it dawned on me. You meant if I was going to dine with you. Coarsely, I replied, "Maybe."

That was the end of that conversation.

I spent the entirety of the day in the schoolhouse. The children were giddy to be back. I was happy for the distraction they offered. Even when I had to raise my voice for their attention or they wore my patience thin, life in that single room building was much lighter than my life outside of it.

Often I wondered how I was trusted to teach these young children. Couldn't I poison their minds? Turn them against the Village? Use them to my advantage somehow?

But the truth of it was, I could never do that. Morally, I could never do something as vile as manipulating children, and you knew that. I wondered if you vouched for my character on this, or if people like your father sensed it. No matter how miserable or fed up I was, these feelings would not interfere with my ability to teach the children how to read.

Despite where they were being raised, the children I worked with were so pure, so innocent. In many ways, I think that being around them helped save me from losing my sanity further.

When lunch time came and it was time for the students to run home, they all left except for one. Tabitha remained sitting at her desk in the front row, her dark hair tied in pig tails with her signature red ribbon and eyes beaming at me. "What are you still doing here?" I asked with a smile. "Won't your mom being missing you for lunch?"

She shrugged, "No, she's always so busy with my younger brothers. She probably doesn't miss me." Mavis had a newborn just a few months ago, and with a 6 and a 3 year old as well, her hands were full.

I eyed the young girl earnestly, "You know your mother loves you, Tabitha. She love your brothers, too. I'm sure she misses you."

"I know," she chirped. She was so short her feet dangled just above the floor on my her chair. "It's- it's just that it's so loud at home." Her head lowered as if ashamed. "It's hard for me to do my homework there. I don't want to fall behind in reading. I like reading stories."