The Hiding Place

Everything had gone perfectly.  Until it didn’t.  I blame the mess I was in squarely on Nathan’s shoulders.  If he had listened to me and done what I asked, we would be free and clear at this very moment. 

Nathan was the reason I couldn’t paint anymore.  Couldn’t write anymore.  If he had not started obsessively cleaning my room while I was gone, he never would have found my secrets and never would have passed them onto my mother.  The main problem was that Nathan went through my bedroom inch by inch for no good reason other than the fact his ankle monitor wouldn’t let him leave the property and he was going stir crazy, 

Now I was heading back to boarding school because of the secrets my mother thought I was hiding.  I was so close to being eighteen, to being an adult, that it would drive me crazy to go back to boarding school, away from my friends and art supplies that were never far from my reach.  Nathan found my paintings and since they (according to my mother) were inappropriate, I was out of the house again. 

The loose board in my closet floor had been my hiding place for years.  The only reason Nathan had found it in the first place was because he was hallucinating and on the same drugs he was locked up for in the first place.  And my mother was back to siding with him over me.  I would have my revenge. 


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