Chapter 5: The Hiding Place

Chad leaves. And I feel like shit for breaking up with him. I mourn the summer we will not have together—my stomach aches and churns from the breakup. I will regret this breakup in the morning.

I look at the clock; it turns from 1 to 4 am in five minutes. I can't sleep. I walk downstairs into the kitchen to see what alcoholic filth and flavors are available for my underage sorrows.

I sneak down the stairs, pausing with each step. I hold my breath in. I don't want anyone to see, hear, or know I exist on the stairs. I want an invisibility cloak like Harry Potter. To disappear into the air and not be viewed by anyone. That must be nice.

I go into the alcohol stash my mom has hidden away. She thinks I don't know about it. But I always have. I remember her pulling the toaster oven back and finding that moveable wall tile. And behind the tile, alcohol.

I pull the tile aside and find the honey-colored whiskey. I grab one of my dad's shot glasses from his travel collection. The shot glass says, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." If only this glass could talk, I'm sure an interesting story would emerge from it.

I sneak up the stairs. I pour a shot and take it. I save the rest of the bottle for later. Luckily, it's the weekend. And I can sleep as late as I want tomorrow. I only have horseback riding lessons in the afternoon and that stupid interview with Penna Bakery. That can be rescheduled or canceled. I have enough shit on my plate.

I grab the bottle and drink another half-shot. The whiskey tastes like bitter goodness. I love it. My tongue is numb, and I can feel the whiskey in my bloodstream. This feels better than sulking and crying over stupid Chad.

Chad, you dumbass. Why didn't you find a job and support your family? Jason Stanley does that for his family. Why can't you do that for yourself? Jason Stanley is Selah's crush. He's no big deal. He works two part-time jobs to help his mother. He comes from a single-parent household. His mom is a widow. I'm not sure what happened to his dad.

The clock continues to strike all hours of the night until I become dizzy at 6 am and pass out. The world spins on its axis while I sleep on. I finally get up. It's 2 pm on a Saturday. And that interview is at 5 pm. Guess I can go for Sammy, my favorite and only sister. I call my aunt and tell her I need to cancel my riding lessons for the afternoon.

"Natalie, why are you canceling?" Aunt Tara asks.

"I have an interview for a bakery job. My sister wants me to work with her once a week at Penna Bakery," I reply.

"Sounds like fun. Good luck," Aunt Tara finishes.

"Thanks, Aunt Tara. Love you," I say as I hang up.

I love my aunt more than my mom. They are sisters, but my aunt has been the only one I call in emergencies. I can tell her anything. We talk about boys, boobs, and bras. She took me to get my first training bra on my tenth birthday. I felt all grown up. She even came to pick me up from elementary school after they showed that embarrassing puberty video. Aunt Tara took me to get ice cream and told me all her embarrassing period stories. She's bold and outgoing. My mom just ignores me, loves Sammy, and lectures me through her false words.

I take a few aspirins to help my aching head. I don't feel super hungover. But I'm still not fully myself. My body is freezing, and a hot shower calls my name. I get in the shower, and the heat strikes me like shooting arrows. It feels painful and amazing. My towel is old and falling apart. I grab it and dry all of me. My interview clothes make me look like a country girl. The flannel shirt I have is perfect for the country vibes the Penna Bakery is famous for.

Sammy was going to drive me. Instead, I hike over to the interview. I'm not sure I even want this job. But it might look good on college resumes in the future. My dad always told me to give everything my best effort. So here goes nothing...

"Hello, Mrs. Penna. It's me, Natalie Ashman. I'm here for my job interview," I say as I tap the bell on the counter to get someone's attention.

"Be there in a minute," Mrs. Penna yells to me.

I wait on a grubby-looking bench. I play on my phone. After a while, my boredom takes me to the display case. I see dozens of clown-shaped cookies and sweet, glazed donut holes. That's when I realize I can't work here.

Bakeries sell food. Food and hunger equal a meal, and a meal equals fat. I head into the bathroom of the bakery. I open the stall door. I lock the door behind me and shove my pointer and middle fingers down my throat. The vomit starts to come. The alcohol and lunch I ate all fall out of me. I don't feel well. My head is dizzy. This is stupid.

The stupid bitch I've become stares back at me in the mirror. Oh, how I want to throw a rock at that moron staring back at me. I open my purse and get a breath mint. I freshen myself up and head back to my interview. The show must go on, right? Time for the actress in me to take over.

"Hello, Natalie. Is everything alright?" I look at Mrs. Penna. I don't have it in me to work here.

"Yes, I'm well," I lie.

"Let's begin the interview. Tell me what you love about baking?" Mrs. Penna asks.

We talk about cookie sheets, oven temperatures, stress baking, and Christmas cookies.

"My last question, is why do you want this job?" She stops and waits for a reply.

But I have none to give. These sweeties and treats make me want to throw up. This is a calorie castle that I can't serve even if I need the money.

"I guess I want to work with Sammy before she goes to college," the actress in me says.

"Well, it was nice interviewing you today. I will review your file and get back to you soon," she says.

We shake hands, and I leave. I walk the long way back to my house. The idea of going home sounds stupid. I walk to the stables instead. I want to see Carmel and ride his back away from the world.

I sneak into the stable and get Carmel ready. I get on, and into the woods, we go. Carmel is family, therapy, and life. We go into the deepest part of the woods, where I'm not supposed to go. I follow the river until it takes me to the old forest. The trees here are thicker, broader, and stronger.

I get off Carmel. And give him a large apple. I tie him to a smaller tree so he doesn't runoff.

I start taking my clothes off. I leave my bra and underwear on. I decide to go swimming in the small lake the river flows into. No one has ever been back here before, except for me. I swim to the end of the lake and find the small cave. This cave is for me and me only. I've never told anyone about this place, not even Selah, Chad, or Sammy. I need a place just for me.

I get out of the lake and go into the cave. I find my box of secret treasures. Among my treasures are money, bubblegum, jewelry I took from mom, cigarettes, and a lighter. I light up my cigarette. It's messier than my e-cigs. Oh well. I feel the nicotine and calm down. The cigarette is done with its fire dance in ten minutes.

I get back to the lake and swim to the other side. I put my clothes on and feel my underwear and bra, making the rest of me damp. I untie Carmel and head back to the stable. Luckily, my aunt isn't home yet. She doesn't like me going out without letting her know. I start to head out of the stable, and as I turn around, I hear a familiar voice.

"Natalie Grace Ashman, where were you?"

It's my aunt's voice.

"I went out," I say.

"Why are you all wet? You smell like smoke. And don't lie to me either. I was fifteen once. I know what smoke smells like," my aunt says, pissed off.

"Well, you caught me. I was stressed out," I say.

"Let's get you washed up and smelling like roses before you head home. You should count yourself lucky that I won't tell my sister about this. Keep it up, though, and I might not keep your smoking habit a secret," she warns.

We head into my aunt's house. I go upstairs and shower off. I find a towel and the pair of neatly folded clothes my aunt has laid out for me.

I change in the guest room. As I am changing, my aunt barges in. She sees all of me: my barren back, my ribs, and my bite marks.

"Natalie, are you okay?" My aunt asks.

"Yes," I lie.

"What the hell is this?" She asks.

"What is what?" I play dumb.

She pulls my arm out and points to the bite marks that are every shade of blue and purple.

"I get mad sometimes, okay," I say after an eternity.

"And just look at your back. I can see your ribs. You look like a holocaust victim. Are you eating enough, sweetie?" My aunt says, concerned.

"Yeah...sure," I say, knowing I hate food and being asked to eat it. I don't like food, and I don't want to think about it, touch it, or talk about it. Barf.

"Natalie, after you get dressed, I want you to eat a bowl of applesauce, okay?" She says.

I agree. I know the applesauce is homemade by her. And when I was little, she made it just for me, to cheer me up. It's the only food that ever sounds good to me. Too bad it will fall out of me later when I shove my fingers down my esophagus again.