I’m not the destructive type. But I have to do this. Things are beyond my control, and I have to do what I can to reassert some authority. It’s out of necessity. For Hen.

He wants me to eat, so I don’t. He wants me to take my pills, so I don’t. He expects me to just do everything he tells me, but I won’t. I won’t do what he wants anymore.

It’s taken some time to figure it all out. But I understand what I have to do to shift the balance. I have to prepare everything before they return home. I spend some time scouting around, checking angles. Then I pick the precise spot. It makes the most sense. I’ll learn more from here than from anywhere else. That’s what this is about—turning things on their head, learning, observing. It’s about leveling the playing field. Why shouldn’t I be able to observe, the way he does with me? This is my house. This is my life.

There are no do-overs. I can’t fuck this up. Measure twice, cut once. It’s not just about what I’ll be able to see. It’s about not attracting attention. I leave the bathroom and go back into Terrance’s room. I look at the wall. I see the spot where I’ll put it. I measure it, mark it. Then I go into the bathroom, which is on the other side of the wall. It’s perfect—a spot between two cracks. Impossible to notice. Not unless you’re looking for it, which he won’t be.

I get my power drill. I bring it up to the bathroom. I’m nervous, anxious to get started. I will do it now. I turn the tap on in case someone comes home and wonders why I’m in here. It will sound like I’m washing my face, or shaving, or having a shower. All perfectly normal things to be doing in the bathroom.

I bring the drill to the wall where I want the hole to be. It’s right above the back of the toilet. This is the spot. Already the shower’s steam is filling the room. I’ve brought three bits with me. I’ll use the smallest one first. I can always make the hole bigger if I need to. I take the bit out of the chest pocket on my shirt. My hands are shaky. I drop the bit before it’s locked in.

I don’t know why I’m so anxious. I shouldn’t be nervous. This is my house. It’s my drill. All this is mine. And this will be a small, almost invisible hole. There’s nothing to it.

I wipe my hands on my pants and take a breath. I squeeze the trigger softly, barely starting it. The engine whines. It goes through the wall easily. I don’t push too hard. I don’t need to rush. It takes longer than I thought. But then I feel the wall give way. I take the drill out and blow into the hole. I bring my face up to it and look through. It’s not a big hole but it’s effective.

It’s amazing how much you can see from such a tiny hole. I can see his bed. I can see his pillows. I can see one of his bags. Finally, a shift in the balance of power.