"More than anything, I tried to push away the fact that my power was beginning to dictate my decisions. It was stripping away my inhibitions and my fears, and as much as I dreaded to admit it - my morality."
Miles Boswell and August Sylvan are two t...
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Miles
My name is Miles Boswell, and at some point in this story you're probably going to hate me. I figured it was important for you to know that before you judge me too harshly later on. I mean, what can I say? I'm kind of an asshole and I don't really feel bad about it. And if you're looking for a morality story where the main character goes through some kind of transformation and comes out being a better person for it -- you're not going to find it here. But no matter what you're looking for, you're in for a wild ride.
Let's get the boring stuff out of the way -- I'm seventeen, a senior in high school, and I live in the San Fernando Valley. Where the hell is that, you may ask? It's about 40 minutes north of Los Angeles in Southern California, and right about now at the tail end of summer it's still a robust 95 degrees on average. Even though the Valley is notorious for a bunch of iconic 80s movies and the city that I live in, Reseda, is specifically mentioned in a Tom Petty song, this place truly sucks. I'm sure everybody says that about where they grew up, but I don't think those people have ever been here. It's like...imagine an area full of people who never did anything with their lives and just took the first dead-end job they could find immediately after graduating (or hell, even dropping out of) high school. And then they figured that they were never going to do anything more with their lives, so then they start families and the cycle continues. Fuck that. Not me. I'm getting the hell out of this place.
But in the meantime...
"Mom?" I asked as sweetly as possible. It was Saturday morning, and there was a concert that I desperately wanted to go to that night. My mom was in the process of doing laundry so I reached into the hamper and started helping her sort clothes into piles that she had already created.
She looked over at me, brushing a wayward strand of hair out of her face that was covering what I'm pretty sure was the hint of a black eye. I frowned, and she immediately looked away. "What, Miles," she replied in exasperation.
I wanted to tell her that she shouldn't let my piece of shit father hit her like that. I wanted to tell her that if she and my little brother Blaine and I ran away from him, we'd be fine. We'd figure it out. But I know she didn't want to hear those things.
"I wish --" but I paused, and bit my tongue from saying what I wanted to say. I would stay the course for now, and worry about how I could talk some sense into her later. "There's a concert I really want to go to tonight, and I know what you're going to say but --"
"Miles, school starts in two days," she interrupted.
"I know, but Mom, it's Strung Out! I haven't seen them in forever and they're one of my favorites," I pressed on, continuing to help her with the laundry in the hopes that it would soften her up.
She shook her head, but I could tell she wasn't committed to it. "You'll be too tired for school on Monday. Have you even gotten your backpack together yet?" she asked, but she was distant. She had other things on her mind.
