Disclaimer- Stephenie Meyer owns all.
Prologue
EPOV
I never felt alive. I mean, sure, I was living and breathing, but I no longer had a purpose, and every day, it was the same routine over and over again. My hopes and dreams had ended years ago, and I couldn't remember the last time that I had thought about a career. I knew that I was never going to stop working, I knew that my family would always be in poverty. No matter how many hours I worked, or how hungry I got, I was aware that nothing would change.
Once, when I had been a boy, I was probably like everyone else and dreamed of being an astronaut or something. But, our continuous debt always reminded me that I couldn't be better. I tried to give Alice as best a life as she could have given our circumstances. She had a tiny college fund that I had started a long time ago, but that would never be enough for her. At least her grades were good, so maybe she could get a scholarship somewhere, and we would find some way to pay off her loans.
My father was useless. Every time I came home late, I would always see him passed out on the couch, and I would tell Alice to go to bed if she was still up, but she knew, despite how hard I tried not to involve her. My father had essentially passed on the responsibilities that he should've had to me, and I didn't appreciate it. I'd had some friends in high school and retained a couple, but none that I could keep for very long since I barely had any time to myself.
Dreams were for the fortunate, and it was a shame, but I had reality to deal with, and couldn't hope to make a better life for myself.
BPOV
I had friends, I had a good family, and a safe home. Overall, I didn't have much to complain about, but I always felt like there was something missing. I knew what I wanted to do with my future, and there didn't seem to be many obstacles in my way. Becoming a psychologist was possible, and I looked forward to helping people.
However, I'd always wanted adventure in my life. I was quite content living this way, and continuing wouldn't be a problem, but I always wondered if there was more out there that I could do or experience. I knew that complaining while I was this comfortable was selfish, and my friends told me I was slightly naive.
Would I ever find the adventure that I was craving? Everyone that I knew led comfortable lives as well, but they never talked to me about wanting something more. Perhaps, what I was wanting was dumb, and even I didn't know what it was. If I ever came across it, would I even know?
In the future, I vowed to do my best to find what this extra thrill could be.