As far back as I can remember, every time I got into trouble with Miles he never hit me, no matter how much I thought I deserved it. He never raged at me, even when I would've called myself an idiot and only been telling the truth. There was never a furious "What were you thinking?" let alone the familiar "Wow, James, just how stupid are you?" that I get more than enough of from guys at school anyway. Miles was above all that.
Instead of feeling angry at me, he felt the anger I kept inside and couldn't get rid of. He felt hurt for my hurt. And for a moment, he would die inside as he felt the waves of my pain and rage, the uncontrollable anger that I had tried and failed to control. And he would shake his head, and his shoulders would slump forwards just a little, as if he thought he had just failed me, instead of the other way around.
We'd both sit quietly for some time and look down instead of at each other.
In the silence, I always knew what Miles would end up saying when he could speak again. I would say it to myself again and again in my mind. It was the same thing every time, and he'd always say it the same way, his seeming quiet calmness betrayed only as his voice broke and cracked. Whenever he said it, his grey eyes looked like they could bore holes in me but were too tired to try.
"Self-destruction is not an option when there're people who need you, James." The slight break in his voice drove the words home for him, few as they were. Miles didn't use words he didn't need. Then he would slowly stand and leave me alone. He never raised a hand to me. He knew there was no point in it. That one sentence was enough, and more than enough. The heavy pain in Miles' eyes as he left was far worse than a kick in the pants for making me feel just awful.
I just read over what I've written so far, and I realize that this is a confusing beginning to my story. Sorry about that.
But you'll see that I had to write about Miles first. I wouldn't know any of what had happened to me it if he didn't finally tell me after seventeen years of keeping it to himself. And that day I made him break a promise. I would have never known who I really am if Miles hadn't broken the only promise he'd ever made to my mom—the promise that he would never tell me who she was and why she gave away her baby.