Page 2 of Throttle

If I’m lucky enough, I’d sneak out and use Gabe’s home as a fuck station, with his parents' working nights and his nanny slash maid being the deepest sleeper I’ve ever met. It made it easy.

“Yeah, well, can’t give them mine, and you know that. My father will disown me.” I blow out smoke and lie back, letting the blistering sun bask on my skin. “Ship me off to the reserves.”

Bringing a girl to my house would guarantee punishment. Wants me to focus on my senior year. Get into a worthy college. Then come back here and start my life preaching the fantastic word. Like that’s ever going to happen.

Fuck that.

“Seems like that chick is already obsessed with you. Better cut it off real fast or she’s going to be crying and begging you to love her, dude.”

Ha. What fantasy shit. My parents are supposed to love each other but look at them—their lives revolve around a world with a singing choir.

No thanks. I fail to comprehend the allure.

“She’ll get the point. I don’t love, and the girls know it.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

I envy Gabe sometimes. Jealous of his life. His parents allow him to do whatever he wants. They trust him. I crave to experience that affection and what it’s like, just once.

“So, your pops let you off the hook yet for the weed he caught you with?”

I laugh, wishing that was true. “If only. I’ll be hearing about it for the rest of the school year.”

My parents searched my room and found my stash. Locked up my dirt bike in the shed and told me I wasn’t allowed to ride it until I proved myself. Guess sneaking isn’t proving myself, but whatever. How else am I supposed to get through Sundays with Reverend Miller? Or any day living with them.

Some would argue my life is far from bad, and they’d be right to a certain extent. Sure, I’m fed, clothed with a roof over my head, but that’s about it. Ask me if they can name my favorite movie. My favorite book. I’ve never had a tuck in with a kiss, telling me to dream sweet fucking dreams.

I miss my bike, though. Racing. Winning. It’s an escape out of all this shit.

Gabe chucks his roll onto the grass. “I better get back. My parents want me to go over colleges with them.”

“Ouch.” But my stomach swirls in envy. Not that I want to attend college, but the fact his parents give a damn.

“Yeah. Fuck me. Whatever, see you at school tomorrow.”

“Later.” I watch Gabe descend the hill and wish I could go with him and never come back.

I sat through the boring ass brunch with the boring old people, all while my mom kept eyeing me with disdain. There was no hiding the smell of marijuana, and I’m prepared for the lecture I was going to hear at home. But my father couldn't care less about me at the moment. He’s playing good guy while smiling and shaking hands with the townsfolk. The leader they all like to admire.

What a beloved man around here. Such a nice guy, they say. Hilarious. If they only saw him behind closed doors. Such a dedicated family father.

I stuff about three stale donuts down my throat and guzzle some orange juice, all the while my mom glares at me.

Fuck. She knows.

When we get home, the front door slams behind me, and all hell breaks loose. “Levi Matthew Miller. How high are you?” My mom stands with her fisted hands at her hips.

“Come here, boy, right now.” My dad’s deep and rumbled voice echoes off the walls.

I’d be lying if I said he didn’t scare me a little. My father has never hit me, but I wouldn’t take it off the table.

I descend the stairs, the ones I made halfway up, and stand in front of my dad. He’s intimidating with his height and build. But at seventeen, I almost meet his eyes with mine.

He studies my pupils. “What is wrong with you? You’re getting high at church. On the lord’s day. What kind of image do you want to keep setting for this family? Huh?”

“It’s embarrassing, Levi.” My mom wipes a tear off her cheek.

“You’re upsetting your mother and making me look like a damn fool. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

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