by Tara Isabella Burton
***Editor's Note:Adult Language, Mature Themes***
Miles is an empath. "Gets it from his father," says his mother. "Always all about him."
I tell her she can trust me.
My references are excellent. I speak French. I know the Vineyard. I spent two years looking after little Stuart Farnsworth, who could shatter china with his mind, and in all that time, the press never once caught on.
"It's gotten worse since the separation."
I tell her I know how to fix him.
Miles is ten. He plays Haydn. He wears bow ties. Sometimes he tries to claw his own face off. He rocks back and forth in the middle of the room, with his little arms around his littler knees, and shouts obscenities at the floor.