Carson bolted upright.

“Carson? Are you okay?”

He nodded, feeling exactly the opposite.

“Yeah, I’m…” he stammered. “I just gotta use the bathroom.”

He waddled past the TV, into the bedroom, wincing with every step. His hole was still tender, fucked so raw he could hardly walk.

He could still feel the man inside him.

But the same feeling that had given him so much comfort only moments before now filled him with disgust.

He closed the bathroom door behind him with a shaky hand, his vision growing dangerously blurry. He made his way to the sink and stuck his head in the basin, opening his mouth, hoping to throw up. But nothing came. He wished it would. Wished he could rid himself of his impurity.

He caught his reflection in the mirror--his eyes bloodshot, his face bone pale. As if he’d seen a ghost.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to look at his phone. To investigate this further. He had to know the truth.

He looked down and scrolled through the images, praying for an inconsistency. But the photos were all there, years and years of evidence. The proof was undeniable.

Mr. Armisen was his ex’s father.

He heard a knock on the door.

“Carson? Are you okay in there?”

“Uh-huh,” he gasped, feeling a wave of nausea.

How was he going to get out of this? He could lie, tell Armisen he had changed his mind. That he needed to go home. His roommate had cancer. He had cancer. Anything to get him out of this situation. Anything to avoid telling him the truth.

But then a darker, far more frightening thought occurred to him.

What if Mr. Armisen already knew?

Carson replayed the weekend through his mind, every word echoing in his brain. Mr. Armisen liked him, he said. He trusted him, he said. A sweet kid. A boy he barely knew.

“Carson, buddy. Open up, please.”

The door flew open, and Armisen looked up to see the bellboy standing in the doorway.

Mr. Armisen’s face fell. “Carson--?”

“Do you know who I am?”

The giant’s eyes squirmed. “What do you mean?”

“When you met me,” Carson said, trembling with panic, seething with rage. “Did you know I had been with Tyler?”

Mr. Armisen opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All of the smooth confidence that Carson had once thought defined him was gone.

“I did,” he finally admitted.

Carson nodded. “Goodbye, Mr. Armisen.”

He stormed past the man, bumping into his shoulder, nearly knocking the giant backwards.

“Hey!” he bellowed. “Where are you going?”

Carson didn’t say a word. He picked up his backpack off the bedroom floor and flung it over his shoulder. He slipped on his flip flops without missing a step and headed for the living room.

“Wait!” the giant called after him, limping. His voice desperate, unrecognizable. “I can explain!”

But Carson didn’t want to hear it. All he wanted to do was escape this awful suite, this nightmare of a hotel, this palace turned prison.

“Baby…”

 He felt a callused hand on his wrist.

“Get off me!” Carson screamed. He turned to face the man and spat on him, a glob of saliva striking the Goliath right in the eye.

His grip broke, and the giant stumbled back on his sprained ankle.

CRUNCH.

The scattered shards of Armisen’s broken wine glass sank into his heel.

The man howled, a puppy’s pitiful howl. But Carson had no compassion for it. No compassion for him at all.

He slammed the door behind without even glancing behind.

* * *

The Miami streets were dark and frightening at this hour. Cars sped past, bringing waves of loud music and drunken laughter. Carson shivered in the warm wind and thundered down the sidewalk, hot tears streaming down his face.

He had no clue what direction he was heading in. His only impulse was to flee. But with every step, his drive diminished. Where was he going to go?

Suddenly a white car pulled up beside him. The window rolled down. And Mr. Armisen’s sad, bearded face peered out to him.

“Carson,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk to me,” the boy said, picking up his pace.

But he couldn’t outrun the vehicle. Armisen revved up the engine and rolled right alongside him.

“Please, just get in here. I want to talk.”

“No!”

Carson kicked the car as hard as he could, leaving a scratch.

“Hey!” Armisen cried out, looking down. “C’mon, this is a rental!”

“Take it out of my fucking paycheck.”

He turned down a corner where Armisen couldn’t follow him. But he heard the brakes screech behind, and turned around to see the giant hobbling out of the car, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a T-shirt. He walked stiffly on his sprained ankle, dragging his bloody glassed foot behind him.

The man’s determination was terrifying. Carson tore down the block as fast he could, the summer wind roaring in his ears. Armisen’s voice echoed after him.

“Carson! You know I can’t run!”

He heard the slap of bare feet behind him, an awkward, stumbling gait like a zombie. Mr. Armisen grunting, heaving with effort. Then the scrape of pavement as he slipped to the ground.

Carson turned around, half a block ahead of him, to see the man collapsed on the sidewalk, tucking in his knee and gasping in pain.

Seeing him there, laid out on the ground, Carson felt his heart soften. Hardly believing what he was doing, he walked back over to Mr. Armisen, curled up under the flickering red glow of an OPEN sign, and offered a hand.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Carson and Armisen were sitting in a booth, the sole patrons of a 24-hour-diner, clutching steaming mugs of coffee. Neither of them drank. Armisen looked down at his cup while Carson stared out the window.

“I thought you knew,” the man said finally.

Carson turned to face him. Armisen avoided his gaze.

“That’s a lie.”

“No, it’s not,” said Mr. Armisen, looking up. “I would have thought--”

“How could I know who you were?” Carson asked accusingly. “I never met you!”

“In two and a half years you never saw a picture of me?”

“No,” said Carson. “Tyler hardly ever talked about you. He hates you.”

Armisen looked down at his mug.

“What I don’t understand is, why don’t you have the same last name?”

“He has my name,” Armisen insisted.

“His name is Tyler Rivera.”

“No, it’s Tyler Armisen-Rivera.” Armisen paused, pain flickering across his face. “So. He goes by his mother’s last name now, does he?”

“I guess he does,” Carson said, looking down at his coffee.

“Makes sense,” said Mr. Armisen. “I guess he wants nothing to do with me.”

“Well, why would he?” Carson said, slamming down his mug so that the coffee splashed, surprising himself with the rage in his voice. “After the way you treated his mother? After the way you treated him? You have no idea how your fucking around has impacted people. How it traumatized him. How it affected me.”

Armisen looked up, his eyes gleaming. Carson sniffed, a lump forming in his throat, feeling the tears well up inside him. He forced them down. No way would he cry for this man.

“You?” Armisen asked, completely disarmed.

“Yes,” Carson said, feeling his eyes burning. “Do you have any idea how that would fuck you up? To have your dad screwing other women all your life? And your mom has no choice but to swallow her pride or lose everything? And when you finally do get into a relationship, you carry all that shit with you. You were in my relationship every step of the way, putting up walls between us. You--” His voice broke. “You ruined us.”

“I thought you cheated on him?”

Carson looked away, feeling a stab of guilt inside him. “Well,” he said, biting his lip. “When you’re paranoid and constantly accusing your boyfriend of being a cheater… eventually that’s what he’ll become.”

He shook his head. But he couldn’t shake the feeling. The open wound of a first love that would never close, never heal.

Certainly not now.

Carson looked up at Mr. Armisen’s face, as if seeing him for the first time. His crow’s feet, the grey in his beard, the thinness of hair. All these features he once thought made him look distinguished revolted him now. They were just the markings of an aging man. And his manly musk that used to intoxicate him was just sweat and cigars, the stench of tobacco.

He couldn’t believe he’d let this smelly old man come inside him.

“I never would have fucked you if I’d known who you were,” he growled.

“I… I couldn’t tell if you recognized me when I saw you at the Bravard,” Armisen admitted, his forehead wrinkled with guilt. “I thought you might know… But that you didn’t care… Still, I felt this connection…”

“What connection?” Carson spat. “How can you fuck someone who’s been with your son? I just don’t get it,” he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You fuck around all the time. You could have any woman you wanted. Any man you pleased. Why did you choose me?”

“Because,” Armisen said, slamming his hands on the table, looking weak, looking broken. “I knew you’d be discreet.”

He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders racking with sobs. Carson’s heart pulled him in all directions, a little towards pity, a little towards loathing. But now he understood. He was never chosen for his body, his looks, his humor, his personality, his heart. It was all because of Tyler.

“You have no idea what it’s like in this business,” Armisen continued. “If someone overhears you brought a girl back to the hotel, it’s a slap on the back. A wink in the hallway. But when the guys at the office hear that you’ve fucked around with dudes… I couldn’t trust just anyone…”

His voice broke. Carson pressed his lips together and nodded.

“So you never really wanted me,” he said.

Armisen looked up. “No! No, no, no! I like you, Carson! I do! You were amazing. The best guy I’ve ever been with, the most--”

“Stop, stop,” Carson said, raising a hand and wincing. “Please. I’m going to throw up.”

Armisen leaned forward and put a hand on Carson’s thigh.

His touch was electric, tender, sending Carson spinning through a reel of memories--Mr. Armisen stepping out of the shower. Leaning against the tree. Sitting up in the bathtub. Hunched over at the bar. Fucking him from behind.

All he wanted was to surrender to that time, to that magical version of this mysterious man in his life--sexy and mature and slick and smooth and fuzzy and strong and grinning and beautiful.

Carson closed his eyes and exhaled.

Armisen watched him carefully and ventured further, sliding his arm under the table, bringing his warm, strong hand into the crux of Carson’s legs, over his crotch.

The boy leaned back, submitting himself to the man’s touch.

Armisen gently caressed him with his long, delicate fingers, feeling Carson’s penis harden beneath him. Then he slipped under his pants, brushing his pubic hair, reaching for his cock--

“So? You boys ready to order something else?”

Carson’s eyes jerked open, looking up at a middle-aged waitress caked in makeup.

“No,” he stammered, sliding Armisen’s hand out of his pants. He looked over at the man. “I think we’re done here.”

She nodded and ripped out a check.

“Just bring this to the register when you’re ready,” she said, and walked away.

Armisen’s face fell. “So. It’s really over?”

“Yeah, David,” said Carson. “It’s really over.”

Armisen’s eyes started to water. “Just stay the night.”

“No--”

“Please,” he said, pulling out his wallet, handing up a fistful of cash. “Just come back to the hotel…”

“No!” Carson said again, slapping his hand away, sending the bills flying. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want your fucking money! I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Carson,” the man reached out and took his hand. “I’m forty-five years old. I’ve never been with a man like you. I’ll never have a night like this again. Not till I die. Please, come back to me. Just until morning.”

Carson looked down at his hand, at the groove in his finger that must have been carved out by a wedding ring.

“Okay,” he said softly.

Armisen blinked in surprise. “Okay?”

“Yes,” said Carson. “I’ll stay the night.”

Armisen beamed, wiping away a tear. “Okay. Okay. Good. Thank you.”

He pulled out his wallet again, and Carson felt his stomach turn as the man whipped out a handful of bills.

“There,” he said, sliding them towards Carson. “Will that cover it?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at the money. Disgusted with himself. “That’ll do it.” He tucked the cash into his pocket. “Can we go now?”

“Sure,” said Mr. Armisen, squeezing his hand. “I’ll just sign the check.”

It must’ve only taken thirty seconds for Armisen to get up and hobble over to the counter, handing the cashier the check, counting up the tip. But by the time he turned around, Carson was gone. A thousand dollars in cash sitting on the table.

* * *

Carson peered out the window of his Uber, the streetlights streaking his face, and watched as it began to rain.

“So?” said his driver. “Where are we headed?”

“Miami International Airport,” Carson said softly. “Domestic terminal.”

He watched the raindrops race each other down the glass.

He looked down at the carry-on at his feet as his phone began to buzz. Without a thought, he blocked David’s call and quickly deleted his number.

He stared at his Instagram, at the photo of this boy on the beach that he was not the day before. Someone he didn’t recognize. Someone, he supposed, he had become.

He saw Tyler’s flames beneath it. But it hurt too much to look at, to think of a timeline where that comment may have been the start of a conversation, maybe the first spark of a rekindling.

There was no way he could ever speak to that boy again now.

He scrolled through his messages, seeing Clarissa’s text in giant letters “WHERE R U??” and realized there was no one else he’d rather speak to.

He dialed her number and bit his lip. She answered immediately.

“Carson!” she said. “It’s four in the morning.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, covering his face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” she laughed. “I want all the details. I want to know everything about your Sugar Daddy, you little slut. How is your Pretty Woman weekend?”

He closed his eyes, feeling a wave of sadness overwhelm him. And before he could stop himself, he started to sob.

“Honey?” Clarissa answered in his hear. “Are you okay?”

Carson’s weeping grew louder.

“Baby, answer me. What’s wrong? Did he hurt you?”

Carson opened his mouth to answer, but he was dumbstruck. He just hung up the phone and looked down.

A streetlight flickered past, illuminating something in his backpack.

He reached down to examine it, and he was surprised, forgetting he had brought these with him, that he had not yet returned them. It should have been strange to find Mr. Armisen’s briefs in his backpack. But now it comforted him, like a handkerchief. This one souvenir of this strange encounter.

He took it gratefully, wiped his nose, and smiled.

TO BE CONTINUED.