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."
