Mainstream

Long Shot

Waylon sat in the waiting room. A fly landed on his hand, and he watched it walk in peace for several moments before launching back into flight. His eyes were the only things that moved when the nurse gave her reports. Time was meaningless as he sat in a miserable fog, remembering the look of disgust and betrayal in Eddie's ice blue eyes.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him from his meditation.

"Where the fuck have you been, creampie?"

Waylon turned his head a fraction of an inch and frowned.

Miles' hands are both bandaged with fingers held stationary by sturdy splints. He had changed back into the gray button down and black slacks from the previous evening.

"Oh, the silent treatment? It's three in the morning, you just missed your very first wrap party staying here, worrying about me, I know you wanna talk to me..."

"Do you have any idea how screwed I am, right now, because of you?" asked Waylon.

The severe tone made Miles perk up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you sitting there with two broken fingers in splints? Because I'm in this position because of you, ding dong."

"Oh, please, I gave you the information, you ran it at your own risk, and I wouldn't have even given you that lead if you hadn't been blackmailing me about Eddie."

"Blackmailing you?" asked Miles, putting his hands on his hips. The splints make the movement awkward. "I wanted to run a story about you dating Eddie Gluskin. If you'd let me run it that first time, I wouldn't be here right now." Miles shot the middle finger. Once again made awkward by the splints.

"You're good at that," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. "Not as good as you think, but you're good. Good at turning things around on me. Because it's my fault that you came to Nevada without being invited, photographed me without my permission, and threatened to make my relationship public when I wasn't ready. I deserved that, I suppose? Because I lived with you for so long, paying rent regularly..."

"Oh, please, you lived rent-free for the first year, unless you are counting the sex as payment, in which case..."

"I thought we were fucking dating, Miles," said Waylon, surprised when the words were choked out in his throat. God, he thought he was long over that. "I didn't pay rent because I thought we were a couple, and that you were supporting me as my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend, no one ever said that, why would you...wha..." Miles shook his head, as though the idea were an annoying rattle between his ears. "I wasn't your boyfriend, I was your boy, sure, your friend—definitely, but boyfriend..."

"I'm aware, you asshole," said Waylon, dabbing his eye to avoid any actual tears following to multiply his embarrassment. "I know that, now. But I didn't then. And I took so many fetish videos to pay you back, and you just let me. When I was beaten, torn, whipped, you only congratulated me on finally paying my share. I knew then you didn't love me..."

"Love, now we're talking about love, that's not fair, I tell you all the time I love you..."

"You never loved me the way I loved you; we weren't dating, I was naive, but I'm done letting you take advantage of me. I don't care what you did for me in the past, right now, you just caused the man I love to hate me..."

"Oh, please," said Miles, smirking, of all things. "The part about me is a misunderstanding at worst, something to talk through and laugh about later. Fucking his pal? That's all you. And you say I'm the one who's good at blaming things on other people, pop tart. Nothing's ever poor little Waylon's fault. Mommy's sick, daddy drinks, that's why he's a porn star, not because he's an insatiable cockslut."