Fuck Javi.

     Tate can't sleep, lying in bed staring at his ceiling fan, thinking about the night. Javi had found his soft spot and dug a hole there, burying himself in Tate's sensitivity. How is he supposed to hate him when he's clearly sick. Tate's not that mean.

     When he'd dropped him off, he'd nearly fallen over getting out of his truck. Tate had to walk around and help him up the steps. Oscar met them at the door, his face clouded with concern. "I knew something was wrong," he'd said, sort of frantic. "I felt it."

     "Nothings wrong," Javi had said the same time Tate said, "He passed out."

     Tate was warmed by the way Oscar coddled Javi, pulling him away from Tate and hustling him into the house. He'd barely managed to thank Tate before he was rushing Javi out of sight. Tate loved Javi's parents for so many reasons. They'd been second parents to him but Oscar was the only father Tate knew. And the way Oscar fathered was fierce and devoted.

     For a long time Tate was jealous of what Javi had. Tate never knew his father. Margie and his dad were not a love story, not like Oscar and Lena. It was one night.

     Tate can't sleep and he's tired of trying.

     He finds himself on the road, driving in the dark with the windows open, enjoying the smell of the cool air. It's a waste of gas, he knows, and the price has gone up so much he knows he shouldn't be wasting it. Tate does well for himself, working for Oscar, but when you know poverty you never forget it.

     He was able to get himself a house after six months of living with Oscar and Lena after his mom lost their house. But that was because he'd starting refinishing and flipping furniture. It was just something he did for fun, he never expected it to be lucrative.

     Still, he's got a survivor's mindset when it comes to money. He's not wasteful. His mom's medical care is expensive. He's always thinking about bills, about saving, about being ready for any unplanned financial burden.

     He stops at the diner, not because he's hungry but just to not be home and not be blowing through his gas, either. It's nearing three a.m. and it's empty except for a lone trooper car in the lot.

     He takes a seat at the end of the bar. The diner's on a skeleton crew so it takes a moment before someone comes out. He doesn't recognize the waitress, a woman in her forties, who must only work the overnights.

     "Coffee?" she asks holding up the pot and he nods. "Milk and sugar?" she asks next and he nods again.

     She leaves a menu before walking away. Tate doesn't pick it up, nursing his coffee instead. He's not alone for long. When the cop walks up to him, he says, "I remember you. Speed racer."

     The cops sets his mug down and plops down on the seat next to Tate. "Do you remember me?" he asks, eyes twinkling at Tate.

     Tate nods slowly. "I remember you."

     "Good," he says. "I'd hate to be unremarkable." Tate doesn't say anything so he goes on. "What're you doing out here at this hour?"

     "Getting an early start on my day, I guess," Tate shrugs. "I assume you're on duty?"

     "I am," he says, looking Tate in the eye as he grins. "But it's a slow night."

     That's how Tate finds himself in the backseat of a squad car with Matt. He wasn't at all surprised when he'd made some honestly cringe comment about wanting to see what the inside of cop car looks like. He'd have been more impressed if Matt had just come out with it straight. Or crooked, he supposes.

     Still, he goes. Matt's good looking, dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. An all-American boy. He's an okay kisser, but it's been a while for Tate so he'll take what he can get. Matt's not really all that interested in kissing for long anyway, guiding Tate's hand to his leg, and shifting it up towards his dick that's hard and pressing against his 5/11s.

     Tate is filth. He's never had a good boyfriend, never had a good anything, and that's really the way he likes it. He blows Matt because what he gets out of it is much deeper than physical pleasure. Sometimes you have to feel worse for anything to feel better.

     It's nice too, to take a man like Matt, and render him a sputtering, needy mess of sounds. He's doing all the things Tate does not like though. Bucking his hips hard into the back of his throat and holding his head in place. He can handle face fucking but only when he's sitting upright. Being hunched over his lap does something to the length of his neck. Maybe it's mental but he just knows he doesn't like it.

     Matt wouldn't know this of course. Generally, you don't assume someone's okay with you fucking their face without asking though. Proper etiquette. Matt doesn't last long and in continuation with his shitty blowie behavior, he cums in Tate's mouth without asking or warning him.

     That pisses Tate off so he doesn't even attempt to swallow, spitting it out on his dick so it makes a mess on his pants. Matt's still in the afterglow, doesn't immediately notice, trying to catch his breath. He's petting Tate's head gently, which is kind of nice, but doesn't make up for it.

     "Thanks," Matt says breathlessly.

     Tate leans away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Sorry, made a mess," Tate says as a parting gift before he gets out.

     "Oh shit," Matt says, wiping at his lap. "Wait, where ya going?"

     "Home," Tate says standing outside the car.

     Matt leans over so he can see Tate. "I get off at seven, if you want to come over to my place. We can pick this back up."

     "Maybe some other time," Tate says before he walks away. He doesn't really believe in eliminating his options, just limiting them.

❂

     The first day that Javi spends in bed, unmoving, Oscar leaves him. He only comes in to bring him food and his medicine that Javi painstakingly takes. The second day, Oscar visits him more, prodding him to get out of bed. On the third day, he begs Javi to get out of bed so Javi joins him for breakfast but then Oscar leaves for work and Javi crawls back under his sheet.

     His thoughts are not friendly. Now that he's let Montgomery in, he can't get him out. And Montgomery is cruel. He says all the worst things Javi knows to be true.

     Javi is never leaving his bed again. He's going to die here. Poetic, he thinks, considering how much happened in this bedroom. All his best memories live here. And if he could die inside a memory, he'd like it to be one that was made in this bed.

     Javi isn't asleep but he's not fully awake when he hears Oscar get home. He listens to the door and then the footsteps. Oscar is a man of routine. He eats dinner first, showers, and then he puts on Jeopardy. This has been his routine for as long as Javi can remember and he's never gotten any better at Jeopardy in all that time. In fact, he seems to only get worse. No matter how bad he actually is at it, though, it doesn't deter his interest.

     Javi isn't even really surprised when Oscar knocks and then opens his bedroom door. Javi's face down in bed with the sheet pulled up over his head. Oscar is silent as he whips the sheet back. Javi frowns into his pillow. Rude.

     "Get up," Tate barks.

     Javi flips over in bed, shocked. The movements too hard and too fast, sending him flying over the edge of the bed. He clips the nightstand on the way down with a loud groan. Tate moves, coming to the side where Javi is, towering over him.

     "Not exactly what I meant," Tate says.

     Javi is pressing his hand to his eye. His eyebrow is pulsing in pain. "What are you doing here?" he asks, fuming.

     Tate squats down beside Javi on the floor. He looks Javi in his one eye. "Oscar is beside himself because you decided to bring whatever illness you have to his doorstep. Stop being so selfish and pull it together."

     Javi is taken aback. Tate was never like this with him. He would have never spoken to anyone like that. He's not wrong and that's maybe what makes it hurt the most.

     "You're right," Javi responds quietly.

     Tate looks surprised, shrinking back. Then he squares his shoulders and stands back up. "I know I am," he says finally. "We're having dinner in the kitchen."

     Javi waits till Tate's clear of his room before he lets his tears fall. He doesn't give himself longer than a minute before he wipes his face and walks to the bathroom. When he joins them in the kitchen for dinner, Oscar seems genuinely surprised to see him. Tate's expression gives nothing away, though.

     "We got pizza," Oscar says cheerfully.

     Javi forces himself to smile, taking a seat next to Tate at the table. If he closes his eyes, he's transported through time. He's in this seat. He's fourteen. His mom's made tamales and Tate's sitting beside him downing his third like a snake swallowing his food whole. Lena is laughing at him but she's also flattered by how much Tate enjoys her cooking.

     It's tense and quiet as they pull slices onto plates and start eating. Javi tries to break it with, "So how was work?"

     His dad nods. "It was good. Do anything today?"

     Javi quiets, shaking his head. He's done what he's been doing. Slept. They're transported back into silence.

     This time Tate breaks the silence. Javi still isn't sure why he's even here. "So you were in DC?" he clearly asks Javi, glancing at him as he bites into his slice.

     Javi nods. "Yes," he says simply.

     "What were you doing there?" Tate asks next. Oscar watches them both carefully.

     Javi answers, "I worked for a congressman."

     "Yeah but what did you do?" Tate repeats.

     What did Javi do? Anything Montgomery wanted. And Montgomery was depraved. He'd once had Javi on his knees under his desk with the door wide open to his office. He could hear everyone passing. He had never felt impending doom quite like that.

     "A lot of paperwork," Javi says finally. "And a lot of reading. Some campaign work in the last few months, now that he's up for re-election."

     This isn't interesting and it's not at all what he wants to be talking about so he'd really like it if Tate would stop asking questions. But of course he doesn't. "And how'd you get this job?"

     "I applied for it," Javi says simply.

     Tate nods. "Mhm," he says like he doesn't quite believe him. "So where'd you go when you left?"

     "Tate," Oscar warns.

     "Aren't you curious Oscar? How your son was able to just pack up and leave at nineteen with no money?"

     Javi swallows and nearly lodges a piece of pizza in his throat. He swallows again. What does he even say to that? His bid for telling the truth is about to come to a hard stop. He won't tell his dad what he did it to save him. 

     He met Montgomery on a site specifically for sexual-monetary exchanges. But Montgomery promised Javi more than that, he promised him a career, a life outside of his small town. So Javi took it.

     "Excuse me," Javi says standing. Neither of them stop him from leaving.

❂

     Oscar watches Javi go and then his gaze falls to Tate. "Please," he says. "Be easy on him."

     "Why are you going so easy on him?" Tate demands. "This isn't like you."

     "What am I supposed to do Tate? I'm not going to push him away again. He's finally home."

     Tate fumes in his seat. "So that's it? Because he's home, he gets a pass for destroying everything."

     Oscar tilts his head. "You'd rather I punish him for something he's clearly punished himself for?"

     Tate rolls his eyes. "Has he? Because he's not acting like it."

     "Then you're not paying attention, Tate."

     Tate balks, swallowing harshly. Okay, so maybe he could see that Javi felt bad about it all and that he was maybe even holding it against himself a little. Tate didn't know if there was a way to constitute it. How much pain made up for Tate's pain?

     He sighs heavily and then says, "So you know what's wrong with him."

     Oscar nods. "Yes, I do."

     "Well he won't tell me," Tate says, annoyed, sitting back and crossing his arms.

     Oscar shrugs. "Why would he, Tate? You're still punishing him."

     Tate frowns. "I'm not trying to punish him." Oscar makes a face. "I just — I get so mad. I don't get it. I don't get why he left, why he cut us all out of his life like we meant nothing."

     "You can't walk around mad forever. It's a terrible way to live. It'll make you rot in reverse." Oscar stands, stacking his paper plate onto Javi's before he reaches for Tate's. "You know you didn't mean nothing to him. You'll never mean nothing to him."

      Tate finds Javi on the front porch, leaning against the banister smoking a cigarette. "You smoke now?" he asks surprised.

     Every time Tate looks at him he looks less and less like the Javi he once loved. He looks so tired, dark circles under his droopy eyes, his cheeks sunken in like he's been on some extreme diet for the last six months. He looks really freaking bad.

     Javi shrugs. "It helps."

     "Helps with what?" Tate asks. Javi doesn't answer, taking another long drag. Tate shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, rocking on his feet. His next question is surprisingly gentle. "Are you ever going to tell me the truth?"

     Javi politely blows the smoke in the opposite direction of Tate, and then stubs his cigarette out. His gaze is sharp when it lands on Tate. "What truth do you want Tate? What can I say that'll make it all worth it or enough in your eyes?"

     "I don't know," Tate admits softly. "But you should still try the truth. We'll see if that's enough."

     Javi looks at Tate levelly and then he looks past him, at his house. "Take a walk with me," he says finally. He doesn't wait to see if Tate will agree, just walks off the porch and starts for the road.

     Tate follows, because old habits.

     Javi is quiet for the first few minutes of their walk. "I needed money, Tate. That's why I left."

     Tate mulls that over. "How much money?"

     What he really means to say is why didn't you just ask Oscar? But what he also wants to know is what did he need money for? Javi worked as soon as he was old enough to start working. He worked in the diner, and he mowed lawns, and did odd jobs. He made money every way he could growing up.

     "A lot. Too much. I was never going to be able to get it on my own."

     "What did you need that kind of money for? And why didn't you ask your parents for help?"

     "Because I needed the money to help my parents. Oscar owed over thirty grand in taxes."

     "Shit," Tate says taken aback.

     Javi never, he never told him that. Tate can vividly recall struggling growing up. He was raised by a single mom. There were days where if Oscar and Lena hadn't fed him, he wouldn't have eaten. Javi knew this. He was always open with Javi about that kind of stuff. He doesn't understand why Javi wouldn't have been open about it back.

     "So help me understand this," Tate says finally. "Oscar owed taxes. So you left to go work in DC and what exactly? Found someone who could make it disappear?"

     Javi laughs dryly. "I fucking wish. No. No, I found someone who saw thirty grand as a drop in the bucket. He paid it off and in return, for two years, I worked for him for free. Available at all hours, for all types of work."

     Something about it doesn't sit well with Tate. Maybe it's the way all the color's drained from Javi's face as he speaks. "Thirty grand's basically an assistant's yearly salary. And probably on the low end. Two years doesn't seem fair."

     "Yeah, well I guess there was interest," Javi says with a shrug. "I was a grunt but I was learning things I never would have had access to under normal circumstances. And after the two years, he kept me on an as a field rep and I worked my way up. I'm nothing, Tate, no one. I had no reason to be in the position I was in."

     Tate feels the heaviness of Javi's words. He's not nothing. He'd never been nothing to Tate.

     But what he said, it actually makes too much sense. "So then why were you? What did you bring to the table that someone more qualified didn't?"

     Tate watches Javi, looking for clues. Javi stares straight ahead, his pace quickening so Tate has to widen his steps to keep up. He chews on his bottom lip nervously. Tate knows he's not saying something, or at least avoiding having to say it.

     He presses, "What else did you do for him? What was all types of work?"

     "Drop it, Tate," Javi mumbles. "I did what I had to do. My dad doesn't have any problems with the IRS now and I'm a state director. So I did what I had to."

     "And what did you have to do Javi? Because you were only nineteen. Still basically a kid. I'm curious what you could've offered a senator at that time he couldn't find elsewhere with people more qualified."

     Javi comes to a halt. Tate stops too but he doesn't relent. "Unless of course he wasn't looking for someone who was qualified because it wasn't that kind of work he needed you for. So I'm asking you again, Javi, what did you have do?"

     "Stop it," Javi says weakly. There's sweat above his brow and he's incredibly pale for someone who is normally very brown.

     Tate steps in front of Javi, dipping his head so he can make eye contact. "That's it, isn't it? He didn't give you a thirty k starting bonus. He bought you for thirty thousand dollars. You were his, weren't you?"

     Javi screams, stunning Tate long enough for him to shove him back. Tate goes back a few steps and then stops, surprised by the force given how small Javi is now. Javi's keeled over at the hips, panting. When he rights himself, his cheeks are tear stained.

     "Is this what you want to hear, Tate? Will this make you feel better? Yes, okay? I sold myself to a fucking senator to save my dad. I was his to do with whatever he wanted." Javi's voice drops. He's out of breath. "And he did. He did whatever he wanted. Okay? That's the whole truth."

     Tate's stomach twists uncomfortably. He wants to scream, too. Javi, Javi his best friend and his first love. This was what he'd lost him to? It was so much easier when Javi was just the villain, someone who wanted better and so he ditched his small town life and small town family.

     Tate blinks back his tears. "Javi, you were, you were nineteen. That's not, that can't be legal. He should be in jail not on a congress seat. Who even was it?"

     Javi shakes his head quickly. "I'm not telling you that."

     Tate clenches his fists. His next words are sharp and Javi actually flinches. "You have to tell me."

    Javi looks up, meeting his gaze. Tears dribble down his face that he quickly wipes away. Tate hates that he did this, forced this to the surface, but he needed to know, he needed to understand where Javi was and why he never came back. He never thought. He would have never thought this was what had happened.

     "This can get you killed, Tate," Javi says seriously. "This can get me killed."

     Tate's brain is running in circles. Javi, nineteen, with a congressman—so he'd have to be at least thirty. And they meet online. But Javi's a kid. He's a desperate kid who feels he has to save his dad and this guy offers him thirty thousand dollars in no uncertain terms. Javi gets the money, and he gets the sexual benefits for two years. He stole his youth, he stole Javi.

     Tate shakes his head frantically. "He doesn't get to just get away it."

     "He's already gotten away with it, Tate," he responds simply. Tate watches Javi deflate, resigned. "It's done. It was years ago, anyway. There's nothing you can do about it."

     "It's sick, Javi," Tate says disgusted.

     Javi flinches, and then nods once before turning around. "Thanks," he says.

     Tate immediately feels guilty. "I didn't mean it like that. I just — what he did to you. He was an adult and you were a child."

     "I was nineteen. I was not a child. And I made a choice. I'd do it again."

     "You'd do it again?" He can't disguise the disgust in his tone.

     Javi's already started walking back, his shoulders hanging low, defeated. He says so simply, "My dad has a green card but he is not a citizen. They wouldn't have gone easy on him and he didn't have the money to pay it back. They'd have taken his house, his business, he'd have nothing."

     Javi looks back over his shoulder. His expression is haunted. "So yes, Tate, I'd do it again."