Waylan Meyers
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
Waylan waited until the generous Richy-Rich had cleared his row before he snatched the Styrofoam containers and started digging into the still-warm food.
Goddamn, that’s good.
The heat spread through his chest like a salve, fighting against the cold that had lodged itself in his bones for months. He almost wanted to cry because something as simple as a warm meal shouldn’t feel like a luxury.
He’d forgotten how comforting a hot meal could be.
Waylan didn’t know what the pasta and creamy sauce was—or any of the other fancy foods in the containers—but he ate it all with gusto.
He was scarfing down the most delicious sushi he’d ever tasted, popping a whole one into his mouth, one after the other. He was chewing too fast and was embarrassed by the way his hands shook, regardless that he was alone.
Waylan remembered a time when he’d eaten politely, properly with chopsticks, on a date to impress the person he was with.
He grabbed a lemon-lime Gatorade and drank the whole bottle before opening another right behind it.
He didn’t care that he was using his dirty hands instead of the neat plastic cutlery that had been supplied.
He couldn’t be bothered with finesse. He hadn’t eaten in three days.
He’d had half a bottle of water and a mini bag of peanuts Ms. Rhonda had tossed him a few nights ago, but people weren’t too generous around here. It was every man and woman for himself.
Waylan’s stomach had been growling so hard it had scared him and kept him up at night. He’d wondered if Clarence would come back to find him dead, starved to death, before he finished his ten-day required sentence for begging off Highway 64.
At least his new friend had a reliable three hots-and-a-cot for the next week…he was lucky. Waylan could only squat, wait, and worry in someone else’s tent because he had nowhere else to go.
Clarence was supposed to be helping him get set up on Skid Row after Waylan had run out of public restrooms, bus stations, and libraries to hide in.
He’d been on the streets for nine months. He was still learning the rules, and there were many.
Don’t stare too long at another man’s stash. Never sleep too deeply, and never in the same spot two nights in a row. Don’t owe anybody—debts on the street don’t fade. Keep his food hidden—meals made him a target. And maybe the hardest one of all: don’t trust anyone.
He broke one of those commands at least twice a day.
That was how Clarence had found him, hiding in a storm drain—crying in a storm drain—and had taken pity on him.
Now, he was taking one more gamble by breaking the cardinal rule and accepting Clarence’s help.
What if he had died? Would anyone notice? His family sure as hell wouldn’t, and his ex-fiancé had already proven how disposable Waylan was.
After a few minutes of those thoughts, a hot spike of anger would pound in the back of his head until the ache became too much and he drifted into a fitful sleep.
When Mr. Fancy Pants with the kind eyes had literally shaken him awake, he’d thought his luck was up again, thought someone had come to chase him away for being on their turf.
Instead, he’d come face-to-face with a man so fine it’d made Waylan feel funkier and grimier than ever.
It wasn’t fair that someone be that polished and clean while Waylan was a walking heap of dirt and shame.
His first thought when he’d gotten a good look at the man wasn’t Who is he? It’d been Don’t look at me.
He’d wanted to shrink and vanish beneath the blankets because beautiful men like that didn’t look at him unless it was with mild sympathy…or disgust.
He hadn’t known Clarence long, but he had mentioned his wealthy benefactor.
Clarence had neglected to tell him his benefactor was a man with the face of an angel and the soul of a star.
It’d been ages since anyone had stirred feelings of need inside him. He hated how quickly it all came rushing back—the flutter in his chest, the ache between his…
Waylan thought that part of him had died when his heart was left at an empty altar on his wedding day.
God, why now? Why when I have nothing left inside?
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Why was the universe mocking him? Dangling something in his face that he could never have.
End of Season Two Episode Two