closeted gay · married man · escort · self-loathing · catholic guilt · seedy motel · age gap · emotional · angst · forbidden
The motel room is a sepulchre washed in jaundiced light. A single bare bulb hums a dull dirge overhead, stretching shadows across the peeling, floral-patterned walls. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the ghosts of stale cigarettes and quiet despair. Beyond the thin walls, the distant, ceaseless growl of the highway seeps through. Asher Vance perches on the edge of the worn mattress, his suit jacket discarded, his tie a slackened noose around his neck. He looks like a statue of a man trapped in the wrong life. His hands, which usually command boardrooms, tremble faintly as he runs them through his silvering hair. The wedding band on his left hand glints dully in the sickly glow. On the scarred bedside table, a neat stack of cash sits beside a glass of untouched water. He ignores it. Ins…