(You're my) Numbing Cream - the menendez brothers

SURVIVING

Erik's perspective:
4 months later

i wake up in a pool of sweat, still in a state of nothing, stuck in the few moments before your brain catches up with your body where you have no thoughts on your mind at all.

As always, that feeling seems to dissipate, and my mind painfully awakens completely.
groggy from last night, i sit up and look around the room. my head starts to pound and my skin starts to crawl. I slowly gain back my senses and start to move my hands frantically around me to feel the bed. my eyes slowly adjust but remain hazy. it doesn't take me long to realise that i had slept in lyles room in the guest house.

I take a few breaths of relief before I stretch my arms, pulling them forwards and then throwing them backwards to reveal the entirety of my torso. my vision slowly becomes clear as i slide myself up and off of the bed carefully, trying not to stress my low iron. my back aches and my head feels like it's being smashed in.

the suns rays find there way into the room through the sheer curtains draped carelessly over the window, landing on my skin gently making me look golden.

I stand next to the bed and start to look around the room.
Not to my surprise, I find bottles and bottles of alcohol surrounding the bed. I knew there was a reason for me being in the guest house without a memory of getting here.
It's pretty much the norm for me now, to not remember the previous night after waking up.

I turn to the wooden bedside table sat next to the bed and find a letter that seemed to be written by lyle.

i pick up the flimsy piece of paper, reading:

"erik, ive gone out with Stacy for a couple hours. i know coach is setting up and waiting for you down at the tennis courts. ive left some pancakes and water out for you in the kitchen which Stacy made, she knows you love them so she made extra. please lockup the guest house when you leave and drink as much water as you can. -lyle"

Ever since the night of the murder, I had vowed to myself to never bring Lyle down with me, no matter how deep I drown. Lyle seemed to always do better than me, especially emotionally. Of course he was distraught and in horrible condition after the death of our parents, who wouldn't be. But it didn't seem to affect him like it did to me. It had been 4 months since then, and he wasn't getting wasted, drinking his body weight in alcohol every night.
He was so much stronger than me, and in a way I have always wanted to be like him. but I know that this whole thing, deep down really hit him hard. I've seen him, multiple times, at his worst, and I just can't bare to see him again like I saw him that night.

That's why I've promised not to drag him down with me. He has a whole life in front of him, it's not his effrontery to constantly take care of me and make sure I'm okay. I try not to rely on Lyle to care for me, but he still manages to find ways to do so. I appreciate it a lot, but I don't want to be the reason he holds his life back just to make sure I can move on like he has.

Regardless, I smile at the letter he wrote, shamefully getting giddy about stacy's pancakes.

I place the letter back down on the wooden table and walk over to the window in the middle of the room, opening the curtains with a gentle push to welcome the suns ray. the golden glow devours me, lighting up every inch of the room.

Sometimes I forget how beautiful the world can be. As a kid, I loved nature more than I loved anything else. In a way, I've lost touch with everything recently, and it hurts.

i walk over to a chair that sits in the corner of the room, grabbing some tennis clothes Lyle had left hanging over it.
I take a jersey and carefully put it on, trying not to further damage my already aching body. I then slip on some tennis shorts and walk towards the bedroom door, looking around the room a final time before leaving to go to the kitchen.