blame it on the rain-monsters: the lyle and erik menendez story.

chapter 1.

2nd person POV.

No one knows why she did it. People assume pure stupidity. "She had her whole life ahead of her!" they say. Some people are stupid in love. And maybe that night when she got that call, maybe she should have called and ratted on them. But did she? Hell to the fucking no.

Transcript from August 20th, 1989.

R:(Rosealine Bishop) Hello?
E:(Erik Menedez) Rose, are you there?
R: Yes, I'm here. Is everything alright?
E: I gotta tell you something—it's really bad.
R: Are you and Lyle okay? What's going on?
L:(Lyle Menedez in background) Erik, give me the fucking phone.
R: Hello? Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?
L:(Present on the phone) Rosealine, you need to leave Beverly Hills. Get out of here now.
R: What the fuck? I'm on my way.
L: I just shot and killed our parents. Police are on their way.
R: Do they know you did it?
L: No.
R: I'm on my way.

Call ended.

Now, the biggest question of course is why? Why did she lie? When Rosealine arrived at the Menedez home, she found police surrounding the area and the two boys outside in hysterics. Lyle was saying their Dad knew a lot of people. Powerful people. People he had wrong. Erik was saying it was the mafia. Rosealine Bishop broke through the police tape and gave Erik a hug, knowing full and well he killed his parents.

Let's take it back to 1987. Two years prior to the murders.

1987. 3rd person POV.

Rosealines hand snapped in motion each time her mother pelted a ball at her. The sweat gleamed over her face and her arms, highlighting her biceps. Her white Nike sports bra was soaked in sweat, much like the rest of her. Her pleated tennis skirt flowed and bounced each time her arms snapped.

"C'mon! Keep up!" Her mother demanded, pelting a ball deep in the left corner. Rose grunted as she ran, attempting to keep the ball up, but she failed. She layed her racket on the ground as she bent over, her hands over her knees.

"You did good, Rosie. Don't get too down on yourself." Her mother, Courtney Bishop had played at Wembley and won when she was Roses age. The picture in black and white is hung up front and center in their house. Courtney was widowed when her youngest daughter, Rosealine, was 10. Her oldest, Eileen, was 16. They had been swimming in money for years at that point, but when he died, they were drowning in money.

"Yeah, Rosie." Eileen taunted from her lounge chair. Rose looked up at her older sister, flipping up her middle finger.

"Girls, behave." Their mother warned. Rosealine rose from her position half bent over to walk to her water bottle. She unscrew the cap and gulped down the water inside. The California heat could not be beat.

Courtney walked over to her daughter, under the roof patio to hide from the sun.

"Your grades in English are down. You're at a C minus, Rosealine." Her mother emphasized the words "C minus." She always said grades came before anything. Anything.

Rosealine rolled her eyes. "What do you suggest we do?" She asked bored.

"Well, my friend Kitty has a son. You mentioned sitting beside him in that class right?"

"Erik?" Rose said, remembering faintly the boy the sits beside in her third period English class.

"Yes, her youngest. He excels in academics, I hear. He's real smart. And handsome." Courtney giggled to herself at the last part, champagne flute in her hand.

He was handsome. He was handsome in a girlish way. Curly hair, brown eyes, sometimes he wore circle shaped glasses. Rose thought he was cute. And he had that old money sense of style. The polos and sweaters in pastels. Jeans and sneakers. He had a slender but lean build. He was freakishly good at tennis. He was shy and quiet. He didn't have many friends besides Craig Cignorili.

Rose shrugged. "Sure, that sounds fine to me."

"Perfect. I'll give her a call and let her know."

Eileen raised her eyebrows knowingly at her sister. Rose smacked her bare arm.

The next day, Rosealine sat beside Erik. He had his head in his hand. His fingers were over his mouth, his other hand had his pencil in it. He glanced up at her as she sat down. He was wearing a dark blue windbreaker.

Rosealine tucker a piece of her brown hair with caramel highlights streaked through it behind her ear.

"My uh..Mom said you needed some help," He said nervously, regretting his stuttering instantaneously.

She looked at him, a small surprised expression on her face but it quickly turned to a small smile.

"I do, actually. Would you mind coming to my house after school?"

"No, of course not. You're Rosaline, right?" Erik said, returning the small smile. She nodded, the smile remaining.

"I am. You're Erik. Or am I mistaking you with your older brother—Lyle?" Rose harmlessly teased. Erik chuckles quietly, his head bowing down in result.

"I'm Erik. I can swing by right after school. Would your Mom care if I drive you?" Rose shook her head.

"It's a date." Rose said, her smile still on her face. The corners of Erik's mouth turned downward, a red tint covering his cheeks.

"Date." He mumbled under his breath right as the last bell rang.

Date.

917 words!
For clarification—I am describing Cooper Koch !!! Things in this story will be rearranged from the show as to not spread more information. Thank you for reading.