erik menendez // if you love me..don't let go

chapter eighteen

Scarlett's POV

The next few days went by too fast but too slow. The days were long and consisted of being dragged all the way to Manhattan just to have to sit outside and wait for meetings to be over. But the nights, thats when they were going by too fast. The next three days after my nightmare, I've been coming over to Erik's room every night and we would lay together. We would either stay up late talking about random things, or we would go to sleep right away. But no matter what, we were always tangled up with each other. I wanted to see and feel the most of him. To see all the raw. The deep parts. For the first time in forever, I actually felt like I was worth sharing my stories and having other people learn about me.

"I can't wait until i'm eighteen." Erik had said one night when we were cuddling with each other. "To escape and come live here."

I looked up at him, my brows furrowed. "To escape?"

"Yeah," He had avoided my eyes when he next spoke. "I don't want to keep living in my house."

When he said those words, my heart stopped beating for a second, and my brain was filled with questions and worry. This was now the second time where he had talked about "leaving", or "escaping" his home. I wanted so badly to ask him about it, but every time I even started to question, he would build up walls and become so distant.

"Why?" I asked that night, an hour later.

"Why what?" 

"Why do you want to escape?" I repeated.

It suddenly felt like he was miles away from me, although in reality, he was right there. But a part of me wasn't able to reach him, and it seemed like that's what he wanted.

He gave me a half shrug, half grunt, and that was it. 

Ever since that night, I haven't asked him about it. I knew that it triggered something in him when it would be brought up, but I couldn't help it when it seemed like it was hurting him so much. As soon as he would bring up moving to New York, his eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas morning, but then they become deeper and darker than the ocean right after. 

It confused me. I knew Jose wasn't the best father. He seemed controlling and had a temper. And maybe Kitty didn't really put effort into helping. But was it that bad? That bad that he was basically counting down the days until he was legally not permitted to follow his parent's rules? Is that what it was about? The thought of his parents holding him to something made my skin chill into my bones. Erik was the sweetest boy ever. He held the door open for people, he would hold your belongings when you needed to put a sweater on, and he always put others before himself. It was hard to believe that deep down, under this boy, there could be a feeling of being trapped. 

Erik's POV

I've never quite met a women like Scarlett. And I wish I didn't have to.

She was so keen on understanding everything about me, but she didn't understand that she shouldn't want to. She shouldn't want to see the real, raw, broken parts of me. All of me, without the masks and acts I put on each day. The masks to cover up my broken mind which has been filled, exploded, and rebuilt from confusion. Confusion as to what's real or fake. What's right or wrong. What should be happening in someone's household, and what shouldn't.

If I could, I would tell Scarlett everything. I would pour my heart out until she felt what I went through every day. But that's the whole point, I didn't want her to feel how I felt. If she knew, she would be absolutely be broken. And the sight of her being broken would completely destroy me. Seeing her big eyes shed tears for me, her lips swollen for me, her heart ripped out for me. I wouldn't be able to handle it. I would feel like the worst fool, allowing her to see right through me and all my dark secrets, then putting it out all on her.

"Your father made a pretty big show back there." Scarlett had joked one night when we were sitting on the stoop of someone's brownstone. It was late at night, and we had finally escaped the hold of my father. Earlier that night when we were having dinner at a public restaurant, he decided to talk about college.

"NYU seems like a nice school." I had said out loud, feeling relief to have finally let it out. "And I like the city."

"Child," My father slammed his fist on the table, causing heads from other parties to turn to us. "Have I taught you nothing? UCLA is your only option. There, you will be able to practice tennis and I can watch over you. It's perfect, you don't need anything extra. I don't care about your preference for the 'city'".

I didn't flinch at his words. No. I was too used to it. I was too used to me trying to stay calm and state what I want to do with my life, and him completely crumbling those hopes. His words stopped affecting me so much by the time I turned nine. That's when I realized, there was no arguing with him. Even if deep down, I knew what I wanted to do and I was going to do it, I could and would never say it to him. Ever.

"Whatever." I said back to Scarlett, taking myself back to reality and out of the bad memory. My brain was officially blocked from whatever questions she was going to start peppering me with. I knew I was acting like a bitch, putting up these walls and blocking her out. But I've already promised myself that I wouldn't let her into my scary world, not when I've got her this deep. She's happy, I would hate to ruin that. Because that's what would happen, I would ruin her. And so I'm keeping my promise, and I would never break it.

No matter how many questions she asked me or how hard she pushed me, I wouldn't cross the line and confess. She might think of me as some disgusting creature. That i'm not man enough. Or she'd think i'm lying. Because of course, men like me don't get treated like that by their dad, right? Men aren't supposed to do that to other men, right? So of course, she would have no reason to believe me. In fact, she would walk away, probably run.

"He's a lying, little bitch who mocks women who actually go through the stuff he 'claims' he goes through." Scarlett would tell everyone. 

Then the story would circulate back to my family. Back to my father. He would probably beat me to a pulp and keep me in his house where I would somehow shrivel and die before he does. Maybe Lyle would come to the rescue though. He would realize, it was a mistake. That he should've never left to go across the country to Princeton and leave his little brother to fend for himself. He would come back and he would stay for good. After every tennis practice, he would stay by my side and never leave, even when our father would yell at us to get some alone time with me. Lyle would yell back at him, and hopefully, but not probably, our father would finally get scared. Maybe I could be the strong man he raised me to be and be the one to scare him and stand up. He would finally apologize and own up to his mistakes. I don't know if I could ever forgive him, but at least he would finally feel bad. That's all I wanted. For him to actually feel something. To know. To know how he makes me feel.