All Too Well - Erik Menendez

Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Fucking Tree

Beverly Hills. CA. 1988.

Eriks POV:

My head rests on the door once it's closed. I'm intoxicated. I cannot believe that happened.

"You okay?" Lyles voice perks me up. I face him, he's concerned. I see it.

I nod. Indistinctly, my hand raises to my mouth. I can't help but want to feel the lips that kissed hers. I trace my finger over my lips, it takes me exactly back to the moment. My body is completely on edge. Everything I am, is Whisper. Our moment. I've never shared a moment like that before.

I was kissed by a girl when I was in kindergarten, I was quite mortified by it. Girls have been a topic - a thing - that has become hard for me to process. Physical touch, being something I still don't fully understand. I can't help but feel annoyed at myself for shutting down after our kiss. I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do. A part of me felt disgusting; kissing her after my father forced me to do that despicable act on him this morning.

Then not being able to keep food down. I couldn't say it to her though. Especially not with my father around. I'm just battling constantly with the things my father inflicts upon me; it has made physical touch feel like a maze. But the maze is set on fire, with some parts, the floors are made of spikes, but some made of satin carpets. Comfort is some places, pain in others.

Then of course, Craig and I. We've kissed. A lot. I know those moments with him are out of my confusion with my dad. Trying to feel like I can claw at some sexuality, confronting my fears of a mans body. Trying to discover what I am when I'm not being a play-toy for my father. Whose touch do I like - whose touch am I meant to like.

Lyle is the only one who knows about Craig and I, I trust him to never share it with anyone. I know he wouldn't. He knows I'm not gay. Because I know I'm not. I like girls, a lot. I know I like Whisper, so much. I know my heart and body respond to Whisper in a way beyond humanly possible.  But the reactions I have when I'm in my fathers grasp; all the shameful ways my body reacts to his touch. That must mean something?

"Erik. You're spacing out again. What's wrong?" Lyle's hand on my shoulder is the first thing I feel, followed by his voice.

"Come upstairs?" I ask him. We look towards the living room, my father isn't there. This gives us the opportunity to patter up the stairs together. We enter my room, Lyle closing the door behind us as I place myself on the center of my bed.

"Talk to me Bubba." Lyle says, sitting, well, jumping onto the bed. His hand abandons the spoon in the bowl as it nests deep in my hair.  His hand is gentle, his fingers spinning my curls round his finger. Comforting and loving; unlike a certain hand who does the opposite.

"Did Dad say something to you? He seemed pissed when he came in after he spoke to you."

He watches me carefully before answering, his brown eyes offer a familiarity and comfort that stables my breathing.

"He thinks something is going on between Whisper and I." His hand continues to weave through my hair. "Some nonsense about me taking her to her prom, he's fucking insane."
His eyes roll vigorously. He's annoyed.

Lyle and Whisper at prom together? The mere image that comes to my mind makes my head burn. Of course my dad wants them together, he knows more than anyone that Lyle is more deserving of her.

Automatically, my head now hangs lower. "Do you want to?"

Lyle scoffs. "I had my prom last year, never again. Fucking nightmare it was." His hand leaves my head, returning back to the bowl on his lap. "And Whispers my friend, I'm not going with another girl just because he's picked her for me."