All Too Well - Erik Menendez

Whatever You Do, Don't Put The Blame On You

Beverly Hills. CA. 1988.

Lyles POV:

My feet carry me faster than my mind can comprehend. I don't know where I'm taking Erik, but all I know is I needed to get out of that fucking guest house with him - I'll end up ruining Craig if I stay in there.

"Lyle!!" Whispers voice is still going strong as we approach the main house. I look behind my shoulder to see her - now fully clothed - running up to us, if I'm not mistaken - with tears in her eyes.

"Stop, I need a moment with this one". My eyes focus intensely on her. She stops a few feet from us. I trust she knows not to follow and push further.

I feel Erik trying to take this moment to try shuffle his hair out of my grasp, I grab tighter, harder. Making sure that outcome wouldn't happen.

We're in the main house before I realize it and I take no time in throwing him by his hair in the den; his body knocking into the couch. I waste not a single second in my confrontation. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He glares at me, his mouth slightly parted, letting out his deep breaths that visibly expand his entire chest. His fingers rub his arms - it feels more like they're rubbing against my fucking nerves.

"Are you deaf? Fucking explain yourself". I push at his chest, hoping this moron finds his words for once. He does.

"Explain yourself". His response is weaker, the influx of tears already appearing into his eyes.

"I have nothing to explain, you need to tell me why you invited captain fucking clueless when you knew I wouldn't approve".

"He's still my friend". His hand reaches to his eyes, wiping any evidence of pain out of his eyelids. Poor excuse of a friend.

"Your friend?" I can't help but laugh out my amusement. "The one who's just using you to get off?"

"That's n-"

"Oh, but it is true". I move closer to the younger boy in front of me. I'm pissed. Furious. I don't know whether the excessive amounts of liquor fuel my heat in this moment, but I've hit my limit. This all ends now. "Do you know how he talks about you? How he even talks about you to Whisper - he's painting you to be some horny-closeted-love-rat who is desperate for any attention".

I watch in his eyes as every word has an effect on him. His breathing hitches even louder after my next declaration.

"And I'm starting to fucking believe him".

His eyes look broken, but I can't care. All I care about is keeping my hands at my sides, because my god it's hard to right now.

"You're exactly like dad". His words are a mere whisper, his eyes no longer point at me, they're residing to his feet - his natural predicament.

"If I was anything like dad I'd be beating the shit out of you and your boyfriend". My fists automatically tangle into his shirt, I pull him closer to me. His hands layer on top of mine but he applies no pressure; he wouldn't dare. I fucking wish dad was here at this point in time.

"He's not my boyfriend and I'm not gay".

"He's just some guy who shoves his tongue in your mouth even after you say no right?" I push him away.

I feel myself becoming more disgusted with the younger in front of me, rather than angry. This, is supposed to be a Menendez. This, is supposed to represent our family name. He's an embarrassment.

"Where's your fucking self respect? Do you get off on being treated like shit, by everyone? Since I've been back I've seen you get nothing but fucked over. I see you still haven't grown a pair since I've been gone". My words evidently jab further into him. That's when his tears fall freely.