The dim lighting of the soundstage cast long shadows over the meticulously recreated 1980s living room. It was a chillingly accurate representation of the Menendez family home, complete with vintage decor that reeked of a life lived under suffocating control. Nicholas, in character as Lyle Menendez, sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. His costume—a polo shirt tucked into neatly pressed khakis—made him look every bit the obedient son, yet his expression betrayed a storm of emotions just beneath the surface.
You stood off to the side, watching him from the edge of the set. The crew moved quietly around him, setting up for the next scene. Nicholas hadn't broken character all day, and it was starting to worry you. His usual playful energy was gone, replaced by a heavy silence that felt suffocating even from a distance.
"Five minutes until we're ready to roll," the director called, but Nicholas didn't move.
Cooper Koch, who played Erik Menendez, walked over to you. "He's been like this all day," he said, his voice low. "He hasn't said much outside of the scenes. I think this is really getting to him."
You nodded, your concern deepening. You'd been by Nicholas's side throughout this entire process, watching as he poured himself into the role of Lyle—reliving the trauma, the violence, the despair. But today felt different. Today, it felt like he wasn't just acting; he was living it.
When the crew stepped away for their short break, you took the opportunity to approach him. His eyes didn't lift as you sat down beside him on the couch.
"Nick," you said softly, placing a hand on his arm.
He flinched slightly at your touch, as though he'd forgotten you were there. Slowly, his head turned toward you, and you were startled by the look in his eyes. They weren't his eyes—they were Lyle's. Haunted. Guarded. Angry.
"Hey," you said again, your voice steady but gentle. "It's me."
For a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to reconcile your presence with the world he'd immersed himself in. Then, his face crumpled, and he exhaled shakily. "I'm sorry," he whispered, looking away. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."
"You don't have to apologize," you said, scooting closer. "But I need you to talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?"
He rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a bitter laugh that sent a chill down your spine. "It's like I can't turn it off," he admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, I see it. The house, the nights, the fear. I keep thinking about what it must have been like to live like that. To feel so trapped you don't see a way out."
Your heart ached at his words. Nicholas was an actor who felt everything deeply, who gave himself fully to every role he took on. But this one was different. This one was breaking him.
"Nick," you said gently, taking his hand in yours. "You're not Lyle. I know this role is heavy, but it's not your weight to carry. You can put it down when the cameras stop rolling."
He shook his head, his jaw tightening. "But what if I don't do it justice? What if I can't make people understand what they went through? Everyone just sees them as killers. Monsters. But they were more than that. They were victims too."
"You are doing it justice," you said firmly, squeezing his hand. "The way you bring this character to life—the depth, the vulnerability—it's incredible. But you can't lose yourself in it. You have to remember who you are, Nick. You're not Lyle. You're Nicholas. The guy who loves late-night pizza runs and quoting bad 90s movies. The guy who makes everyone around him feel lighter, just by being himself."
His lips twitched into a faint smile at your words, but it quickly faded. "I don't know how to let it go," he confessed. "I feel like I'm drowning in it."
You leaned in closer, your voice soft but steady. "Then let me help you. You don't have to go through this alone. We'll get through it together, okay? But you have to let me in."
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, he let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Okay," he whispered.
The crew began to filter back onto the set, and the director called for places. Nicholas glanced toward the cameras, the weight of the scene ahead clear on his face.
"You've got this," you said, holding his gaze. "And when it's over, I'll be right here."
He nodded again, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
As he stepped back into character, you watched him transform once again, his expression hardening as he prepared to bring Lyle's story to life. But this time, you knew he wasn't completely lost. Because when he looked at you just before the cameras started rolling, there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes—something that reminded you he was still Nicholas, and he was still yours.
