All Too Well - Erik Menendez

The Hurt Man [18+]

Beverly Hills. CA. 1988.

Eriks POV:

My mouth becomes consumed with Whiskey kisses. Spicy, almond notes left by his tongue. Roughly. His hands squeeze everywhere they can find as I lay at his mercy.
"I missed this - missed you." He murmurs as he pulls away to breathe.

We must've been like this for at least 30 minutes now, our make-out growing more and more intense. His noticeable hardness still ever-growing against my now-unresponsive body. I can only think of Whisper, yes Whisper. And perhaps my father who I pray will be asleep by the time I get home.

As his lips press against my neck, I feel his hand grab me over my jeans. A pain-inducing grip in fact. My attempt to shift my body fails due to having his body weight directly against me.

"You've lost it?" He asks, noting the change in my body.

Because I don't want to be here; I feel so fucking sick and I want to vomit and run away and be with my Whisper.

"I know something that will help." He continues, attacking me with his lips once more before rising off of me.

I intake a sharp breath, instantly I feel safer. Well, as safe as I can feel. My emotions are completely unregulated; I feel soulless. I feel guilty. I feel angry at myself for putting myself in this position. If I had never fucking went to Craig so desperately that night, then I never would've done what I did and subsequently I never would've been in this fucking position. I never would've had to keep secrets from my girl, secrets that would make her hate me. Loathe me. Maybe she'd question further, maybe she'd somehow find out it was my father who's shaped me into the monster I am.

I watch intensely as Craig fumbles with the bottle of what I presume - Whiskey, at the tall chest of drawers. I don't recognise him from how he was when I first met him.
How did I ever trust him? How did things transform into what it is now.

Eventually, he turns and walks back to the bed; I lean against the headboard as he sits in front of me. I notice the small tray he now holds with a white-powder-substance neatly scattered across it.

"Drink." His command is dominant as he hands me the glass of Whiskey. I hesitantly take it. Noticing the bottom of the liquid bubble slightly.
I question him hesitantly.
"Don't worry, I put something special in it to help you stop dissociating so much. Just trust me."

I hesitate briefly because he scoffs and pushes the glass himself up to my mouth.
The notes overtake my nose. It smells like my father. His drink of choice before he beats me; his drink of choice before he hurts me.
"Go on!" He says, his smile wide as he resumes; beginning to scoop some of white powder onto his finger tip. The liquid burns as it hits my throat. I watch through my eyelids as I see him raise his finger to his nose, snorting harshly as the substance disappears.
By the time I've finished the glass, he's repeated the same motion two more times.

"How do you want yours?" He asks, applying more of the powder across his finger.

"You know that's not my thing." I put the now-empty glass onto his bedside table. Its effects already taking place. I've never been able to handle alcohol, it's something I've tried to stay clear of after seeing how much it's consumed my poor mother.

"Relax, it'll wake your body up." He places his free hand on my crotch, his fingers tapping, swaying gently. "And that's what I want."

I sigh, nodding my head. The sooner I do whatever he wants, the sooner I can go find Whisper.

Suddenly, his hand grabs the back of my neck. He shifts closer to me before telling me to open my mouth, the second I do, his finger littered with the powder invades my mouth. He harshly swipes it against my top gums; his finger ruthlessly digging against them. I squirm at the discomfort; only for him to do again, with another line, and another. The application more aggressive than the next.
"One more up your nose, okay?" He coos, his touch becoming rougher and sloppier as the effects start developing further on himself.