All Too Well - Erik Menendez

Greatest Thing I've Ever Had

Princeton. NJ. 1988.

Lyles POV:

"The place is a mess Dad, I wasn't expecting you." My movements match his; steady, calculated. Attempting to manoeuvre him into the living room using subtle body language.
All attempts getting completely squashed as his eyes stare, unwavering and unwilling at me.

"Thought I'd come see you before I go Seattle." His eyes scan every line, every dent, every corner of the corridor. His movements are a snake waiting, almost hunting for anything to prey on. Anything to sink its teeth into.

We walk into the kitchen and his eyes land on the countertop, and I'm horrified by Whispers jacket that's slouched over the back of one of the stools.
He walks deliberately to the item and fondles it with his hands. His eyes dart to mine. They're questioning, curious, pre–planned mazes of unruly cruelty and judgement.

"I kind of have company over." I answer the unspoken question, forcing my voice to give no further information than the tidbits I'm bound to.

"Company?" His eyebrow raises, in a way to insinuate his disbelief, not his disapproval. "What girl?"

"Just a girl from my classes."

"Oh really?" His question sounds rhetorical. Making me reply with a simple nod rather than further expanding into nonsensical chatter.

I hide it completely, however inside I am flooded with relief as he places the jacket back down, carrying his inspection elsewhere. He swipes his hand across the kitchen island, the loud sound of his overly-expensive shoes echoing across the hard floors. Asshole. When his eyes move back to mine, they're just as disapproving as they were moments before.

"I wouldn't have came if I knew. I had planned to take you out, I had some things I wish to discuss."

"There's always another time I suppose." I reply.

His head turns slightly, it's an animatronic–like movement. His eyes are black. It takes a moment to adjust; I've relished not staring at this bastard for months so it's a great displeasure to have to witness him here. Now. In my kitchen.

If it wasn't for your money, your ass would be kicked the fuck out of here.

"There isn't another time. So you'll have to get your company to leave."

Fuck you.

My arms cross over my chest, I think in part, it's some sort of defence mechanism I've adapted from the man in front of me. "She's sleeping."

"I'm taking you out. Your skank can stay here." It's spat out in disdain, disgust. "It's your place."

Making his way around the kitchen, he ignores my presence and walks into the living room. Again, judgemental eyes rake everywhere. The tennis match silently unfolds on the television screen and he watches it momentarily.

Frustration grows in me, overpassing my initial anxiety. Who does he think he is coming in here like this? I shouldn't have to hide my own fucking brother and his girl just because of his psychotic behaviours.

"Hows Erik?" The question slips out of my mouth, it will be beyond interesting to see how he can justify his behaviour the last seven months to me.

"Busy." He replies, his eyes not moving from the pictures on the screen.

Say it. Say it. Fuck.

"I think you've been harsh not letting us talk for so long. I'm worried about him."

I know I've pressed against a sensitive area when he finally turns to look at me. A unknowing smirk unfolds and pulls at his mouth, threatening to grow into a devilish grin with a harrowing effect.