All Too Well - Erik Menendez

Perfect, Do You? [18+]

Princeton. NJ. 1988.

Eriks POV:

The last day. The dreaded day that seemed so far away. I had somehow convinced myself this is how life would always be, that every day would feel exactly like this and nothing would ever threaten it.

But that's not true, because reality is here and it threatens my comfort greatly. Because there's so much to face when I get back to Beverly Hills.
I have him to face.
And after such a prolonged build-up, my anxiety couldn't be higher if I tried.

I have to do this. Before it kills me. He has threatened and picked away at my relationship with Whisper in so many different forms. From making me who I am, the moments I haven't been able to show up as a boyfriend for her. For the moments I let her down so cruelly. Our first date night. Craig. That was the worst. I hurt her so bad, and in that process, I damaged such corners of myself that I will forever beg on my knees to her to allow me to heal.

All this confusion and mess, it's turned me into someone I can't recognise. Someone so foreign, someone so un-Erik, someone so far from that six year old boy who just so desperately wanted love.

And to be safe, yes, he wanted to be safe.

"Hey." It's a soft hum that brings me from my previous thoughts.

I turn to the doorframe, standing there is Whisper, in her angelic white dress that has entirely fixated itself in my mind all day. Shes stunning, so stunning. And she stands there, curls-blazing, fierce yet gentle.

Her hair, wild and unruly as ever since her shower earlier, her natural state is one of pure gifts. She has truly been hand crafted by god himself, everyone angel undoubtedly watched in awe as the creation of her being was made.

She's indescribably gorgeous.

A picture that Mozart couldn't conjure up in his deepest desires. I have never seen a piece of art, so brazen, so clear? So certain.

"Hey." It's barely audible as I allow myself to get lost in the thoughts of her.

"You okay? You were taking long from your shower and I got worried." She ponders over to me, hesitant almost – like she's scared to cross a boundary, like she's almost scared of my reaction.

"I'm okay." I reach my arm out in her direction, hoping the openness eases her tense posture. And it does. "I was just thinking, that's all."

"Can I know what you are thinking of?" She lets her waist fit perfectly into my hand, and I subsequently pull her onto my lap, savouring the tempting feeling of her fingertips as she wraps her arms around my naked back. Blue meets brown. Again.

It's a dark confession. "Tomorrow, I guess."

Her response appears in her eyes at first. The sunken eyes, furrowed eyebrows. She's feeling it too. She's nervous to assess the damage that is our reality. To go back to the place that so cruelly split us apart, back around the selection of individuals who inherently threatened our waking moments together, and still will.

Back to dad.

"It will be okay, you know." Her voice is reassuring, but it's a facade.

Because it will be far from it.

Dad knows. I know he does.

"I think my Dad has worked out that I'm here, he wouldn't have came here otherwise,"

"He hasn't." She replies, sincerely. Her hand reaching into the back of my hair automatically. "There's no way he could have worked that out, he's been away. You told me this yourself."