All Too Well - Erik Menendez

We Go Round & Round

Princeton. NJ. 1988.

Eriks POV:

"Can I talk to you?" I ask to my elder, my fingers desperately seething in my mouth as I continue my consumption of them.

He's careless in his response, a quick nod is all I get before he follows me out of the living room and into his bedroom.

I hate having to do this. But I can't stop thinking about what Whisper said earlier – I can't believe he said to her that he's at fault for the shift in me when I was just a boy. I can't believe he almost told her – that. That. That thing that I'm not sure even happened. That thing I've spent so long convincing myself never even happened. Just a cruel, dirty sense of imagination.

Thankfully after – our moment – I left Whisper in the kitchen to spend some time with Andy. A suitable distraction from whatever outcome this conversation with Lyle leads to. The outcome I am dangerously unprepared for.

"You okay?" He asks, closing the door behind him. The thud of its lock is enough to add onto my building apprehensiveness.

"You–" The words fail me before I can even get them out. "What did you say to Whisper earlier?" I mumble the question incoherently, closing the gap between us so the forbidden secret stays under hushed voices.

"Say about what?"

"You know what."

His eyes bat at me with confusion, a sentiment that demonstrates just how utterly perplexed he is by my inquiry. Only heightened by the push of his eyebrows.

"I don't know what you–"

"She told you about something I had said to her – about when I was six."

He clocks on. His eyes show that. Accompanied by the sudden shift of his feet.

"Okay."

Okay? That's all you can say?

"Why did you say what you said – about me needing to tell her what you did?" I ask, letting my fingers drop from my mouth and entwine with each other. "When you didn't even do anything."

His sigh is one of meaning – exhaustion, hurt, and above all, frustration.

"I thought you were going to tell her, so I encouraged her to ask anyway."

"There's nothing to tell!" I argue, stepping back once I realise the height of my voice.

"Erik." His voice is stern as he hangs his head. When he looks up at me again, there's a haunted expression in his eyes. "I did things to you."

No. No. No. You didn't.
Please Lyle, you didn't.

"Stop it."

"Erik–" He takes another step closer to me. "I did things to–"

Something overtakes me, and it unequivocally forces me to do shove him, harshly.
"Stop it, just stop it!"

"Admit the truth to yourself." He bites back, returning the shove to me – causing me to stumble backwards.

It's an automatic response – as I launch my body towards him. Grabbing a fist full of his shirt and subsequently slamming him against the door. The fury, the fucking agony coursing through my body is unmatched. It's unbearable.