All Too Well - Erik Menendez

Begin & End

Princeton. NJ. 1988.

Whispers POV:

Craig...

I don't like this.

I don't like that.

"Craig will be there the whole three months?" The question is one of pure disbelief. Practically a hypothetical one without me consciously recognising it as such.

"Yes." The smile still extends on his face. He's obviously oblivious to my melancholy tone. He's oblivious to what this information does to me.

I'm speechless in my thoughts, and I allow my eyes to drop to his chest. A break from his blue gaze, a break I need to gather my thoughts together.

Craig, after everything. Those two, together, alone, again.

With me, in California.

Out of sight, out of mind.

My stomach recoils in a melting pot of consternation as all possible outcomes flood into my mind. History threatens to repeat itself right here, right now. And I'm merely a helpless atom floating by before the unfolding events.

Because I can't do anything.

If I push about this Craig topic, it upsets him, it hurts him. So the pain must stay curling into my chest. It stings. Badly.

Very slowly, the smile that once was brightly displayed on his face, disappears. "I see that this upsets you." He observes.

Say it.
Gently.
Say it.

"After everything he did, after everything – you both did, together." I declare breathlessly. My eyes helplessly avert everywhere, clawing at anything to make sense of this.

I feel my composure slowly sinking away.

"Will you be sharing rooms?"

I sense immediately that he's retreated into himself from my words. Especially when his reply comes in the simple form of a head shake indicating 'no'.

My stomach curls and tights to a miraculous level as I form the haunting question. "Will you go in his room at all?"

My words evoke no obvious response. He just continues his previous assessing gaze. Haunted, ambiguous blue eyes.

"Why would you ask me that?" The hurt builds in his voice and his eyes squint closer together than before.

"Why wouldn't I?"

The silence in the air simmers between each response. A desperate simmer in the air that begs to be seen – that begs for pretty answers and swift resolution. And some comfort.

"I know you think I have the desire to fuck anything that moves but that's not the case." He bites harshly. His face, still unwavering.

I sigh in disbelief at his crass words, stepping back slightly from the intense contact. "I didn't say you did."

There's something in his eyes – there's a thousand words. Ones that so desperately want to come out. Ones that kick, scream and ache, all at once. A bewildering over-exhausting prospect.

His gaze finally breaks, and quickly flickers to the floor, when they meet mine again, he's already shifting past me. "I need to talk to Lyle."

It's pure instinct as I reach out and grab his forearm. A gesture that his eyes avert to. An action that sends waves of intoxicating substances through my bloodstream.

"Don't do this." I push the words past the heavy lump that's developed in my throat. It's painful, and I feel the urgency to hold back the overwhelming emotions, before they spill. "We need to communicate – especially with everything changing again tomorrow."