Queen Bee

February 2003 (1)

Sitting cross legged in the middle of mine and Marshall's bed, I watched sadly as he quickly threw his clothes into his suitcase, obviously panicking that he was about to miss his flight to L.A. that left in an hour. I don't know why he waited so long to pack, he's known he's had to go to L.A. for the last month. But, I guess it makes sense. He's been so preoccupied with this new D12 record that of course he forgot. Men are the most one-track-minded species I can think of, and when you add those stupid fuckin' pills into the mix, your left with zero memory space at all. 

"Angel, stop givin' me that look. Ya makin' me feel bad." He stated, running from the bathroom back towards the suitcase as he mindlessly just threw his toothbrush and toothpaste in. Gross. "It's only for a week." He said again, this time running towards the closet. 

"But why can't ya just go for the release party? Why do ya have to go for the whole week?" I asked, immediately feeling like a small, whiney child. Maybe it was the fact that I was feeling jealous that I couldn't go to Curtis' release party due to all the kids, or maybe it was the fact that I was just annoyed that he was leaving, yet again, but seriously? He does not have to go the whole entire week. 

"I've told ya this! We're workin' on the record with Dre for the rest of the week!" He yelled back from the closet. 

"But he's barely even doin' anything for it anyway!" I exclaimed. 

Quickly, he ran back from the closet, throwing more pointless shit into the large luggage bag before closing its lid and kneeling on it as he began zipping it up. "Me and him are the executive producers, what the fuck do ya mean he's barely even doin' anything for it?" 

A deep sigh rolled from my lips. "See, Marshall? This is why I ain't want ya to start that stupid record in the first place. Here ya go, off to L.A. again and you're not even done your other ones!"

"Oh my god, Angel. I ain't fuckin' doin' this with ya right now." He sighed as if he was annoyed with me. "How is it the kids can handle me bein' gone better than you fuckin' can?" 

"They don't handle it better than me!" I exclaimed desperately. "Hai's sad for at least three days minimum, Lainey always cries after you're gone, and Des starts throwin' fuckin' tantrums! It's delusional to think that they're fine with it in any sort of way, Marshall!" 

"Yeah? Well why ya ain't ever tell me any of this shit before then?" 

My eyes went wide as saucers, like I couldn't believe what he was asking me. "I have! You just refuse to listen to me anymore!" 

"Yeah 'cause the only thing that ever comes outta ya mouth nowadays is just all the ways I'm a shitty husband and a shitty dad, Angel! I ain't wanna listen to it anymore! It's always me and how I'm fuckin' up, it's never you and what you could do better-" 

"What I could do better?! What the fuck do I need to do, Marshall?! I try so fuckin' hard for you every fuckin' day to take care of all ya fuckin' kids, I clean ya house for you, I make you food, I'm essentially just your fuckin' housewife at this point! So please tell me what the fuck you would like me to do differently?! 'Cause all I'm doin' is askin' ya to just return the effort every once in awhile!" I yelled, and immediately after we heard a knock at the door. Cranking both our heads towards it, it creaked open revealing Nates head and a sliver of his body.

"Yo, can ya'll stop fightin' please? I got a test tomorrow, I'm tryna sleep." He rasped, obviously annoyed he had just been woken up. 

Within an instant, all that anger and rage I felt not even a minute ago was quickly washed away with shame and embarrassment. "I'm sorry." I mumbled as I looked down towards my lap, my fingers fiddling with the baggy fabric of my sweatpants.