Mona Lisa (Eminem Fan Fiction)

Help Me

Marshall POV

I walked for over two hours, shivering in the frigid, dark streets. I didn't have my phone to call anyone to come pick me up and the studio was the closest place on my route, so I went there early to curl up on the back steps. I didn't have my keys and sat there with my arms wrapped around myself trying to blow heat on my hands. I didn't even have my pills and hadn't been dosed in over six hours at that point. I got myself in a fucking mess and withdrawal is a bitch!

I must have fallen asleep for a bit and woke up on the back concrete feeling like absolute shit. I stumbled around to the front of the building and noticed that Paul's car was already in the lot, so I pounded on the door.

"Let me in!" My breath steamed in the chilly morning air, and I lifted my hand to shade my eyes from the peaking sun. "Yo, Paul! Open up!"

Paul's stocky frame strutted over to unlock the door, "Where the fuck is your key?"

"I lost it." I pushed my way past him.

Paul and I held eye contact and I could sense that he knew something was up. Paul has seen me high a million times, and usually either ignores it or throws in a simple comment here and there, but we both knew today was different. Paul could tell I had hit rock bottom. He recognized that I was desperate in a loathsome, miserable way even more extreme than my usual pathetic self.

Paul nodded for me to follow him into his office, and I followed to slump myself on the chair across from his desk. He watched me intently waiting for me to speak and a whimper sounded from my mouth.

"I need some help, Paul." I cried, pinching my tear ducts with my thumb and index finger. "I've lost everything, I can't do this by myself. I thought I could, but I can't. I really need some help."

"What happened to you? Where's your shoes?" He motioned towards my feet where I only had socks with holes worn through from walking all night.

"Someone stole my stuff." I was humiliated.

"Again? You walked all night? You look like shit and you're still shaking."

"I haven't had any pills in twelve hours Paul. I'm going through hell right now."

"Hang tight Marshall." Paul rose from his chair to put his hand on my shoulder and look in my swollen, bloodshot eyes. "I'll help you, ok? Stay here."

I sat anxiously waiting until Paul returned with his phone to his ear and slid four Tylenol across the desk to me. I picked them up and forced them down my dry throat.

"You don't need water?"

"I'm a drug addict Paul."

Paul was able to secure a bed for me in a treatment center only forty-five minutes away and got ahold of my brother to bring me a bag of clothes for my thirty -day stay. It was now almost eleven AM, and all the other guys were at the studio and just thought I was having another one of my bad days.

I came out of Paul's office and slumped over in a chair in the lobby.

"C'mon Marshall, you need to get your ass in the studio. You look like shit again." Swifty said as he walked past.

Paul stepped in, "Marshall won't be in the studio today. Or tomorrow. Marshall is going to get some help with his problem."

"For real?" Bizarre questioned me and I nodded my head in agreeance.

"Good for you."

"That's wassup man."

The guys congratulated me, then stayed out of my way. They could tell I could barely move; I definitely wasn't in the mood to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that afternoon, I was getting my vitals taken as I checked into the recovery center. The nurse made a joke about getting my autograph while I was there, but I didn't find it funny.

I laid in the bed for a while thinking about Kim and my daughters and what their reaction was going to be when Paul called them to tell them I was in rehab. Kim shouldn't have anything negative to say about it. I've always been supportive through all her bullshit.

After a while I wandered into the dayroom to pour myself a cup of coffee. Decaf of course. They didn't even let us have caffeine in this bitch. It was like being in jail.

I scoured the room which contained about a dozen other addicts, a psychiatrist, a nurse, and a priest. Most everyone looked rundown and preoccupied with all the other problems that go along with being in rehab. The bills, the lies, the broken relationships, being a shitty parent. I wasn't any different than any of these people here. Except for the fact that everyone here already knew who I was. It was embarrassing, but I knew I had to do it.

I found a vacant table and sat by my lonesome with a notebook and a pen. I felt isolated. I no longer had my kids or Kim by my side. I didn't know what the status of Kim and my relationship was these days. We fight all the time, and are now twice divorced, but I still love her. And sometimes we still have sex. My hope was that once I got clean, we could be a family again.

"Sup?" Some dude came over and joined me at the table. "Why you in here?"

I scoffed, not understanding the question, "Same reason everyone's here."

"But you're Eminem, right?"

"Nah, I'm Marshall."

"Holy shit! Marshall Mathers!" Some nasty looking, skinny girl came up to us. "I thought that was you! What'd you get arrested again? You court ordered to be here?"

"I don't even fuckin know you guys." I got up to go back to my bedroom.

I had a private room just because of who I was. The four walls were closing in on me to a puny cot that was lumpy and hard. I had my own bathroom, but the shower stall was disgusting and only sprayed cold water for thirty seconds at a time. When I asked the staff about it, they told me that it was because some addicts would scald their skin in true OCD fashion.

I needed Paul to get me right back out of this place.