The Parasite | Eminem

01

"I think the kid's gonna try hanging himself" forcing myself out of bed, I remember I'm not alone when I get this information.
The stupid faulty Nokia relays my father's words to me with a thick static accent.
He doesn't even sound like himself, but I get that exhausted taste that I'm used to hearing when he talks about this particular client.

Leah beside me, she's thankfully unconscious.
Small gifts in moments of grief are what keep me from hanging myself.

"Why are you telling me this?" I question, voice groggy and slightly confused.
I have my reservations about suicide, I'd be the perfect person to handle this situation, but I've never made my stance clear to my father.
This is where the confusion comes in.
I think suicide is the most useless thing a person could do.
It's for clueless people.
It's for people who think the world has meaning, that they have meaning, but they aren't able to fulfill it, and thus deem themselves pointless.
Useless.
Futile.
Fruitless.
Yeah, synonyms.

No absurdist commits suicide.
No one who knows the world is meaningless finds a purpose in ending their life.
There's no worth in living, but there's not worth in dying either.
Either commit suicide or have a cup of coffee.
Choose coffee.

"I don't have time to deal with him, and I know you'll go on some stupid philosophical tangent and drive him off the edge." Yeah.
Fair.
I tend to have the ability to talk anyone out of anything and vice versa.
The power of graduating top of my class in debate.
That and being a socialist, I've got a lot of defending to do.

"Why does he want to commit suicide?" I inquire, still not sure why the poor bastard is sulking around.
Marshall has a track record of being suicidal.
Usually it's not unless something really shitty has happened, and shitty stuff happens to him all the time.

"He lost his job, he doesn't think he can make his rent and Kim won't let him see Hailie" my dad exhausts a sigh, coming through loudly on my end.

"Alright, I'll go slap him around a bit" I grunt, getting up out of bed and tossing a random Wu-Tang Clan shirt on.

Hanging up, I remember again that Leah's in my bed.
She's a friend.
We didn't mean to sleep together.
It was an accident.
I swear.

"Yo, I'm gonna leave, I got some shit to do, but you can get yourself a coffee and hang around a bit." Shaking her shoulder, I watch her eyes slowly flutter open as I talk to her barely conscious form.
She swats some of her blonde hair out from her face, giving me the look of a confused girl who barely registers what's going on.

She slowly nods, dropping her head back down on my pillow.
I quickly head into my closet and grab a pair of black khaki shorts.
I hear a low moaning sound coming from a woman who has no desire to get out of bed, yet feels she has to.
I come back out of the closet, heading over to my bookshelf and grabbing 'The Myth of Sisyphus' by Albert Camus.
Nice.

"Wait- about last night..." she mumbles, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. "Hold on, do you have allergy pills?" She asks me this every time she's here.
I don't see why she doesn't go to the doctors about this.

"Yeah, in the bathroom, middle drawer." I tell her, looking through the short book, noting what I've highlighted.

"Look, Marlow. Last night was great. I'm just saying that cause, honestly, I was drunk as shit and I don't remember a minute of it. But, I really have no interest in dating you."
She says this as if I've ever shown interest in relationship.

"Thank God." I mumble, not really paying attention.
When did he say that committing suicide amounts to a confession?
Page five right?

"Thanks, I knew you'd be chill." She murmurs, and I hear her drop back down against my mattress.