The Parasite | Eminem

10

- Several Months Later -

March 5th of 1999 and I'm in Staten Island.
I would bore you about the shit that happened leading up to now, but at home Marshall and I didn't really interact... so you wouldn't care.
You're here for Marshall.

So let's take inventory of the shit that's happened.
I successfully got a job at Starbucks with Leah.
We held it for a few days until the manager realized who was putting cigarette butts in the coffees.
No one noticed the spit.
That made it all worth it.
Marshall was flown out to L.A. several weeks ago to do the music video for "My Name is"
Uhhh... that blew the fuck up on MTV.
Marshall is making an ok amount of money, his royalties are slowly coming in.
I've been working like normal.
My life isn't particularly crazy.
Well, until my dad told me I'd be coming on this trip with him.
Performing.
Marshall's performing at Staton Island's Club Carbon.

There are 5 of us in here.
This limo, heading to Club Carbon.
Some guy who goes by DJ Stretch Armstrong, Marshall, Paul, and a body guard... oh and uh, me.

"Can I get a fat fuck to all these chickens on these nuts" Marshall spits, substituting lyrics into Jay Z's "Can I Get a..."

"That was shit." I grunt, chewing on some stupid ginger taffy candy I got at the airport.
Gin Gin it's called.
Wouldn't be too bad if it wasn't sticking to my teeth obnoxiously.

There's a tap at the window of the limo and we all turn our heads towards it.
The security guard sitting next to me rolls it down.
Revealing a guy in a hood, he stretches out his palm towards me, hoping I'll return the gesture.
I raise an eyebrow but chose to do it anyways.
Why not?
A little excitement.

Next thing I know, a handful of pills are dropped into my open palm.
I feel a kick to my knee and I turn myself around, looking at Marshall on the other side of the limo.
He leans forward, hand full of cash.

I get the message, finding it nevertheless fucking stupid that Marshall is using me as a middle man in his drug deal.
I pass the pills into his hands and the money to the drug dealer in a quick, two step motion.

Suddenly, my father shoved his head in his hands, already exhausted.
"Did you just put my daughter in the middle of your drug deal? I don't believe this. Are you fucking stupid?"

Marshall just chuckles at him loudly, mocking him openly in front of everyone.

"That's it, fuck it. You're on your own tonight" he always does this.
He gets out, slamming the door.
He'll be back.

"Hey Paul, you're already fired! You fat fuck!" Marshall seemingly yells at nothing, making me sigh quietly to myself.
"You're fired and retired, you're tired, you skinny fat fuck! Fuck you, you bald fat fuckin' fuck! Fuck you fuckin' fuck!"
Marshall is taking his love for 'fuck' to a whole other level.

"Obnoxious isn't the right word, but it's the word that comes to mind" I utter lowly, crossing my arms over my chest and spreading my legs.
My jeans are just a bit too tight, so it's slightly uncomfortable, but I can only deal with crossing my legs for so long.

"Bitch, fuck you, you're a Fuckin' elitist bitch" he hollers, clearly high off his ass.
A high that he intends to continue feeding into.

"Yo, someone get me a ginger ale!" He asks to the group, no one in particular.
"I need somethin' to settle my stomach."
All this said with the pills still in his hands.

"What are those?" I question cynically, raising an eyebrow.
His pupils are the size of pennies.
His face is flushed, lips plump and red.
Ew, why am I thinking about that?