The Parasite | Eminem

36

Fast forward, we're in Tampa.
Hot as shit and vibrant as all fuck.
"Did you guys know that during World War Two, German soldiers used to pop Methamphetamine pills like candy cause it reduced feelings of empathy and kept them awake for several days on end?" I recall, resting my head on Marshall's shoulder as he takes an inhale from the shared blunt.

"Naw girl, I don' think anyone of us but you knows about shit like that" Ice Cube chuckles before taking a big sip from a bottle of water.
Swallowing the ecstasy pill that was waiting on his tongue, he slams the bottle back down and proceeds to rub his neck.

Marshall says I'm full of useful information.
He's right, cause I can use this piece of information.
You can always utilize what you know.

"Any of you done crystal meth?" I ask, using the drug's current street name.
I would assume all of them have done it.
They do drugs like the average sex addict jerks off... a lot.

Not surprising at all, both Snoop and Dre raise their hands before giggling childishly with one another.
"Shit, I did it once I think- you can smoke it right?" Anthony says.
Apparently his first name's Brian, but for obvious reasons, no one calls him that.
Anthony's his middle name and he goes by Hittman when it comes to the whole rap thing.
Wait- wasn't I technically a hit man?

"Yeah..." I mumble, suddenly off in my head somewhere, feeling my eyes droop.
Marshall hands the joint to me, and I stare at it blankly.
Whether I should smoke it, that's a good question.
I could just pass it on to Proof, sitting beside my on the couch, but I decide to take a hit.
If I can't tell them I'm actually much more gangster than them, then I can at least indulge in the same drugs as them.

Obviously, I don't smoke weed much, but I do smoke like a goddamn chimney, so I don't make a fool out of myself, passing it along to Proof casually.
"Sure you should be smokin' girl?" Proof asks with a curious grin.
Though making me look like a child, I understand that he's really just worried about me.

"Naw, weed's fine... I'm just not taking that many shrooms again" lies. Lies.
But who cares?
Marshall knows the truth and he's the only one who needs to.

"Aight, cause that was scary" He chuckles, expelling the smoke from his a hit before passing it over to Nate.
Nate Dogg, I wonder if him and Snoop meant to have the same... last names?

We all sit chilling in a bunch of patio furniture couches on the roof top bar.
People swarm around us, but for some strange reason, I feel completely isolated in this moment.
I don't feel as though I'm with them, or with Marshall, I just feel alone.
"Sometimes... sometimes I just feel hollowed out... and it catches me off guard... because I'm so good at feeling fulfilled..." I mumble, hoping only Marshall can hear me.
Hah.
Look at me, being melodramatic.

"Sometimes I wished everythin' would just fuckin' stop. It's like the world wants my ass to be ran into the ground." Marshall responds, placing a hand on my thigh, "but I'm wit' most ma favorite people- so... it's all quiet right now." He admits.
I smile softly, grabbing his hand and lacing his fingers with mine.
Yeah.
I'm with my favorite person... which is pretty easy for Marshall considering I don't love anyone else.
Yes, I know I'm horrible, blah blah.

looking around at everyone, off in their own- very much high- universes, I wonder whether anyone would even notice if I left.
I wanna... swim.
Get in some water, the type that's just cold enough that it gets the adrenaline pumping for a moment.
I feel opposed to just lounging around.
In an instantaneous act of desire, I sit up properly, getting an observant look from Marshall.
"I'd like to go for a swim... so- I guess I'm gonna go do that..." I tell him, sounding neurotic and impetuous.

"I'll swim wit' cha..." the idea seems to entice him, sitting up properly and looking more awake suddenly.
Well, last time we swam together, he got to spank and fuck me from behind, so I guess swimming has a positive connotation for him.

"Yo, we goin' swimmin', any one wanna come?" Marshall shouts the offer over the music.
Mrs. Jackson by OutKast.

"Swimmin? Man, where you get these ideas from?" Devin questions, sitting up-right and putting out his blunt.

"He's high, that's how mother fucker" Snoop chuckles in his lavishly smooth voice.
Sometimes I wonder if he's faking it or not, but it never lets up, not for a moment.

"I could swim" Proof agrees, "I ain't got no trunks though." Proof says, being the first to agree.
I get up from the couch in anticipation, doing a little dance while I wait for Marshall to get up.
Best I can describe it, Chandler from that show Friends Leah likes.
With the hands swaying in an awkward expression.

"Bitch, we wear sweats and extra large t-shirts, we can get them wet." Marshall tells Proof, playfully smacking him upside the head.

"Boy, what's wrong wit' our boxers? It's like trunks anyways!" Dre questions, standing up abruptly.
So I guess this means Dre is also on board.

"Oh yeah...." Marshall mutters, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, staring off at nothing.

"Oh yeah that's right" Proof taunts in a sarcastic tone, "Slim, your goofy ass is stupid when ya high."

"You were the one- You know what- never mind, lets just go man" Marshall halts his argument, finally standing up and wrapping an arm around my body to prop up his hazy form.

"Aight, I'll come" Anthony announces, getting up and dusting off his shirt.
Theatrics.

"Then lets go, come on I ain't waitin" Marshall shouts, pulling me along towards the elevators.
I don't look back to see who follows, I don't really care.
All I want is to swim.
Maybe drown.
No.
Yes.
Whatever.

We all shuffle into one elevator, pressing the button that has a little laminated card next to it stating 'pool deck'.
Me, Marshall, Proof, Dre, Anthony, Nate and that guy Warren who's a relatively quiet guy, all piled in, staring ahead like we work at a fancy building in New York.

Getting to the pool, lit up in all its beautiful night time glory, all the guys start prying all their clothes off.
"Maybe I should just swim in my clothes" I mumble, staring at Marshall in just his boxers.
I'm not a sub conscious person, that isn't want this is about.
But- you know- I'm jumping in a pool with six almost naked guys.

He gives me a confused look, scrunching up his nose and knitting his eyebrows together.
"Why? What's so different from a bra and panties to a bathin' suit?" He questions, scratching the back of his head before Proof runs up behind him, tackling him over to the edge of the pool.
"Motherfucker! Don't even!"

"You gettin' in anyways fool!" Proof argues with a wide grin, pulling both himself and Marshall into the water, splashing water everywhere.

A couple drops get on my skin as I pull my Hawaiian shirt off, tossing it onto one of the loungers.
Wrestling has already ensued in the pool while I finish up taking off my khaki shorts.
I feel strangely ostracized as I head over to the steps, taking my time to get in.
One step at a time, I watch Dre jump in the deep end and Nate splash Warren just for the pettiness of it.
They aren't paying attention to me, that's good.
It's what I want...

I slowly submerge all of myself under water, running my hands through my hair.
I feel through some tangles as I open my eyes.
The chlorine stings, but it's welcomed.
I watch the blurry mass of bodies several feet away from me.
They wouldn't notice for a long while.
Slowly expelling the pent up air through my nose, the pressure in my heads begins to ensue, but I endure it.
I heard drowning is peaceful.
You just need to let go.
I stay under for as long as I can, feeling weightless yet on the verge of explosion.
'Suicide amounts to a confession.'
Fucking Albert Camus again.
The thought is enough to snap me out of it.
I push back up, emerging quickly as my feet press against the textured plaster flooring.
Taking my enlightened breath amounts to a rebirth.

I watch them silently, letting my legs relax, allowing myself to sink back in until the water reaches my chin.
They continue to wrestle, splash restlessly, exist on without the necessity of my presence.
I continue to live.
Well, what'd you expect?
You can't get rid of me that easily.