The Parasite | Eminem

41

A.N. Why I put this much effort into an Eminem fanfic? I don't know. Why do we do anything?

Will you hurt me again?" He questions as I keep a hand resting on his head, running through his short hair.
Other arm wrapped around his shoulders, I hold him close, staring at the blank wall across from the bed we lay on.
I feel as though my lips are sewn shut.
There is this person in my arms... someone who I've come to love deeply, and yet I don't know how to handle his heart.
I've never known what's it's like to have someone love me, and thus have never been given the opportunity to truly hurt someone.
What a cruel thing it is... to let someone love you.
Only so you can hurt them eventually, somehow.

"I don't want to hurt you again... but I don't really know how to handle myself..." I whisper quietly, holding him to my body, hoping he doesn't pull away and decide to leave.

"I remember... that night before we were actually dating... an' I told you I was scared of getting close to you... because I was worried you'd do something horrible to me..." he mumbles before letting out a dry laugh, remaining in my arms.
He's still, continuing to be with me and yet drawling on about dramatic ironies.

"You regret it... I know you do." I state, tracing my thumb over the warm skin of his arm.
It's obviously.
He's already made it clear several times.
I just don't see how he can have enough love left to stay.

"I... I do... but I still can't imagine leaving you..." he admits, pulling from his position in my arms.
He sits up, looking me in the eyes before bringing his gaze to his hands.
"This tour has been the worst time of my life... and I didn't need you to go and disappear on me..." he whispers, suddenly sounding choked up before going silent for several long seconds.

"You were always the stable one... even when you were so harsh and brutally honest... at least I could ask you what to do... and you'd know...." mumbling out these words, with a destination in mind.
A conclusion I'm yet to hear yet, but know already.
"But... you're like this completely different person now... or at least you were up until you came back to the hotel room..." he tells me, resting a palm on the back of his neck.
"Look... I ain't expect you to have all the answers for me... I just- just wanna know the woman I love isn't gonna go dropping off the surface of the earth again."

He frowns at me, a world of pain in his gaze.
I try to match his solemn expression despite feeling utterly desolate.
I sit up against the headboard, looking down at the hand that held the gun to my temple and prayed a bullet would instantly kill me.

"I won't ever do anything else like that again... you've got my word." I tell him in a hollow tone, thinking of the body I left to decay in the apartment.
The person who saved me, left as worm food essentially.
I could have at least thanked him, but of course, I'm too cruel.

"Do you think it's a good idea... to stay with me? Sure I'm pardoned by death, but that doesn't mean I deserve you." I choke out, not saying it too loud.
Part of me hopes I can block out my own voice, but the words reverberate in my head.
Part of me feels that Marshall isn't leaving because he loves me enough.
He's staying because starting over would put too much of a strain on his mind.
Maybe he thinks that sticking by my side will somehow help to mend my 'demented' head.
Maybe if he loves me hard enough, I'll become that stable and cynical rock again that he thinks has been killed off inside me.
Whoever I'm meant to be is dead in the water somewhere.

"No one deserves to have anyone... we're just two people trying to hate ourselves a little less." He sighs, getting up from the bed and heading over to the mini fridge in the corner of the room.

"Mini bottle of liquor?" He offers with a soft laugh.
It's got that strange sadness to it... like he knows he should still be mad at me and yet he can't stomach it.
I really don't know how to feel in this moment.

"Sure..." I mumble, watching him stand up with a tiny bottle of Fireball extended for me.
It feels as if I've bridged too much of a gap between the two of us.
He brought us together and I'm pulling us apart.

"Interesting choice." I acknowledge, grabbing the bottle of cinnamon whiskey, "Canadian actually" it feels impossible not to toss in a random fun fact I know, trying to fill the painful silence.

"I just want you to promise me something..." he mutters, cracking open the cap of his little bottle of Bacardi.

I down the whole small bottle in one sip, tossing it back quickly before slamming it down onto the nightstand.
I feel it's spiced contents burn down my throat.
I deserve to at least feel a little pain.

"I'll promise you anything. I owe you at least that much" I tell him swiftly in a bleak tone.
I watch him take a small sip from his drink... something to hold... something to do with his hands.
Something to distract from this discomfort...

"Just- talk to me. I'm your boyfriend and I know you ain't ever do this shit before... but you're supposed to communicate your feelings on shit... like- you know, wanting to kill yourself." He mutters, bringing his gaze up to mine.
Looking at his lonely expression makes me wants to cry... if I could.
His face says so much...

"Yeah... yeah... I'll talk to you..." I agree, though feeling unsure.
It will feel strange, and make me feel burdensome... but if it's all he requests..

"More than anything Marlow... I'm just really happy you failed..." he confesses, tipping back the final sip from the small glass before pressing it onto the nightstand next to mine.
He gets back on the bed, climbing on top of me before he rests his head on my chest.
I feel a systematic need to wrap my arms around him, bringing the sheets over us and just ending all the dejection.

"I know you're a monster... but you're mine... and I'm the only one you need to confess to." He whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist before lifting his head and pressing several despaired kisses to my collarbone up to my jaw.

"I love you, Marshall..." it's all I can let out despite wanting to tell him so many things.
"I've never been here before... but I want to try and learn how to be that person. Someone who doesn't hurt you... I'll do everything for you..."

I have no one else to do anything for.
Certainly not for myself, I'm supposed to be dead.

He's quiet, slipping a fallen strand of hair behind my ear.
He gives me that melancholy look of yearning, cupping my cheek before pressing his lips to mine gently.
It's like a feather grazing against my lips, but in this moment, it's the only thing that seems right.
It's comforting and comprehendible.

I've never wanted to be content, but in this moment, I can't help feeling whole.