The Parasite | Eminem

42

"I quit smoking..." I mutter, bringing the lit match stick to the tip of the incense.
Spreading it's flame to the aromatic stick, vanilla in scent, it begins to fizzle out.
Leaving the tip black and burnt, the match retires from it's use.
I place it down in the ashtray, feeling suddenly lonely in my composure, seated on the floor, arms resting on the coffee table.

"You, ...quit smoking? Marlow, you don't have to change everything about yourself to prove yourself." Marshall argues, turning the tv off swiftly in order to direct his attention my way.

"No... no it's not that. I've been thinking about it for a while" I sigh, inhaling a strong lung-full of the burning vanilla fragrance.
Self-improvement is bullshit.
I'm quitting cause I hate breaking out into coughing spells.
I also don't want my teeth to get all weird or those- like- smoker wrinkles around my lips.
Obviously, not getting cancer would also be great.

"Well, why you doin' it?" He asks curiously, sinking down to the carpet next to me, staring at the incense slowly dying in the ceramic holder.

"Cause I don't really want cancer." I simply put, letting out a dry laugh.
Don't get me wrong, I don't give a shit about indulging in unhealthy habits, but I hate feeling my chest constrict, I hate that subtle wheeze that happens every once in a while.
I hate coughing like an idiot.
I can always chase another horrible habit.
There are plenty of them, why we need religion to control the weak-willed people of the world.

"You quittin' cold turkey?" He continues to ask questions, resting his head on my shoulder.

"Naw, wearing nicotine patches" I mutter, patting at my upper arm where one currently resides.

I wrap an arm around his shoulders, unsure and yet feeling hopelessly necessary.
I've felt at a general discomfort as of late, though I don't care about feeling comfortable.
I think about Marshall's words, how he collapsed to the floor in the hotel room that night... I think about it constantly.
I hope he doesn't think about it as much as I do.
I hope he's at some form of peace.
I hope he doesn't see me as a tyrant...

"I gotta be in the courtroom tomorrow..." he sighs, tilting his head slightly so his lips reach the tip of my shoulder.
I don't see how he can't be mad at me.
He does the pettiest crimes and is in court most the year.
Me?
Scot-free.

"You want me to come...?" I ask, knowing the answer is probably yes, and yet part of me expects him scoff.
The silent killer in the courtroom watching the marital spats unfurl in front of the law she's hidden from.

"Mhm..." he hums lowly, running his nose along the skin of my neck before deciding to plant his lips right below my ear.
"Don't feel guilty." He whispers against my skin, seemingly reading my anguished thoughts.

"How'd you know?" I ask softly despite knowing that I make an effort to be as transparent as possible.
Yeah, the girl who says, 'there's no deeper down' having no deeper down.
Shocker.

"Simple logic... you feel bad having to see me in court meanwhile you're the real danger..." he continues on, spelling out my own thoughts as if he had access into my head.

"You know me too well." I smile subtly, watching the smoke drift and twirl through the air, making me envious.
I long for it, but come to terms with the fact that I can simply watch it.

"You're an open book. Isn't that your whole thing?" he chuckles lightly before sinking his teeth into my delicate flesh.
Tongue flush to my skin, he sucks generously, slipping a hand up to cup my cheek and keep me still.

"Yes.... Mmm..." I hum, indulging in the sensual feeling.
I close my eyes and tilt my head to the side, giving him more access.

"I'm a foolish, stupid man..." he mumbles, grinning against my skin.
I'm not sure what's happening, but no matter what's going on between us, Marshall will always be a horny guy.
"But you... you're a God..." he continues, grabbing me by the waist and hoisting me onto the couch.

I raise an eyebrow at him as he slips his thumbs under the elastic of his sweatpants I've borrowed.
"I deserve to be punished... but you- you're just too smart" he drawls on, as if he's impressed with me.

Marshall's bipolar in that really strange way.
It's either being really depressed over what I've done or finding it attractive.
Those are two pretty big extremes.
I don't understand it... I don't really need to.
Sometimes, you don't need to know everything.

I go to grab his shirt, but he smacks my arm away.
"I'll do it. Don't worry." He assures, prying his shirt off over his head.
I remain still as he proceeds to drag my panties down, then sliding his sweats off, letting them pool at his knees.

He is right... in a depressing way...
Only the idiots get caught... the real monsters, the real nightmares... they let everyone scramble around like ants.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" He asks, as if he even has to.
I've found myself in a relatively emotionless state as of late, and yes this applies to my sensual desires...
That being said, looking at his between my legs, hand around his length, waiting for me... fuck it's hot.

"Of course" I tell him, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him in closer.
He brings his tip to my entrance before teasing my clit.

"Tell me, tell me you want me to fuck you." He demands, voice deep and in control.
See kids, asking for consent can be sexy, just do it like this.

"I want you to fuck me..." I groan, feeling myself get wetter with every painful second.
The incense is at its end, changed from one form to the next, it's smoke integrating with the atmosphere.

"Good girl..." he grins, grabbing my hips.
Keeping me in place, hands nails digging into my skin, he slams into me.

This is my nirvana.
This is what I get for what I've done.
See, there is no God.
There is no human soul.
Only people like me... and people like you.