The Parasite | Eminem

45

- Marshall's Perspective -

Marlow never looked at peace.
Even before all of what she did.
There was always this look of tiredness to her.
She had those dark purple circles under her eyes, even though she slept regular hours.
She didn't have a resting bitch face, but she had the look of someone who knew too much.
It's as if the amount of knowledge weighted on her mind.
Naturally, what she knew, at least about herself, was more than the average person did.

She looked -well- unconscious.
Laying on her side, head resting on her open palm, she was definitely asleep, despite her eyes being slightly open.
Marlow told me she slept with her eyes open, I mean, not fully open, but you know.
She kind of just looks sorta possessed.

I watch her when I can't sleep.
It seems like it's more and more often.
Every night I think of waking her.
I never do.
I just lay next to her, still and delicate.
Part of me wishes she'd maybe wake up one night and we'd stay up talking.
She'd hold me or I'd hold her.
But no.
She's a deep sleeper, so I'm left alone.
With her physically and alone mentally.

I've been getting more sloppy lately - it's intentional obviously.
I slam my glass of water back down on the night table harder each time.
I shut the bathroom door loudly behind as I return to bed.
I desperately try and get comfortable, shifting around helplessly.
Sometimes I put my arms around her and whispers random thoughts into her ears.
I just say what's on my mind, which I already do when I'm awake... but it's all a tinge more depressing.

I'm starting to think I'm becoming a real insomniac.
I don't remember the last night I slept all the way through without being up for at least a few hours at a time, if not most the night.
Sometimes I write.
Sometimes a think up rhythms in my head.
Sometimes I go over to Marlow's bookshelf and read through the highlighted parts and try to get inspiration.
Unfortunately, nihilistic philosophy is naturally very dark.
That or her Russian classics.
Those are even worse.

It just serves to depress me a little.
In the same breath, it fascinates me.
Something that liberates one person can totally demoralize another.

"I miss you at night... it's like you're gone from me for half the time and yet you're right in front of me." I tell her, speaking to an unconscious person.
Laying on my side, blanket on only half my body.
The bed is warm, I feel comfortable, and yet I can't sleep.

I speak at regular volume, hoping that maybe she might just barely hear me and feel an urge to wake herself up.

"I should do somethin' bout this. I know I should... go to like a sleep clinic... or something."
After Marlow gave that speech about making a table with the hammer a week ago... I got scared.
She made me feel like... well, an addict.
The idea of giving up the meds was uncomfortable to me, but yet I was convinced that I should be able to.
I stopped taking the Valium.
Don't get me wrong.
I still have it.
I don't ever stop thinking of it.
I know that's a bad thing.

But I haven't slept properly in a week.
Now it's not just a few hours lost
Now it's not just most the night.
I think I only sleep in random thirty minute intervals if I'm lucky.
I feel like I'm deteriorating, decaying.

Getting up from the bed, I head over to my dresser.
I feel shame.
I feel like a failure.
Pulling open the drawer for my shirts, I toss a few of them out before grabbing at one of the plastic orange pill bottles.
I feel weak and yet I can't refrain myself.

I just want to go to bed.
I want sleep.
I'm becoming a desperate mess.

I walk back over, laying down with the little bottle of salvation.
Pressing my back against the headboard, I grab my glass of water and take a quick swig before sliding two in my mouth.
The glass makes a resounding thud as I place it back down carelessly.
It's not like she'll wake up anyways.

The pills go down naturally, like a routine.
It's familiar and it feels good.
It's how I'll sleep.

I slide back under the covers, getting back onto my side and bringing my wide eyes back to Marlow's form.
Blinking back at me, awake yet glazed over, Marlow returns my look with one of bleak reception.
"Can't sleep?" She asks in a groggy manifestation of her pull from sleep.

"Did- did I wake you?" I ask in shocked curiosity.
Out of all the times my hastiness pays off and it's when I'll be knocked out in thirty minutes.

"I don't know. It doesn't matter." She mutters before sitting up properly. Her hand goes to her metal water bottle at her bedside.
"What's on your mind?" She asks in her usual husked voice before taking a long sip mindlessly.
Marlow.
Marlow and her voice that makes her seem like she's only asking so she can say she asked, even though she really does care.

"I don' want you worrying" I brush off her question as if I hadn't waited endless nights in hopes she'd wake up and ask me this exactly.

"When you say shit like that, you know it makes me worry more right?" She scoffs dryly, placing her bottle back down before dropping her head down next to mine.
She nudges closer, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
"Come on, speak." She commands in her typical note.

"I feel lonely at night... you're not awake an' I'm just laying here... alone" I sigh, feeling at once comforted in her presence.
Awake and truly here.
Sometimes being in her arms like this makes me feel even more lost.
As if I shouldn't be finding so much comfort out of something so simple.
Yet it's one of the only things that actually makes me feel less like I'm falling of the edge of the earth.

"How long are you awake for at night usually?" She asks softly.
I know she doesn't know exactly how to approach emotion filled situations.
She always asks questions like a goddamn therapist cause she thinks that's the only way to handle the situation.
I feel bad for her at moments.
She just seems like she's trying to be what she's not.
Trying to feel what she can't.

"Most the nights... at least since I tried to give up the Valium." Don't get me wrong, it was a half-baked effort, but an effort none the less.

"When'd you try giving up the Valium?" She asks, an air of shock in her words.
As it were against her prescribed ideas.

"After you gave that whole table speech... I felt scared."

"Marshall, that's exactly the opposite of what I intended for you to do" she laughs softly, being delicate and still humorous.

"No- I know... but I feel like you think I'm an addict... and you told me all that shit cause you were trying to warn me in a weird way..." I expel anxiously, feeling like my words are no longer connecting with my thoughts.
My eye lids feel so heavy.
My eyes feel dry, stinging slightly.

"I'm worried about that. Of course I am. There's always that worry when you start using strong medications to treat problems as dire as needing enough sleep to operate. But I trust that you'll know when somethings really wrong... and you'll tell me." She speaks in a soft and caring tone, her true nature showing through in it's own rare way.
It's in little spurts like this.
Little spurts of passion and care.
Little moments where I see what Marlow's capable of feeling.

"Yeah... I... I will"
I know I'll be able to tell Marlow.
Marlow's done worse than most.
She's been seen as worse.

I know that if I had something to say, some truth to speak... she'd listen.
She'd listen and wouldn't judge.
Then she'll do what she does best.
She'd problem solve in her cutthroat and harsh way.
She'd be there.
She'd... be there.

"Marshall... if you ever want me awake... if things feel too heavy, you can always wake me up." She whispers softly, running her loving fingers through my hair.
I feel myself sinking.
I feel an immense mixture of emotions, but more than anything, I feel comforted.
"I'll do anything for you. I don't care what it is"
My arms around her waist, I bring the grip tighter in a silent acknowledgement of her words.
I press a kiss to her collarbone before I rest my forehead to her chest.
I close my eyes and then I'm gone.