The Parasite | Eminem

46

"Are you sure you want me to walk out with you?" I confirm for the second time.
My tongue is bleeding again and I feel like a hollowed out husk of a previous person.
I can't say I'm set on much anymore.
I feel lost and intrinsically dumbfounded.

I feel like I'm just stuffing my days full of shit to distract from how empty I feel.
I started getting into spicy food just for the sake of feeling that hot pain.
I keep an elastic band around my wrist so I can slap a little bit of life back into myself at any moment.
I take scalding hot showers while I bang my fists against the tile - only ever when Marshall's not home.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Being self-destructive intentionally makes me feel like an idiot.

He brings his hand to my thigh, massaging my skin confidently.
His eyes come from the limo's window to my gaze that's fixed upon him.
"Of course I want you to. You're my girl and we're serious." he scoffs, confident grin plastered on his face.
He usually only smiles when he's not in public.
Marshall truly does feel very dualistic in nature.
He shows people different things depending on who they are to him.

I give him an unadorned smile before resting my head back on the leather couch.
I bring my hand to his, interlacing our fingers as a silent signal of appreciation for his words.
We're quiet for several moments, keeping our eyes outside at the world passing by us swiftly.
My life is ending one second at a time.

"You know Paul, you ain't the typa protective father I expected ya to be." Marshall suddenly emits, turning to look at my dad across from us.
He looks up from his watch and raises an eyebrow.

"Marlow knows how to handle herself. She hates most of everyone... so I think I trust her when it comes to picking someone on par with her. She's intolerable at best and pure evil at worst." My father grumbles before sending a cheeky smirk my way.
I don't know what to make of his expression.
It's as if we've got some sort of inside joke that I don't know about.
Truth is, we haven't really spoken properly in months, not that I'm opposed to it.

"What you tryna say bout me?" Marshall questions, posing as offended.

"You know what I'm trying to say, Marshall." Paul chuckles lightly before sprawling his arm out on the back of the leather seat.

He seems to be in a good mood.
I think that maybe he feels that I'm softening thanks to Marshall.
Marshall is the lesser of two evils, so being around him must've done me at least some good?
I don't know.
I guess so.
In the end.

I'm drowning in thoughts and I'd just like to get on and suffocate already.

"When I was visiting Lily in Baltimore... she told me you said something..." I mumble out, keeping my eyes on Paul.
I let a little grin play on my lips as I watch my dad raise another curious eyebrow.
"You told her that you thought we were prefect for each other."

Sometimes I wonder if that's true.
Obviously, I don't think anyone's perfect for anyone, but I wonder if we're objectively good for each other or not.
I think about it all the time.
Part of me feels like I ruined Marshall in some way.
All I seem to do is hurt.

He doesn't answer me with words, looking thoughtfully at his shoes before he gives me a flat-lipped sort of submissive smile.
He has nothing to say, he stands by his words.

I still feel a desperate desire to ask him honestly, 'do you seriously think I'm worthy of him? You don't think I destroy everything I touch, do you?'
I remain silent.
Sometimes, messy and depressing questions are best left for the mind.
My mind is full of inconclusive, fluid messes.
I'm deteriorating at light-speed.