The Parasite | Eminem

52 - End

She takes a long sip from the bottle of Jack Daniels before dropping it back down onto the tile floor underneath her.
It makes an obnoxious clank, spilling gasoline on the fire that is my goddamn headache.
Everything throbs, everything hurts, and I can barely move.
Resting up against the wall, Marlow purses her lips though seemingly not thinking about much.
Hannah left thirty minutes ago and neither of us has said a word since her departure.
I think she felt the need to leave after what I said.
She ate with us then hit the road, off to go live her new enlightened life.
Fucking bitch.

I felt thankful she left... momentarily.
I thought I'd finally be able to tell Marlow everything.
How I feel, how exhausted I am, how badly I wish I'd never met her.

But here I am sipping on Bacardi quietly like an idiot, in a coma-like state.
No thoughts in my head, completely numb and almost immobile.
Marlow did this to me yet I can't bring it in me to tell her how I feel.

"Tell me who first proclaimed that man only did disgusting acts because he did not know what his true nature or real interest was. Tell me who thought that man was only tyrannical because he felt lost. Tell me who thought that enlightenment would open his eyes and he'd learn to think rationally..." Marlow rambles quietly to herself.
I assume she has no desire for me to actually answer her.
"You innocent, pure soul" she chuckles listlessly, drawling on and letting out a hiccup.
Marlow.
Marlow and her philosophical speeches that she fit into each moment that she saw fit.
Marlow and her entitlement, her confidence.
"Man cannot stand to be fulfilled. He drives towards it, but achieving such will only make him hopelessly depressed." She mutters, lifting the thick glass bottle to her lips again.
I watch her, face blank and concealing ever ounce of hatred, I just watch her.

"Enlightenment is coming to terms with absurdity. Enlightenment is knowing that human nature does not call for rationality." She states passionately, staring up at the ceiling with a mindless grin plastered on her face.
It's as if she's trying to justify herself yet refraining.
She's simply explaining her logic and she doesn't give two shits whether I understand what she means.
She doesn't apologize.
She has her reasons from refraining.

"Not in the mood for talking?" she questions curiously, tilting her head to the side and looking at me.
Her eyes are glazed over and void.
She's covered in bandaids and her arms are wrapped in nude medical bandages.

I feel a desperate desire to talk, but I know that all of what comes out of my mouth will be poison.
I want to yell at her, quite frankly.
I feel the words choking up at the back of my throat like bile.
It's like when you're nauseous.
You know it's there but it just won't come out, so you're just left feeling gross.

"You don't have to say anything nice. I've never seen you look at me like that before. I know I'm not the same person to you anymore." She sighs, continuing to give me that subtle smirk.
She takes another swig of whiskey before actually turning her whole body towards my direction.
Still slumped against the bathroom wall, she holds the bottle in her lap and attempts to give me her full attention.
Raising an eyebrow, almost mocking my silence, the corners of her mouth turn up.

All I could wonder about was her comment on the look I was giving her.
I didn't know I was giving her a look.
Face blank, I assume she's taunting me with bullshit to get words out.
Something.
Anything that can tell her whether we're over or not.
Truth is, I don't even fucking know the answer.
"I'm not giving you a look." I state, forcing her to hang onto some form of suspense for just a bit longer.
She deserves some suffering, some anxiety.

"I see it in your eyes, the subtle clench of your jaw. If you hate me, then just tell me." She says, letting out a low laugh, seemingly laughing at the situation rather than at me.