Infinite (Eminem Fanfic)

2. You've Heard From Hell Well I Was Sent From It

A/N: okay, so I have previously unpublished this book to tweak some things I didn't like, but now I'm publishing it again. If you have somehow read this already, then I haven't actually made too many changes to this first chapter, but do still kind of skim through it if y'all feel like it. The second chapter is going to be pretty different from how I had originally had it on here though.

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Marshall's P.O.V.

1996

"Marshall. Just fucking accept it already. You ain't never gonna amount to anything. You are just a damn dishwasher at Gilbert's lounge. You are a piece of white trash. Just like I am. People like us, we don't ever achieve anything big in life, so fucking pull you head out of your ass already and concentrate on reality," Kim's words that she spoke to me this morning are on repeat in my head, making me feel angry as fuck as I stand in front of the local Kinkos, leaning on the hood of my car and studying my album's cover.

I'm angry as fuck that she doesn't believe in me.

And also at the nagging feeling at the pit of my stomach that she might be right.

It's been months now since I had managed to put out Infinite.

And the shit just won't fucking sell. And I ain't even gonna lie, that's hitting me hard and hurting both my heart, my pockets and my pride. Welp, that's three things as a matter of fact, but you get what I'm saying.

I've put my all into recording that album. My blood, sweat and tears. And it was still fucking flopping hard man. For every radio station that played it, there would always be a critical that would compare my flow to other artists, saying I had ripped off Naz and AZ. And it seemed like nobody was fucking with it at the stores neither.

That was a hard blow, but I'm determined to push the shit myself if I had to. It's my only shot after all. Or at least that's how it feels right now.

Kim has been riding my ass hard because of this too. She keeps on telling me how I need to grow up already and leave this pointless dream of becoming a rapper and instead worry about how imma put food on the table for both her and Hailie. She feels like I'm wasting my time and living in the clouds instead of in the real world.

Reality like feeding our newborn daughter for example.

The thing Kim keeps failing to realize though that one of the main reasons I'm even fighting so hard to make it in this rap game is in fact so that I could fucking provide for Hailie. And... for her as well, I suppose. As much as the bitch gets on my nerves at times, she is still the girl I've been on and off with for years. And even more importantly she's my little girl's mother.

Even if we ain't together right now, I'd fucking do anything for Kim. But she either chooses to not see that or just plain don't care.

She had passed where I was stationed at earlier today, sitting in my mom's old ass beat down Honda in front of some local Kinkos store. I had just finished making copies for my flyers, advertising my upcoming show, the flyers I fucking drew myself by hand. Kim smirked, told me again how not even one person would show up for the show or buy my damn album and kept it pushing.

That was about an hour ago, and it took me exactly that long to fucking pull myself together.

And now I'm leaning against the hood of the car, forcing myself to be determined as ever.

Trying to sell copies of my album from the hood of my car, as well as advertise my show that I'm gonna do at The Hip-hop Shop later on this week.

I feel nervous as hell, and kind of stupid, not even gonna lie. I pull the hood of my black baseball cap low over my eyes. Maybe Kim is right and I should give up, but I just can't, you know what I'm saying?