The Human Addiction | Eminem

Hell of a Night

Marshall's Perspective:

She's buckling on a black collar with a long silver chain attached to it as I'm spraying on my cologne.
She clips the other end of the chain onto exposed garter around her upper thigh.
I asked her what she wanted to do.
We could do anything.
She said she wanted to become a hidden spectacle.
I didn't know what she meant by that.
She just told me to get ready and follow her lead.

I want to give her everything.
I want her to experience everything she wants to.
I want her to have everything she wants.
I do genuinely feel bad for everything I've been putting her through.
It's like I've been giving her whiplash.
I've just been trying to keep her pinned down.
I'm terrified of the idea of her leaving me again.
All I want is her.
I wish she'd just understand.
Things could be so simple.

She runs the tip of a bright red lipstick over her mouth.
She tells me red is the color of feminism.
It's been hated since it's very creation.
Men believing that any woman wearing it was seducing them against their will, causing it to have a long history of being banned.
It was later deemed a symbol of empowerment emerging from the First World War.
Women filling up male dominated fields to help the war effort quickly saw the fruits of their own labor.
They'd be able to buy their own cosmetics, turning the red lip onto more than just a beauty look.
It become the sign of a financially independent woman.
This furthered the male spite for the shade, of course.

"You barely wear it." I'm observing as she steps out of her bathroom.
I'm staring up at the wall over her toilet.
There's a square canvas holding the depiction of a woman with her mouth open, tongue extended out and saliva dripping down off it.
I'm grinning to myself.
Tyler.

"Well, I like the peachy lip look" she shrugs, grabbing her tiny black notebook and ballpoint pen from her bed.
"Alright, let's blow this joint" she says, ushering me out of the bathroom as she walks out of her room.
Curiosity is bubbling up inside of me, unable to control.
I don't know what a hidden spectacle is.
I don't know how to become one.
I assume this is a subjective thing. Whatever Tyler makes it out to be.

We're getting into her Mustang and she's sifting through the CDs in her glove compartment.
She pulls out The Score by Fugees.
I'm adjusting the passenger side seat as she's slipping in the CD and pulling out of the driveway.

My phone begins buzzing and I'm digging it out of my pocket quickly.
I look down at the screen before I'm hitting accept.
It's Kuniva, likely calling me about getting stupid.
"Yo, yo Slim!" His voice is coming through, sounding like he's out somewhere.
I hear loud music playing, people shouting.
"Where you at, boy?" He's questioning before he's chuckling loudly.

"I'm wit' ma girl." I'm stating passionately, turning my head to look at her.
God she's so fucking beautiful.
The shit she wears- it's as if she's prepared to tear the world apart.
She likes to make people uncomfortable.
She wants to push the world as far as it can go.
She wants to break down the form.
She wants to be the Ministry of Disturbance.

She's wearing a skin tight black dress with spaghetti straps.
The edges are covered in large pieces of white lace.
She looks like she'd be a model on the Victoria's Secret runway.
The dress is so short that if she'd bend down at the waist you'd be able to see her panties.
This is intentional.

I love it because she's mine.
I get to hold her tight and let everyone see what I have.
What they can't touch.
Because I got to her first.

"Well then get your asses over here. Tell Tyler they make chocolate martinis." He's telling me as I stare at Tyler's beautiful lashes and concentrated eyes.
She takes driving very seriously.