The Human Addiction | Eminem

Inked

We're getting to LA when I'm asking Tyler what she thinks my tattoo for her should be.

"Excuse me?" She blurts out, staring up into the brightly beaming sun, black shades covering her eyes.
Right.
I'd never mentioned I'd wanted to do that.

I'm smirking softly to myself, face heating at the idea of her name on my skin.
Fuck.
I am soft.

"Yeah- I was thinking your name wit' like-"

"OO- DO LIKE A BOOK AND HAVE THE COVER SAY 'THE TYLER MANIFESTO' and have the book be like- a Penguin Classics cover... fuck I hate Penguin Classics, their translations are so choppy and blurry...plus they're also eating up every other publishing house- but their covers are cool."

"Oh Jesus, man your brain is- wow, ok." I'm choking out, shocked at how quick she was to come up with a concept.
"I mean, I don' know where I've got space to do something that large..."

"No- Marshall- why are you getting my name put on your skin permanently?" She's abruptly asking as I watch the cargo part of our tour bus open up and expose us to our luggage.
I'm grabbing out our suitcases before placing them down on cement.

"Cause I love you, and we're gonna be together forever." I state definitively, pressing down on the little buttons on the handles and extending their length.
I look up at Tyler, smiling.
She's in low rise jeans that expose her Calvin Klein panties.
Her black cropped top is dressed with a deep blue Hawaiian shirt with pink flowers.
It's unbuttoned, leaving all of her midriff exposed.
She looks like a cross between a middle aged white father and a hooker.
Makes sense for Tyler.

She tells me, "Well- forever's not possible, immortality hasn't been invented yet. But life expectancy has been getting higher over the years..."
I'm chuckling, pulling the suitcases along as we're walking up to the lobby of this place called the La Peer.
We're in West Hollywood, so yeah, it's a good fucking place.
But we're not staying boutique places... or any famous places.
We're fucking living in hotel rooms.
So we ain't got the hugest budget.
But for LA. we went a little crazy.

"I'm thinking like my collar bone or something... or maybe on my wrist" I ponder out loud, hoping she'll give me her preferences.
My left's is already inked up, may as well do something to the right.
"Hey- wanna get matching shit?"

"If my father- wait never mind, I hate my father. Sure, let's get matching tattoos." She's blurting out, slapping her palms together.
Tyler.
Tyler hasn't ever talked about her father to me.
It's actually concerning how she never mentions her parents.
She's reminiscing, "Oh god, my dad used to say, no tattoos, no drugs, no alcohol, no piercings... -so he was a typical Asian father."
We're getting into the large lobby.
It's insanely modern.
That whole black and white vibe going on.
Minimalistic art and light fixtures.
She's adding, "He was actually a coke dealer as a kid. You fucking expect that? No. Me either."

"Excuse me?!" I'm blurting out, turning to look at her.
She keeps her sunglasses on.
I watch Proof and Bizzare coming through the automatic sliding doors behind her.

"Yeah. And sometimes when my parents would fight, my mom would call him an amateur gangster. Say he was a criminal, liar. That shit. Yeah... he was uh- not a good man."

"Why ain't you ever talk to me about him? I know crazy shit went down." I'm pouting as we walk up to the concierge desk.

"How?" She questions, raising an eyebrow at me.
Still not taking her sunglasses off.

"I may of forced... Dameon into telling me..." I mutter with a nervous grin on my lips.

"Right..." she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Well- I'll get to telling you eventually... I just really hate talking about it." She states as I turn to look at the woman occupying the desk