Intoxicated || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 58

Leila's POV

It had been weeks since that night in the hotel, since we first said "I love you." Since then, everything had been simmering beneath the surface, building like pressure in a boiler. And now that Marshall was back home for a few days before heading out on the last leg of his tour, I could feel that familiar tension creeping in—ready to explode at any moment.

I wanted to be happy to see him. I was happy to see him. But that same old gnawing feeling in my gut had returned. The jealousy. The doubt. No matter what he said, it never fully went away.

"Hey, babe, I'm gonna take a quick shower," Marshall called from the bedroom, his voice rough but casual. "You can unpack my stuff if you want."

I rolled my eyes, irritated. Of course, he wasn't going to unpack his own things. I didn't mind—usually—but something about tonight felt different. Something felt off.

I walked over to his suitcase, flipping it open. My hands moved mechanically, pulling out his clothes, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping up my spine.

And then I saw it.

A lacy, black pair of underwear.

I froze.

They weren't mine.

My mind went blank for a second, my breath catching in my throat. Then, in an instant, a fiery wave of anger surged through me, hotter and more vicious than anything I'd felt in weeks. Every insecurity I'd buried, every suspicion I'd tried to push down, came roaring back with a vengeance.

Madison.

That name burned in my mind. She'd been hanging around him for weeks, always there, always too close. I knew she wanted him, and now—now she had the nerve to slip her damn underwear into his suitcase, like she knew I'd find them.

My stomach twisted with rage. My hands shook as I grabbed the fabric, barely able to contain the white-hot fury boiling inside me. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was storming toward the bathroom.

"Marshall!" I yelled, my voice raw with anger. "What the hell is this?"

I shoved the door open without hesitation, not caring that he was mid-shower. Steam billowed out into the hallway, but it didn't cool the fire burning in my chest. Marshall stepped out, towel around his waist, and his face darkened the moment he saw me standing there, seething.

"What the fuck is going on?" he snapped, irritation already flaring in his voice.

I didn't answer. I just threw the black panties at him, watching them hit the ground between us.

He glanced down, his expression twisting in confusion. "What the fuck is this?" he muttered, looking back up at me with narrowed eyes.

"You tell me," I spat, my voice trembling with barely contained fury. "Whose are these?"

He stepped closer, his jaw tightening, frustration already building in his eyes. "I don't know where the fuck those came from, Leila," he growled, his voice sharp. "You think I'm that fuckin' stupid? You really think I'd leave that shit in my bag for you to find?"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" I snapped, stepping closer, my heart pounding in my chest. "You seriously expect me to believe you don't know how someone else's panties got into your suitcase? Do you think I'm stupid?"

His face hardened, his temper rising to meet mine. "I ain't lyin' to you," he snarled, his voice thick with that Detroit edge that always cut through when he was angry. "I don't know where the fuck they came from, but I told you—I haven't touched anyone. You're makin' somethin' out of nothin'!"

"Nothing?!" I shouted, stepping forward until we were practically nose to nose. "You think I'm going to ignore this? You think I don't see the way Madison is always hanging around you, waiting for her chance?"

"You're being fuckin' paranoid!" Marshall barked, his eyes blazing with frustration. "I told you, I haven't touched her. I haven't touched anyone. You need to stop this shit."

"Stop?!" I hissed, my voice shaking as the jealousy and anger swirled inside me, threatening to spill over. "You make me feel like I'm losing my mind! You think I don't notice the way she looks at you? How she's always right there, waiting for you to fuck up?"

Marshall's hands clenched into fists, his body tense. "You're outta control, Leila," he growled, his voice low, warning. "I told you I ain't doin' anything. But you always gotta turn shit into a fight, don't you?"

And that was it.

I snapped.

Before I even knew what I was doing, my hand flew up, swinging toward him. It wasn't calculated, it wasn't planned—it was pure, unfiltered rage. My ring caught the edge of his cheek as my hand connected, leaving a sharp gash beneath his eye. The force split his lip, and a thin stream of blood trickled down the corner of his mouth.

Marshall stumbled back slightly, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and anger. His hand flew to his face, wiping at the blood now smearing across his cheek. For a moment, we both froze, staring at each other, the room suddenly too quiet.

I could barely breathe, my chest heaving with the intensity of the moment. The sight of the blood on his face—my doing—sent a wave of regret crashing into me. But I couldn't stop. The anger was still there, burning, even as the reality of what I'd done began to sink in.

Marshall wiped at his lip again, the blood staining his fingers. And that was when it hit.

Something shifted in his eyes. The moment his thumb brushed across the blood on his lip, something dark and hungry sparked inside him, igniting a fire I could see in the way his pupils flared, the way his breath quickened. The taste of his own blood seemed to flip a switch in him.

Without warning, he stepped forward, closing the distance between us in two strides. His hands grabbed my waist roughly, his grip tight, almost bruising, as he pulled me against him. His eyes burned into mine, wild and feral, and before I could say anything, his lips crashed into mine.

The kiss was savage, primal. I tasted the coppery tang of his blood, and it only seemed to fuel the fire between us. His lips were demanding, hungry, as if he was trying to consume me, erase the fight with the force of his need. I kissed him back just as hard, my fingers gripping his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him.

The anger, the jealousy, the hurt—it all bled into the kiss, transforming into something raw and unstoppable. His hands gripped my hips, yanking me against him like he couldn't get enough. The world around us blurred, the heat of the moment drowning out everything else.

I felt his breath hitch against my mouth as his tongue grazed over the cut on his lip, the taste of blood mingling with the heat of his kiss. It was like gasoline on a fire, sparking something even more intense inside him.

We broke apart, both of us gasping for air, our foreheads pressed together as we stood there, the electricity still sparking between us. His lip was still bleeding, but neither of us cared. The rage from before was gone, replaced by something equally dangerous but far more consuming.

"I fuckin' love you," Marshall growled, his voice low and rough, his eyes still dark with intensity.

"I love you too," I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of everything between us.

We stood there, breathing hard, the tension still thick, but it had shifted. The fire between us still burned, hotter than ever.

And just like that, the fight was over. The fire between us wasn't one that could be extinguished—it was the kind that fueled everything we were, the kind that kept us coming back to each other, no matter how much we tore ourselves apart.

Because no matter what, we'd always find our way back to each other.