The Rapper's Favorite || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 4: Scars We Live With

Marshall's POV

The beat pounds low through the speakers, heavy like it's sinking into the walls. Aria's sitting across from me, legs pulled up in her chair, her hood hiding most of her face. She hasn't touched her notebook in a while—just letting the track do the talking. We've been grinding on this for weeks, and now it feels like we've hit the end.

"Just gonna stand there and watch me burn..."

Her voice hits differently tonight. Raw, jagged, like she's pulling it straight out of her gut. I glance over at her. Her hands are gripping the armrest too tight. She's not just singing—she's living this. This song is personal for both of us.

My verse slams in next: "I can't tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like..."

The words feel heavier tonight. The chaos, the lies I told myself just to keep moving forward. This isn't just about a messed-up relationship. It's about every time I let things burn down around me, convincing myself that I had it under control when everything was falling apart. Now, hearing it back, it feels like I'm staring at my own wreckage.

The chorus comes back, and Aria's voice cuts through again: "Just gonna stand there and hear me cry, but that's alright because I love the way you lie..."

I hit pause. The silence that follows is almost suffocating. The air feels too thick, like the song is still echoing in the room, refusing to leave us alone.

"That's it," Aria says, leaning back, her voice steady, but her expression tight. "We got it."

"Yeah," I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. "We got it."

But this song? It's more than music. It's like a reflection of every mistake I've made. Every time I let things spiral out of control and didn't care enough to stop it. Now that it's done, it feels like I'm staring straight into the wreckage I left behind.

I glance over at Aria. She's tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair, her shoulders tense. She's carrying her own weight in this song, and I can see that she's trying to push it down. But it's there, just under the surface.

"You good?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

She hesitates, then forces a smirk. "Yeah, I'm fine," she says, but her voice is tight, like she's holding her breath.

I raise an eyebrow. "You're a terrible liar."

She laughs, the sound flat. "And you're a disaster. I've watched you pace like you're waiting for the world to explode."

"Hey," I shrug, leaning back. "Could be worse. I mean, at least if the world explodes, we don't have to listen to this track again."

She snorts. "Yeah, right. The apocalypse would be a mercy compared to what's coming when this song drops. We're about to give every toxic couple their new anthem."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, it's gonna be their 'forever song,' like we didn't write it about burning everything to the ground."

"Exactly," she says, leaning forward. "They're gonna be like, 'This is us, babe! Let's destroy each other with passion and call it love.'"

"Right," I smirk. "Because nothing says commitment like emotional arson."

She grins. "We should start a support group. 'Toxic Love Anonymous: For Couples Who Can't Stop Blowing Up Their Lives.'"

I chuckle. "First rule of Toxic Love Anonymous? Deny the fire, embrace the flames."

She laughs, but it's the kind of laugh that comes with too much truth behind it. We've both lived this. That's why the song works. I glance at her again, watching the flicker of something raw in her eyes before she drops her gaze.

"Seriously," I say, quieter now. "You pulled this from somewhere real, didn't you?"

Her smirk fades, and she looks down at her hands. "Yeah," she says softly. "Something like that."

I don't push. I know what it's like to keep things buried. We've both been through enough to understand when not to ask. I stand up, stretching my arms, trying to shake off the heaviness that's settled over us.

"You sticking around for the rest of the album?" I ask, shifting the mood. "We've still got more tracks to knock out. And I know you get a kick out of watching me fall apart."

Her smirk slides back into place. "Oh, absolutely. Watching you spiral is my new cardio."

I laugh. "Great. But if you're staying, don't think you're off the hook. You're putting in the work."

She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Fine, but if I'm doing emotional labor, I expect hazard pay. You're a walking health risk."

"Hazard pay? I'm not that bad."

"Please," she scoffs. "You're basically a human dumpster fire."

I grin. "Well, at least I'm on fire. It's a commitment."

She snorts. "Congratulations on being the gold standard for bad decisions."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, grabbing my jacket. "I'll take that as a compliment."

The weight of the track still clings to us as we stand there, the silence filling the room more than the music ever did. I can feel it pressing down, thick and heavy. We need to shake it off. Get out of this space, clear our heads. The words, the music—it's sticking to the walls like a bad memory we can't scrub out.

"We need a break," I say, glancing over at her. "Let's get outta here. Diner's just down the street."

She raises an eyebrow. "What, you actually eat?"

I smirk. "Yeah, crazy, right? But after today, I think we've earned it."

We step outside, and the cold night air hits me like a punch to the gut. The streets are mostly empty, the city winding down for the night. Aria pulls her hood up, her hands deep in her pockets, and I do the same. The cold bites, but after the intensity of the studio, it feels good. Fresh.

The diner's neon sign flickers in the distance, casting a soft glow over the wet pavement. The tension from the studio hangs between us like a thick fog, but it's starting to lift, bit by bit.

"So," she says, her voice lighter now, though exhaustion still clings to the edges, "what's next? You gonna brood over this track all night, or are we actually done?"

I smirk. "Depends. You sticking around tomorrow? I've got a feeling this track's gonna haunt me."

She chuckles. "Yeah, I'll stick around. Someone's gotta keep you from going full self-destruct."

I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, grinning. "Good. But just so you know, if you show up late, I'm docking points from your nonexistent paycheck."

She laughs. "You'd better give me a raise for all the emotional damage control I'm doing."

I grin. "I'll throw in a free therapy session, but no refunds."

We walk in silence for a while, our footsteps echoing off the wet pavement. For the first time in days, it feels like the weight is starting to lift. The track's done. We can leave it behind—for now, anyway. But as we head toward the diner, I know the song's still sitting with us, hanging in the air like the cold.