The Rapper's Favorite || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 8: Beneath the Surface

Marshall's POV

The studio's quiet, except for the faint hum of the soundboard and the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. The air's thick tonight, almost suffocating. I sit there, headphones off, watching Aria. She's tucked into the far end of the couch, her legs pulled up under her like she's trying to make herself smaller. The contract is still shoved into her bag—just sitting there, like a weight between us.

Weeks. It's been weeks since that contract landed in her lap, and still, she hasn't signed it. Every day we're in here, she's full of ideas, sharp with her lyrics, and yet, when it comes to putting her name on this album, she freezes. It doesn't make sense.

The tension between us is like a low hum in the room, almost as loud as the equipment, buzzing in my ears, pushing at me to do something.

I pull off my headphones, dropping them onto the table with a dull thud. "We're still here," I say, keeping my voice low but unable to hide the edge creeping in.

Aria glances at me, her expression blank for a second before a slight frown tugs at her lips. "What do you mean?"

I lean forward, planting my elbows on my knees, not breaking eye contact. "The contract, Aria. You've been sitting on it for weeks. What's really going on?"

Her jaw tightens, just for a moment, but I don't miss it. It's like a flicker of something—something she's trying hard to suppress. She looks away, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on her leg. "It's complicated."

My frustration flares. "Then uncomplicate it."

Her head snaps up, eyes flashing with surprise. I know my tone's sharper than I meant it to be, but I'm done with dancing around this. "You've been in every session, shaping every track. You're as much a part of this album as I am, but you're acting like it doesn't matter."

Her body shifts slightly, her arms folding across her chest like she's bracing herself for something. "It's not that it doesn't matter," she says, her voice tight. "It's just—" She cuts herself off, her eyes darting toward the door, like she's searching for a way out of this conversation.

I push off the edge of the couch and stand, pacing toward the soundboard. My steps are deliberate, my frustration barely contained. I lean against the desk, looking back at her. "Just what? You think I'm offering you credit out of pity? You earned this, Aria. This isn't a handout."

She doesn't respond, and the silence between us thickens. Her shoulders tense, her eyes locked on the floor, and I can feel it—the wall she's built. She's been hiding behind it since the day I met her, but now it feels like that wall's about to crack.

"I've been through the industry bullshit," I say, my voice softer but still pushing. "You think I don't get how brutal it can be? But that's not what this is. You've been around long enough to know how this game works."

Her lips press into a thin line, and for a second, I think she's going to tell me. But instead, she shakes her head, a heavy sigh escaping her. "It's not that simple."

I drag a hand over my face, trying to reel in the frustration surging through me. "You've been saying that for weeks, Aria. Help me understand."

Her hands twist together in her lap, a nervous habit I've never seen from her before. Her voice is quieter now, almost fragile. "I don't want to drag you into something you don't need to be a part of."

I freeze. Drag me into something? My eyes narrow, and I take a step closer, crouching down to meet her gaze. "What are you talking about?"

She sighs again, the sound heavy and tired, her fingers still tapping out that anxious rhythm on her knee. "There are things... from my past. Things I've dealt with. I don't want them blowing up in your face."

I search her face, trying to make sense of her words. I've seen enough people try to hide their scars, but this feels different. "Aria, I've had my fair share of shit thrown at me. Whatever you're dealing with, I've probably already been through it. You think I haven't been dragged through the mud?"

Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and there's something there—fear. Real fear. "You think that. But this is different."

The words hang in the air, and for a second, the room feels too small, the air too thick. I stare at her, my frustration giving way to something else. Worry, maybe. What could she possibly be hiding that she thinks is too much for me?

I stand up slowly, feeling the weight of it settle on my shoulders. "Then explain it to me."

Her face tightens, and she looks down again, her hand running through her hair, leaving it a tangled mess. "I can't. Not right now." Her voice is small now, almost like it's coming from someone else. "I just need more time."

I stand there, staring at her, the silence pressing in on me. I've seen people hide behind walls before, but this—this is something else. It's like she's locked herself in, and no matter what I say, she's not ready to let me in.

I take a step back, rubbing my hand over my face, trying to clear my thoughts. "Time's running out, Aria. This album's halfway done. Sooner or later, you're going to have to decide whether you want your name on it or not."

She nods, but she's not really here. She's somewhere else, in whatever storm she's trying to keep from spilling over.

———

Later that night, the studio's quiet again, but my thoughts are anything but. I've been sitting here for hours, trying to focus on the music, trying to let the beat drown out the questions, but it's not working.

She said she didn't want to drag me into something. What the hell could she be running from? What could be so bad that she's willing to stay invisible rather than take credit for everything she's done?

The more I think about it, the more it pisses me off. I trust her—hell, I wouldn't have kept her in the studio this long if I didn't. But whatever she's hiding is starting to eat at me, and I need to know what I'm dealing with.

The door opens, and Paul steps in, his presence calm, steady, like always. He takes one look at me and raises an eyebrow. "You look like you're ready to throw someone out the window."

I let out a laugh, but it's bitter. "Something like that."

Paul walks over, glancing at the screen. "Still working on that track?"

I nod, even though my mind's not on the music. "Aria still hasn't signed the contract."

Paul raises his eyebrows. "What's the holdup?"

"She says it's complicated," I say, leaning back, my mind racing. "But she won't tell me why."

Paul watches me for a moment, his expression careful. "Look, I don't know all the details, but I've heard things. About her past. Something with the industry."

I sit up, feeling a knot form in my gut. "What kind of things?"

Paul shrugs, but I can see the concern in his eyes. "Whispers. People are cautious around her. Like there's some history there. Something that didn't go well."

I frown, my mind spinning. "You think she's been blacklisted?"

"Could be," Paul says quietly. "I don't know for sure. Just... be careful. You've worked too hard to let something blow up now."

I nod, but inside, I'm already thinking about how to deal with this. If she's been blacklisted, if she's running from something, then maybe that's all the more reason to stand by her. The industry's pulled this kind of shit before. I'm not scared of it.

As Paul leaves, I lean back in my chair, staring at the soundboard. Whatever Aria's hiding, I'll deal with it. We'll deal with it. And if the industry's got a problem with her, they're going to have to get through me first.