Intoxicated || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 74

Leila's POV

The cold air slapped my skin, but nothing was colder than the fury I felt inside. I stood there, naked and shaking—not from the cold, but from the rage simmering beneath my skin. The broken glass glittered around my feet, shards of shattered trust. The rocks I'd hurled were scattered across the porch, and all that remained was my pain, laid bare under the night sky.

"You think this is a joke?" My voice cut through the tension, sharp and venomous. "You think you can fuck me like that and throw me out like some worthless whore?"

I saw the shock in his eyes, the way his face fell, but it did nothing to quell the burning inside me. When he took a step toward me, reaching out, I recoiled, feeling the sting of hurt beneath my anger.

"Leila..." His voice cracked, and for a second, I heard regret. "I—"

"Sorry?" I snapped, stepping forward, feeling the damp sticky sensation on my thighs, a reminder, the heat of my anger propelling me closer. "You fuck me like I'm nothing, then lock me out with cum dripping down my legs, like I'm some groupie. You wanted to make me feel like shit, and you did."

I could see the weight of my words hitting him, but it wasn't enough. He needed to understand. This wasn't just about the sex—it was the way he made me feel like I didn't matter. Like I was disposable.

"Leila, I—"

"Don't." My voice trembled as I took another step toward him, fists clenched at my sides. "You knew what you were doing, Marshall. You wanted to punish me. One second, I thought we were us, but the next, you're slamming the door in my face. You didn't even let me finish... like I didn't fucking matter."

His face tightened, guilt flashing across his eyes as he tried to reach for me again. This time, his grip was firm, pulling me toward him even though my body fought it. His forehead pressed to mine, his voice low and thick with regret.

"Leila, I fucked up. I shouldn't have done that. I didn't—"

"Didn't think? Yeah, I know you didn't," I spat, my voice cracking. "I thought I could always trust you to bring me back, no matter how far we went. But you left me out there like I didn't matter."

"You are safe with me," he said, the desperation in his voice shaking me. "I swear, I wasn't thinking straight. You matter more than anything, Lala. I lost it, but I never wanted to hurt you like that."

I stared into his eyes, the heat of my anger still simmering, but something in me softened, just for a moment. "Then why did you? Why did you leave me out there?"

His hands tightened on my arms, his voice rough as he admitted, "I don't know. I lost control. I wanted to hurt you, but I didn't think it through."

I felt my chest tighten, the weight of everything between us hanging heavy in the air. "You wanted to hurt me," I repeated quietly, my anger slipping away, replaced by the hollow ache of betrayal.

"You do matter," he said again, his voice thick with emotion. "More than anything. That's why I lose it with you. I can't think straight when it comes to you. I'll do anything to make this right. Just come inside."

For a moment, I stood there, staring at him, my breath shaky, my body trembling under the weight of everything that had happened. Then, finally, I let out a sharp breath and stepped past him into the house.

The bathroom was dimly lit, steam rising as he turned on the shower. I stared at myself in the mirror, at the flushed skin, the dark eyes reflecting back at me—eyes full of hurt, of exhaustion.

I felt him step behind me, his hands gentle as they slid around my waist. "Let's get you cleaned up," he whispered.

For the first time that night, I didn't resist. I let him guide me into the shower, the hot water cascading over us, washing away the physical reminders of our argument. His touch was soft, careful, as if he were afraid I might break. I didn't say a word, but my body began to relax under his hands, the tension between us easing as the heat enveloped us.

As he rinsed the water through my hair, I leaned into him, the anger I'd been holding onto slowly fading. This wasn't about desire—it was about trust, about finding our way back to each other. When he wrapped a towel around me, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, I felt the shift in him too.

He led me to the bedroom without a word.

We slipped under the covers, and for a moment, we just lay there, the weight of everything between us lingering in the silence. His body was warm against mine, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer. I could feel the steady rhythm of his breath against my back, the solidness of his presence.

"Leila," he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion as he cupped my face, turning me toward him. "I'll never make you feel like that again."

There was something different in his eyes—vulnerability, regret, love. And for the first time in a long time, I believed him. I wanted to stay angry. I wanted to guard myself against the hurt he'd caused. But as his fingers brushed my skin, soft and deliberate, I felt my defenses crumbling.

I leaned in, brushing my lips against his, and it felt different this time. Slower. More meaningful.

His hands moved down my body, his touch soft yet purposeful, and when he moved between my legs, there was no rush. I opened for him, pulling him closer as he slid inside me, the fullness of him grounding me in the moment. His movements were slow, deliberate, each thrust designed to show me—not tell me—how much I meant to him.

His body pressed deep into mine, his breath hot against my neck. I arched into him, my body clinging to his as our rhythm built, slow but intense. Each thrust sent a shudder through me, every moment filling the space between us, the hurt giving way to something warmer, something more honest.

The way he touched me now was so different from earlier. There was no anger in his hands, no force behind his movements. It wasn't about control—it was about showing me I mattered. Each caress felt like an apology, a promise that this time would be different.

I moaned softly, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as I felt him deeper inside me. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer, and I matched his movements, my legs tightening around his waist.

"Lala," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "I love you... I'll always love you."

His words broke something inside me. The walls I had built around my heart crumbled, and tears slipped from my eyes as my body gave in to him. I wanted to stay guarded, to keep my anger as a shield, but in that moment, I made the choice to let go. To trust him again.

With every thrust, I felt myself unravel, my body trembling beneath his as I moaned softly. The heat built between us, my mind growing hazy as the tension mounted, until, finally, I fell over the edge.

I cried out, my body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over me, my release hitting me with full force. I felt him tense, his body shuddering as he followed me over the edge, his release filling me as we collapsed together.

We lay there, tangled in the sheets, our bodies still pressed together, our breaths slowly returning to normal. His fingers moved gently down my back, and I closed my eyes, letting myself feel safe in his arms.

The hurt was still there, but it didn't feel as heavy now. This moment wasn't the end of the pain, but it was a start. A small beginning of something new. I could still feel the echoes of betrayal, the sting of the words he had thrown at me, but I was ready to try.

"I'll never hurt you like that again," he whispered into my hair, his voice raw.

I pressed my face against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming me. I wasn't ready to fully forgive him yet, but I was ready to try. Ready to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could start to heal away from the chaos.