Intoxicated || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 83

Marshall's POV

The second we stepped out of the restaurant, chaos hit like a semitrailer. Camera flashes exploded in bursts, relentless and blinding. The paparazzi swarmed the sidewalk like vultures descending on prey, their voices blending into an overwhelming roar.

"Marshall! Leila! Over here!"
"What's the story behind the album?"
"Leila, are the songs about you?"

Leila's hand gripped mine tightly, her nails digging into my palm. "Just keep walking," she muttered under her breath, her voice sharp but shaky.

I tightened my hold on her and guided her toward the waiting car. For me, this was routine—another night, another mob of flashing lights and intrusive questions. For her, it was different. She'd always thrived in the spotlight, her confidence a shield against judgment and criticism. But lately, things had changed.

The pregnancy had thrown her off balance—not just physically, but mentally. The exhaustion, the nausea, the fear of how her body was changing. And now, this. The album had dredged everything up. Fans and critics weren't stupid. They'd heard the lyrics. They'd connected the dots.

Her broken collarbone had made sure of it.

Even though it had been four weeks since the injury, she was still healing. The sling was gone for short stretches of time, but the pain lingered—a constant reminder of how fragile things could be. And now, with the pregnancy, I could see it in her face. She hated feeling vulnerable. She hated not being in control.

Tracks like "Black Magic" and "She Loves Me" had sparked a frenzy. Fans dissected every line, pulling apart the references to love, destruction, and obsession, tying them back to us. They heard the fire, the chaos, the rebuilding—but they didn't hear the full story.

"She's his muse," the headlines screamed. "But at what cost?"

It pissed me off. They didn't get it. They couldn't see past the surface.

The album wasn't just music—it was an open wound. A confession. A testament. Every lyric was a piece of our story, written in blood and fire. And no matter how twisted or dark it seemed, it came from a place of truth. Because that's who we were—raw, messy, unapologetic. And that's what made us strong.

Nobody got it. Nobody understood what it took to hold on, to fight for this, to rebuild from the ashes of what we'd been through. But she and I knew. That's all that mattered.

"Marshall, do the songs reflect your relationship?"
"Leila, how do you feel about being the inspiration for the album?"
"What's your response to the rumors about the toxicity in the lyrics?"

Her breath hitched beside me, her nails biting deeper into my hand. I felt her tension, her entire body wound tight like a spring. The questions weren't just noise—they were daggers aimed at her, trying to split her open.

We were almost at the car when a voice sliced through the chaos, sharp and shrill.

"Leila!"

Her body stiffened. My jaw clenched. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Shanice.

"Fucking hell," I muttered under my breath.

She broke through the crowd like she owned the place, her wild hair and cheap clothes making her look even more unhinged. Her eyes gleamed with that twisted satisfaction she always carried when she thought she had power.

"Leila, baby!" Shanice called out, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "You can't just walk away from me! After everything I've done for you?"

"Get in the car," I said quietly, my voice low and razor-sharp.

Leila didn't move. Her breathing was shallow now, her hand trembling in mine. Her eyes locked on Shanice, flickering with disbelief and rage.

"You think you can ignore me?" Shanice's voice rose, sharper, cutting through the noise. "You forget—I know you better than anyone. And I can see it plain as day."

Her eyes dropped to Leila's abdomen, and a slow, malicious smirk spread across her face.

"That's why Alec rushed you to the hospital, isn't it? You're pregnant."

The chaos detonated. Cameras flashed wildly, the paparazzi shouting over one another, their voices a rabid crescendo of questions.

"Leila, is it true? Are you pregnant?"
"How far along are you?"
"Marshall, care to comment?"

Leila's breath hitched audibly. Her free hand moved instinctively to her abdomen, brushing over the slight curve that had become harder to hide. Her voice, when it came, was trembling but sharp. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't I?" Shanice raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. "Call it a mother's intuition. You can't hide this from me, Leila. I'm your mother. I have a right to know."

Leila's voice cracked, but her words were firm, cutting. "You have no rights," she said, stepping forward despite my hand on her arm. "You lost those a long time ago. You don't get to show up out of nowhere and make this about you!"

Shanice flinched but recovered quickly, her gaze shifting to me. Her lips curled into a sneer, venom dripping from every word. "This is your fault," she spat. "You've poisoned her against me. You think you can erase me from her life?"

I let out a cold laugh, stepping between them, my voice low and deadly. "You don't know shit about her," I snarled. "You've spent her whole life fucking her up, and now you want to stand here and act like you care? You're not her mother—you're a fucking parasite. The only thing you're good at is making sure nobody wants you around."

Her smirk wavered, but I wasn't finished. "You don't give a damn about Leila, and you never have. You're just here to stir shit up, get attention. Well, congratulations—you've got it. Now get the fuck out of here before I make you."

Shanice faltered, her eyes darting nervously to the cameras. For a moment, it looked like she might push further. But then she sneered, her shoulders stiffening as she turned on her heel.

"This isn't over," she hissed.

"It is for you," I snapped. "Now leave."

Finally, she stalked off, the paparazzi trailing after her like vultures circling a carcass.

———

The car pulled away in silence. Leila slumped back, her hand cradling her abdomen protectively. Her jaw was tight, her gaze unfocused as the city lights blurred past us.

"She ruins everything," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her eyes glistened as she continued, her words tumbling out faster, heavier. "My childhood, my birthdays, every holiday. My high school graduation. My college graduation. My brother's funeral. Everything." Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. "The only thing she didn't ruin was our wedding, and that's only because we eloped. If we'd had a ceremony, she would've destroyed that too."

"You're not her," I said firmly, covering her hand with mine. "You're not Shanice, Leila. You've already given this baby more than she ever gave you. You're breaking the cycle every day, even if it doesn't feel like it."

Her lips trembled as tears streaked down her cheeks. "What if I can't? What if I screw this up?"

"You won't," I said softly. "Because you love them. Because you love us. And because I'll fight with you, every step of the way."

Her hand tightened around mine, her breath shuddering as she nodded. "This ends with me," she said, her voice low but resolute. "I'm not her."

"No, you're not," I murmured, brushing a tear off her cheek. "You're so much more."