If I Had (Eminem Fanfic)

Chapter 3- Havin' Inferiority Complex Fuckin' One's Confidence

Chapter 3- Havin' Inferiority Complex Fuckin' One's Confidence

I woke up with a start and a terrible headache. As my vision cleared, I saw that I was in a car but not on the driver’s seat. I snapped my head to the right and gave a start, seeing Keid in the picture, behind the wheel with one hand draped over it and the other shuffling the stuttering radio of his car.

“What happen?” was my first question.

His eyebrows automatically rose as he realized I was awake.

“Cocaine. You spaced out. Didn’t know what to do. Thought I’d bring you with me.”

Recollection of Keid handing me the drugs floated over to me. But after that---- blank.

“Uh yeah… did I… do something stupid?” I feared the worst.

“You didn’t.”

I suddenly calmed down.

“You said… some things though.”

“Like?” I tilted a brow. Keid shifted his gaze from the road to me. “You sure you wanna hear it?” his turn to tilt the brow.

Now, I don’t do blush. Never. I’m pretty shy, but I hardly ever blush. But Keid’s expression told me something weird must’ve been said on my part, or he wouldn’t have looked so amused and funny. Keid hardly ever looked so taunting.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it.” I grumbled, and looked on ahead through the windscreen.

“Guessed so.” His Irish blue eyes were back on the road again. “But gotta say, man, you’re fucking hilarious.”

I blushed again but didn’t react.

The radio was now working. It was on a hip hop station where some host was about to play someone from the D, here to surprise everyone with his diabolical rhymes.

“Here’s for y’all hip hop diggers out there. He’s known as the best white rapper yet. To hell with Vanilla Ice.  A killer with rhymes, known for his controversial times, he’s none other than the new white boy in the hood…. EMINEM!”

Hi! My name is (what?), my name is (who?), my name is, (chicka-chicka)- SLIM SHADY!

Excuse me

Can I have the attention of the class for one second?

Hi, kids! Do you like violence? (yeah, yeah!) Wanna see me stick nine inch nails into each of my eye lids?

Wanna copy me and do exactly like I did? Try ‘cid and get fucked up worse than my life is?

My brain’s dead weight

I’m tryin’ to get my head straight, but I can’t figure out which Spice Girl I wanna impregnate

 

---- The song ended and the host started blabbering about some shit so Keid switched the station. We’d shared laughs as long as the song had lasted, because, true, the guy knew how to be funny. After awhile I sat there in silence, eyes on the road, deep in thought. It was like this guy always made me fall in doubt and contemplate the chances of my survival. I don’t mean Keid. It was the guy they just played. Eminem. The ultimate fame gain white rapper everyone was talking about. He was the franchise now. The name on every kid’s lips.  Immensely controversial, he had media attention on him 24/7. And he was from Detroit. The same streets I am driving around in with Keid right now. He was from here, and he’d made it. And wasn’t it just too much of a coincidence that we’d never met? Though we are both rappers and battle and from the same fucking place. I’m even sure his hangout spot woulda been The Shelter and Hip Hop Shop like me. Yet we’ve never met. To think, I’d seen him in posters and not in person while we are both striving in the same business of entertainment and belong in Detroit. I wouldn’t admit it openly, but I’d’ve liked to meet him. He seems like a great rapper, with a bag full of bitch-slapping insults and complex lyrical content. Not to overlook the fact that he’d survived. The hate, the discrimination--- and life in this hellhole. No one’s the richer here. Though, to say, the only difference between us would be he wouldn’t have had dealt with the women issues. He’s a male, I am female. My mother fucked it up for me. Thanks a lot, mom!