Good Morning, Detroit || Eminem

Chapter 3: Homeless

"What the hell is going on, Mitchell?!" I ran up to him and asked.

He was standing up, next to the coach, staring angerly at the television. I noticed the TV screen was broken and millions of pieces of glass were sprinkled on the floor like sparkling snowflakes. Next to the television I saw my favorite porcelain vase shattered as well.

"Are you crazy?! How am I going to clean this up?!" I continued. "And my favorite vase! Mitchell!"

He was breathing heavily and he looked like he was going to explode. I was about to go get the broom from the laundry room when he opened his mouth:

"You... you've ruined me..."

I remained silent as a feeling of guilt was starting to rise up:

"I-I..."

"Just tell me, Eliza, why the fuck did you do that?! You had one job, ONE job! To interview the goddamn rapper and keep going!" he yelled while trying to remain calm. I have to say, he was really bad at that.

"I didn't want to keep going, Mitch! You don't understand for Christ's sake!" I defended myself and covered my eyes.

"Understand what?! Goddammit, stop acting like a crybaby and tell me! I did everything for you – this house, the money, the career! I gave you what you wanted, didn't I?"

"I've never wanted that, Mitchell! Jesus..." I sighed.

"Elizabeth... you're slowly getting on my nerves..."

"It was YOU who shoved me into this damned show! You did it, you used me for the money, for the fame! I was so fed up from everything, but you would never listen! I had to do something so you would leave me alone!"

"And you had to do this fiasco in front of everyone, the audience and whole of Detroit?! You've completely ruined me!"

I didn't say a thing. Again, nothing but the clock was heard. I was staring at the parquet floor, covered with the carpet he bought me on our trip to Iran when we were still madly in love.

"...and what about me, Mitchell?" I quietly whispered.

"Huh?"

"Didn't you ruin me?"

I felt how his chest was moving up and down slower and slower. My eyes were starting to tear up again and I felt the salty taste of a teardrop. Mitchell rubbed the back of his neck and sighed:

"Get out."

"What?" I asked, completely puzzled.

"You heard me, baby girl. Get out. You don't deserve being here, nor in my show. After everything I did for you," he stoneheartedly explained as his voice tone was deepening. I was afraid; what if he was about to attack me again.

"But, Mit-" I tried protesting, but with no success. I felt like I was talking to the wall. My hands were clenching and I was feeling my feet getting lighter.

"You heard me, Elizabeth! Goddammit!" Mitch yelled and hit the table. At least it wasn't me, I thought.

"I have nowhere to go! You know that!"

"I don't care. Go live under a bridge if you want, it's not my care anymore, darlin'," he turned his back to me and flopped his 330-pound body onto the beige couch, cracking another beer open and putting his feet onto the table. It wasn't worth it to desperately ask him to change his mind.

"Fine," I said with a serious expression on my face, much to his surprisement.

I was judged for my choices. For the first time I was able to stand up to him, to make him listen to me. And he was not happy. Maybe it was going to be for the better, who knew. In twelve minutes all of my stuff was carelessly packed into the Louis Vuitton bags – a reminder of the days when I would swim in money and fame.

I went out of the bedroom, hands full of heavy bags. I headed to the front door which was right after the living room. I was able to see Mitchell, still sitting on the couch, he hadn't moved, not even a bit. The clock was still ticking.

"Goodbye, Mitchell Richards," I said at the door. No response. I shrugged my shoulders. My wound on the forehead was still bleeding, but I didn't care. Let the world see me as I was - beaten, abused by this disgusting man. Let them all know who he truly was.

I was out of this damned house. Free! As I walked down the three stairs in front of the door, witch each step I was feeling happier and happier! Homeless, but happy! I felt a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. No more "Good Morning, Detroit"! No more fake smiles! No more Mitchell! Just me! I was an independent wom-

OUCH!

"What the hell?!" I thought as I quickly jumped out of my sweet thoughts.

"Sorry, babe!" The man who bumped into me yelled and kept running. He was wearing sloppy jeans, a beanie and a large white t-shirt. Reminded me strongly of someone. I wasn't able to see his face though.

"Be more careful next time!" I replied with a bit of annoyance in my voice and picked up the bags I had dropped because of him. He was probably one of those hooligans our neighborhood was filled with.

"Will be!" He yelled and laughed even louder as he was away from me.

I giggled to myself and kept walking. But I was soon brought back to reality... where was I going to stay? I had no place to go. My parents were in a nursing home, all my friends were married and had kids who were keeping them occupied all the time. I didn't want to annoy anyone. Mitchell was in charge of all my money, I didn't had many right now. Just a couple of bucks, enough for a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

"Ava!" I suddenly remembered and squealed. "She would totally take me under her wing!"

I quickly dialed her number, but she didn't pick up.

Second try. Nothing.

Third try. Nothing.

"She'll call eventually," I calmed myself down and sighed. I decided to head to the Cairo coffee shop, my favorite place in Detroit. Each day, after the show I would go there and relax a bit. There weren't many customers and that meant no autographs and no pictures for a while. And no Mitchell. Every thought of him caused me the feeling of a huge lump in the throat. 

***

"One cappuccino, please. A-And a ham sandwich!" I quickly said to the cashier who was tapping my order on his big computer screen. I was starving.  

"That would be $7.95, honey."

I grabbed the wallet out of my purse, opened it with a quick movement of my hand, fueled by hunger and thirst and I was surprised to see only three dollars laying at the bottom of it. I cringed. I should've take some of Mitchell's money, dammit. At moments like these I hated myself.

"Uh... forget it," I sighed.

"Is there a problem?" the cashier impatiently asked and stared at me. I wanted to vanish at this very second. I hoped he would recognize me and understand me. I was at this coffee shop every single day! 

"Put it on my bill, man, don't be a jerk" I heard a chill, familiar voice behind me. His breath was tingling my neck. His voice was very unique and I was quickly able to recognize it.

It was the man who had bumped into me earlier.