Eminem Fan Fiction Shorts II

Eminem Blows Up

A week and a half after our date, Jazz was ghosting me.

It didn't make any fucking sense whatsoever. After her comment on the kiss we'd shared and the resulting embarrassment that she tried to hide by burying her face in my chest, we'd walked for a while longer and then headed back to her place. I'd kissed her goodnight and everything had been good. We'd talked on the phone four nights in a row, learning more about each other each night. As had been the case on the date, when she got into explaining a story, Jazz had painted pictures with her words that had me there with her, experiencing it.  I found myself looking forward to hearing her voice, to the way she weaved her thoughts. But then, she stopped calling; stopped texting.

The first night, I'd figured that she was busy or something and that I needed to just chill. All indications from her had been that she was just as in to what was starting between us as I was. So, instead of going off the deep end, I sucked it up and planned to just talk to her the following day. That had been a week ago and I still hadn't heard from her.

This afternoon, I was at the studio, doing my best to just let it the fuck go. Jazz may be fucking gorgeous, startlingly honest, and adorably awkward, but if she didn't want me, then I needed to just accept that shit and move on. It didn't matter that I was hooked; if she wasn't down, then there wasn't any point in pushing things. That it made me uncomfortably tight in the chest to think about walking away was beside the point. I'd just met the woman; I would get through this.

"Yo, man." I turned to see Righteous walking down the hallway. He was working on some shit that Paul and I were helping to produce. He had a good sound; I was sure the project was going to go well.

"Hey," I said, stopping for a minute. I didn't feel like socializing, but it was time to knock my shit off.

"So, you ever hear what the deal was with that hot piece of ass and Paul?" He asked after a couple of minutes of chatting. I frowned, uncertain as to his meaning.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, a stark feeling streaking down my spine.

"I saw them having it out in the parking lot a week ago." He said. "Couldn't hear what they were saying, but it looked heated. Whatever it was, she stomped that fine ass off to her motorcycle and tore off after." He finished and I knew. I knew in my bones that Paul and Jazz had argued about me.

"Motherfucker."

---

"Just what the fuck is your problem?" I shouted to Paul as I strode into his office. He was behind his desk when I got in and his surprise was evident. He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head to the side as he spoke.

"Don't know what you're fucking talking about." He said and I shook my head and pointed at him.

"You fucked shit up with Jazz, didn't you?" I demanded and he had the grace to look away, confirming my suspicions.

"I repeat. What. The. Fuck. Is. Your. Problem?" I gritted, my rage barely contained.

Paul stood and paced around his desk, shrugging as he moved toward the small bar he kept along the side wall. He poured himself something and took a drink before he responded. When he did, his response was unsatisfactory.

 "What does it matter? There's plenty of women out there if you need to get your dick wet." He said and I tossed the chair that was in my way, moving to get into his face.

"I asked you a question." I demanded and Paul shook his head and exploded.

"You're my fucking problem!" He yelled. "How many times have I heard you say that you're not getting serious about a woman again, Em? How many? How often have I heard you joke about fan girls and the shit they do? What was the last motherfucking thing you said about love?" He demanded.

I rolled my tongue over my bottom teeth, grinding my jaw as I responded to him.

"And so, what? You're saving her? How the fuck do you know what's going to happen between us?" I asked, and Paul sneered.

"Because I fucking know Jazz, Marshall!"  He responded. "She's been through a lot of shit in her life and she's somehow come out the other side of it with a pure soul. She does everything full bore, man. If she gives herself over to a relationship, it's one hundred percent. She doesn't know how to half-ass things!" He said, right in my face.

I nodded, stepping back as I sucked my lips in. "What did you do, Paul?" I asked softly, and if I hadn't been watching closely, I might have missed the guilt that flashed across his face.

"Nothing." He said and I shook my head.

"We both know that isn't true." I said and he walked away, throwing a hand over his eyes as he rubbed them in frustration.

"I said some things I shouldn't have." He admitted.

"Well, it worked. She won't talk to me. And," I said as I walked toward the door, "if I had to guess, it's because the only person she feels like is family put fucking strings, conditions, on his love. Congratu-fucking-lations, Paul. You succeeded. She's proven she still fucking loyal to what big brother wants." I concluded, slamming the door behind me as I left.

I heard Paul yelling after me, but I was too wound up to listen to any more of his bullshit. Yes, I knew that he was right. I had said all of the things that he threw in my face more than once. But, I felt like Jazz and I had a chance to be different.

As I strode out to my car, I came face to face with the woman herself. It pulled me up short, seeing the very person who had caused such turmoil inside me walking away from her bike as if I hadn't just blown like a volcano. She stopped when she saw me and her eyes were filled with sadness.

"Hi, Marshall." She said softly.

She was wearing her biking jeans and a long sleeve shirt that hugged her form under her leather jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a loose thing that twisted down her back and her eyes, those icy blue eyes, looked like someone had kicked her.

I didn't say anything, still too hyped up from the shouting match with Paul. Instead, I watched as she walked closer and looked up into my eyes. She gave a partial smile that didn't reach her eyes and shook her head.

"You know?" She asked and I nodded. "I'm sorry, Em." She whispered. "I don't know what else to do. I really like you. I feel like maybe we could be something-" I cut her off. Paul could go to Hell. I wasn't fucking done.

I pulled her to me and bent down, kissing her hard. She startled for a moment, but then her hands slipped up my chest and around my neck as she responded with equal ferocity. A week of uncertainty and angst went into the melding of our mouths.  I devoured her; the need to feel her body against mine, to taste her lips, was so fucking potent that I felt the blood rushing in my ears.

When I lifted my head, both of us were breathing raggedly. Jazz opened her large, blue eyes and I saw the elation I was feeling reflected in them. I leaned my forehead to hers as I spoke.

"I'll handle Paul," I promised. "If you want this, that is." She moved both hands to cup my cheeks and nodded against me.

"I want it." She said softly. "I want you."