Story cover for Suffocate (Sequel To: Together) by Eminemandme39
Suffocate (Sequel To: Together)
  • WpView
    Reads 6,929
  • WpVote
    Votes 199
  • WpPart
    Parts 36
  • WpHistory
    Time 2h 13m
  • WpView
    Reads 6,929
  • WpVote
    Votes 199
  • WpPart
    Parts 36
  • WpHistory
    Time 2h 13m
Ongoing, First published Sep 28, 2013
I breathed in and wiped my face. So much shit had happened and I didn't know where I was going with my life. No husband, thanks Kim. Single Mother of two, thanks Marshall. No car of my own, thanks asshole. I was kidding myself. Nobody understood. Not Marshall. Not Rob. Not Big. Not Chanel. Nobody. 

"Angel." Marshall screamed. 

"I'm over here, Marshall." I mumbled.
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One Chance Charlie by vivalareveloutionary
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Marshall goes by Charlie most of the time. He's unlucky that trouble is naturally drawn to him. Gang leaders and superstars arent good company to keep, Marshall learns the hard way. He struggles to balance his hidden life with his father being a cop. Guns gangs and track seems to be the only things in Marshalls' life and he needs to sort his priorities out. Extract: "Put the equipment there Marshall" my mother said waving her manicured hand with a ciggerete in it over to a corner, not bothering to look at me. I sighed heaving the gear across the luxury apartment trying to avoid the kids running round screaming with party hats on. I got on my knees and started screwing the shoot gear together looking over at me mother, a blonde woman, dyed, frizzes and a berrie. She only wore the berrie on photography jobs to look more "in character" as she put it. She lied on her job qualifications. She hadn't got past the majority of high school and dropped out to move in with some high school sweet heart who conceived me before rushing off to start another family. That's what she said anyway. I couldn't belive a word she said. She'd lied and cheated to where she'd gotten today, and that wasn't very far. She bought all the equipment cheap because it was stolen before setting up a "buisness" taking portraits of rich people's events and then, preferably for her, sleeping with them. I sighed as she flirted with the man who's kids party it was. She was clinging onto the blokes rolex. Her "buisness" ended up with me doing the work and her directing as she called it.
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She wasn't made for glass slippers. She was made for bruised knees, smeared mascara, and being told she's pretty with his hand around her throat. Kendra Knox was never anyone's princess. She grew up in a trailer with EBT cards, overdue bills, and a mother who treated her like competition. Fairytales weren't bedtime stories. They were lies people with money got to believe. Now she dances at Eden's Gate, wearing dollar store glitter and six-inch Pleasers, collecting rent one lap at a time. No carriage. No ball. Just blood, tears, and survival. Then he shows up. Not a prince. A problem. Marshall Mathers. Famous. Filthy. Untouchable. He doesn't ride a horse. He rolls up in a black Escalade, smells like smoke and sin, and looks at her like she's already his. He doesn't save her. He drags her into his world. A palace with no exits, a crown that cuts, and rooms that lock from the inside. He calls her beautiful while she's crying. Keeps her quiet with cash and attention that feels like violence. And she lets him. Because it's not love. It's not safety. But it's still better than going back to being nobody. This isn't a fairytale. It's a dirty one. And she wears her crown like a bruise.