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Whispers	By : Queenie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 6550 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Eminem (Marshall Mathers). I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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When I woke up the next morning, Jason’s side of the bed was cold. I panicked for a minute, sitting up so fast all my blood rushed to my head and I got dizzy, which didn’t really help the situation. It took me a little while to realise that the shower was running, and warm gusts of steam were pouring out of the bathroom. I settled back against the pillows, relaxing. Of course he wouldn’t have skipped out on me without saying goodbye. He wasn’t like that.

It took me about three seconds after I realised Jason was in the shower to start ‚*picturing* him in there. The hot water running down his slender, hard body, his hair in wet, ropy strands hanging down his back, his eyes closed and his head raised to the warm‚ spray...I was getting hard again, and just contemplating joining him in there when the water stopped, and I heard him get out, humming something very off key to himself. I grinned. Fuck, he was cute.

A few minutes later he appeared through the door, his thin hips swathed in a fluffy black towel. “Morning, sleepy,” he said, smiling and drying his hair, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, but you should have,” I yawned and reached out for him, “I wouldn’t have minded joinin’ you in that shower, you know?”

Jason settled down on the bed beside me, drawing the sheet down my body in one slow, sweeping motion. “You looked too peaceful to disturb,” he murmured, rubbing his hand over my stomach. “You look like a little kid when you sleep. You look even more innocent then you already are.”

I sighed, rolling my head back on the pillow and looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “I ain’t an inno.”
.”

“Oh, but you are, sweetheart. It’s one of the things I love about you, that sweet innocence and baby face all mixed up with a filthy mouth and bullshit attitude.” He leaned down and kissed me, his hand still slowly rubbing my belly. “You’re a study in contrasts, Marshall. You’re amazing.”

Shaking my head, I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips. “You’re trippin’,” I proclaimed, “I ain’t amazing. I’m just me.”

“I’m...Just Marshall Mathers...” He sings at me softly, a little off key still, and I find it so fuckin’ adorable that he can’t really sing for shit, that he’s worse than me even. “You’re just a regular guy, right? Nothing special?”

I nodded my head. “Yeah, that’s it. Nothing special.”

Jason leaned down, brushed his lips over mine without really kissing me. “So why the fuck am I falling in love with you, hmmm?” he asked, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me, tryin’ to figure this shit out in his own head. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothin’, just pressed my hand to the back of his head and drew him in for a real kiss. We weren’t as frantic as we’d been last night; there was none of that desperate, needy hunger that almost left my lips bruised. No, this kiss was soft, tender, and almost sad. Like it was the end of something that had never really begun, a taste of what might have been.

And of course, that’s *exactly* what it was.

I pushed him away suddenly, sitting up and looking at him angrily. “I love you. You say you’re fallin’ in love with me. So, what the fuck are we gonna do? We gonna just walk out of this place like we never met, or what? We gonna pretend none of this shit ever happened?” The words sounded harsher than I’d intended, and he flinched away, dropping those big blue eyes to stare at his hands.

“You got a better idea? You got any solution? You gonna, I dunno, move to London with me? You gonna come out to the press and treat me like your real boyfriend?” He shook his head; looked at me with these huge, hurt eyes. “I don’t fucking think so, Marshall.”

“What do you expect from me?” I asked in frustration, “I can’t give up my career-”

“I don’t expect anything from you.” Jason’s voice was cold again, like I’d heard the night before in the bar. “I already told you that.”

I slumped back down into the pillows with a sigh, wondering what the fuck had happened. One minute everything was fine, now…this.

“So, fine. Don’t expect anything. Don’t get hurt. Don’t get your hopes up. You think you can go through your life like that, Jason?” It was unfair, whatas das doin’. I knew I couldn’t give him what a real boyfriend could. I couldn’t be that for him. But I hated the way he was just so eager to give up.

“It’s worked for me so far,” he shot back, “I’ve managed to survive this long, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, if you wanna call what you do surviving.” I reached out and trailed a finger down his back, tracing along the welts. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. And for what? Because you don’t expect anything more from life? Because you don’t have the confidence in yourself to just get out? Shit, Jason! That’s fucked up!”

Jason flinched away from my touch, refused to look at me. “What the fuck would you know? Mister big, rich, rapper? What the fuck would you know about my life? What do you know about what I’ve been through to make me like this?”

I studied him calmly, at least, I was calm on the outside, trying not to lose my cool. But inside, I was positive my heart was tearing in two. Positive I’d never feel anything as strongly as what I felt for him in that moment. This intense mix of emotions were running through me, love, anger, sorrow, need. I didn’t know what to say again, still didn’t quite know how to handle this kid. He seemed volatile, running hot and cold on me. And all I wanted to do was make it *better* somehow.

Except, I had a feeling Jason wouldn’t let me.

“So tell me,” I said softly, taking a deep breath, “Tell me about what’s happened to you. Tell me why you have to be out sellin’ your ass every night.”

Jason finally turned his gaze on me, letting me look at his face properly in full sunlight for the first time. Those huge eyes seemed almost *too* huge, taking up more room on his face than there was to spare. And then there were these impossibly high cheekbones that last night I’d thought made him look exotic. Now it just seemed like his face was far, far too lean. His pale skin, free of all makeup now, stretched painfully over that sharp bone structure, and even his skin seemed too thin, too delicate. Light blueish-purple bruises were painted under each eye, and those lush, full lips that I’d spent so much time devouring now seemed too red, and too dry. He was still gorgeous, even in the harsh light of morning, but now I could see the cracks. The delicate mask of makeup and dim lights removed, leaving this fragile beauty that looked as if it’d been broken too many times to ever be really fixed. And his voice, when it came, was the voice of a little boy.

“You don’t need to know all of it,” he said hesitantly, “You don’t want to know all of it. I think it’d be too much to handle in one sitting, anyway.” He smiled at me weakly, and I just shook my head, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. I wanted him to know that I was serious about this. Jason let out a little sigh and twisted on the bed until he was lying next to me, snuggled into my body. Jesus, he felt so *right* there. I wanted to make it so he never had to leave. I wrapped an arm around his skinny shoulders, and held him to me, watching as his finger idly traced the ‘Rot in Pieces’ tattoo on my stomach. After a minute he went on, his voice slowly gaining strength.

“I’ve been on the street since I was fifteen,” he continued, “Why I was on the streets in the first place…that’s a long story. The point is, I was. And I was starving, and gettin’ sick of sleeping on park benches, you know?”

I nodded, though I didn’t really know. I’ve been through some shit in my life, but I ain’t never had to sleep on the streets.

“So, this guy…he wanted to give me twenty pounds for a blowjob. I told him to go fuck himself and ran off. Sleazy old geezer.” I had to grin, I could just *see* a fifteen year old Jason screaming at some old pervert like that. Would have been classic. Jason smiled with me, then went on. “Except, you know, it put the idea in my head. So, I went anckedcked up…lost my virginity that night for fifty pounds.” He broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. I got the impression that he didn’t talk about this shit much. “So that…that shit, it went on for two years. Except I learnt how to charge more. I was the best whore in Soho, you know. The most expensive street boy out there.” The smile he threw me then was so bitter, so sick, I had to look away.

“What happened then?” I asked after a minute, when the images had gone away.

“Well, then I got put in jail for three months.” Jason, I swear, was studying my face for a reaction to that. I don’t think I disappointed him.

“You what?”

He shrugged. “You heard me. I got done for, um…soliciting, drug dealing, and possession and use of class A narcotics. Or some shit like that.”

I raised an eyebrow, kind of impressed. I wouldn’t have thought someone like Jason would survive two seconds inside. But here he was, still surviving…oh.

“What drugs?”

He pulled away a bit, and his face, if possible, went even paler. “You wanna take one guess?” He rolled onto his stomach and pulled up the towel that was somehow still wrapped around his hips. “Behind my knees,” he said, “I ain’t ticklish. Just sore.”

I looked, running my hand gently up his calf. I wasn’t really surprised when I saw the track m, th, the inevitable signs of heroin addiction. It explained so much. “How long?”

“How long have I been addicted? Since I was fourteen. I shoot behind my knee so my tricks don’t see and get turned off.” He rolled back into my chest, clutching me tightly. “Does it change anything?”

“Fuck no,” I answered quickly, feeling my eyes filled with tears, “Jesus…I wish I’d known.”

“Why?” he answered dryly, “So what more do you need, Marshall? Need me to list any more excuses for doing what I do? Or can it all be explained away neatly by a shitty life and a fucking addiction?”

“It ain’t me you gotta make excuses to,” I replied, “’Cause you don’t seem that convinced yourself.”

He sat up again, looking at me with a little frown. “You aren’t my fucking psychiatrist, Marshall,” he snapped.

“Yeah, I know that. I just love you, that’s all. I just want you to be happy. That’s fucking all.” I glared at him, “But it seems I’m not allowed that, am I? Is anyone allowed to love you, Jason?”

“How am I supposed to know?” he yelled, “No one’s ever bothered before! And now someone finally has bothered, they still can’t get it fucking right! You say you love me, Marshall, but you know, and I know, and we’ve *said* it all before, you ain’t never gonna be my boyfriend.”

“What do you fucking *want* from me?” I yelled back, resolutely ignoring the tears that were still threatening me, “What can I give you?”

“Nothing! Ok? Nothing at all.” Jason jumped up, dropping the towel and hunting around for his clothes, “Just pay me for last night, and I’ll get the fuck out of your life.”

I watched him for a minute, my heart beating too fast in my chest, before jumping up and grabbing his wrist, holding him still in the middle of the room. “Jase,” I whispered, “Don’t end it like this.”

“Why does it have to end at all?” he asked, and I saw for the first time the tears that were soaking his face, “Why does everything in my life always have to end?” He looked at me helplessly, all his defences finally down, and I knew I was never going to forget that expression on his face. As much as I might want to.

I held him close, wrapping my arms around him and stroking his long, wet tangle of hair. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, “I’m so fucking sorry, Jason.” I led him back over to the bed, gently laying him down, still whispering my apologies for something that I hadn’t even done yet, but that I was absolutely, inebly bly going to do.

We were laying there for only about half an hour before Jason got restless, squirming in my arms, running his hands through his hair, scratching his skin as if he were getting attacked by a whole fucking army of mosquitos. I closed my eyes, tried to ignore it, tried to ignore what it meant for us. But eventually, it got too much for him.

“Marshall?”

“Mmm?”

“I…I need to go.” His voice was very practised, too calm to be believable.

I shook my head, clutched him tighter, and buried my face in his hair. “No. Not yet, please.”

“I have to. I’m sorry…I need a hit.” I could tell what he was saying was true; I knew the addiction was eatin’ at him, clouding his mind. I knew it was best to just let him go then, let him walk away and just be thankful I’d that night with him. But I always was a stubborn little shit.

“Jase…you ever tried to quit?”

Jason let out a long groan. “Don’t talk to me about quitting,” he whispered, “Not now. I need a *hit* Marshall. I can’t be quitting in some hotel room in New Orleans, three million miles from home, with someone who’s gonna disappear any minute anyway.”

“Come on…just a little longer, Jason. Please. I don’t want to let you go yet.” I was begging, and I hated it. Hated the empty look that was starting to creep into his eyes even more.

Jason leaned up and kissed me. “Marshall, we’re going to have to let go soon anyway. Maybe it’s better to do it before the craving really sets in,” he said gently, “Before it fucking takes me over.”

He was right. I had to admit that, accept it, tell him goodbye and move on. But I didn’t have to like it.

I sat up and found my boxers; slipping them on and watching him do the same. “If I need to…where can I find you? If you ever want me to find you, that is,” I asked hesitantly, not sure if I was doing the right thing.

“If you ever want to find me,” he corrected, slipping into his top, “Go to this nightclub in London, it’s called the Force Field. My friend Vittorio’s the manager. He normally knows how to get in touch with me.” Jason sat on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. “I never know where I’ll be from one month to the next, you know? But Tory can always find me.”

I nodded, trying to memorise the name of the club. The Force Field. Sounded like something out of fucking Star Wars. “Right, ok,” I said, “Look, I don’t know when I’ll be in England next…”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand.” He smiled, standing and trying to comb through his hair with his fingers, eventually giving up and tying it all back in a messy ponytail, watching avidly as I found my wallet and started counting out notes.

“How much do you need?”

“Five hundred to make up the rest of my plane ticket,” he sai a s a small voice, “You don’t know how much I appreciate this…”

“Shut up. I wanna do it,” I said gently, and handed him a thousand, “Just take it. Don’t argue. Don’t start shit.” I grinned to let him know I was joking, laughing a bit at the stunned look in hiss.
s.

“Marshall…I can’t take all this…”

“I said don’t argue, bitch,” I winked, slipping into character, “Now, you gonna fuckin’ take it, or what?”

He put his hands on his hips, eyeing me up coolly. “Don’t *fuck* with me, Shady,” he said, and then we both burst out laughing. I grabbed him into a huge hug, using all my self restraint just so I wouldn’t squeeze the life outta him.

“I’m gonna miss you, kid,” I whispered into his hair, “But fuck, I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Marshall,” he sighed, and I could tell he needed to go. “Thanks for…everything.”

“Thank *you*” I replied, and reluctantly let him go, watched as he headed towards the door. “Jason?”

He paused, turning to look back at me. “Yeah?”

“I love you, aight?”

Jason nodded, one hand on the door, “I know,” he smiled softly, and then he was gone. Out of my life. And everything was changed.

I made my way back to my own hotel slowly, not surprised when I was accosted by twenty million people wanting to know where the fuck I’d been, what I been doing, did I have any idea how worried they’d all been? I held up my hands and pushed through the masses, trying to get to my own room, get some fucking peace. But, predictably, sitting on my bed waiting for me was Dre, my manager, my best friend and my fucking biggest minder.

“So, where the fuck did you sneak off to?”

I sighed and leaned against the door. “Don’t start, Dre,” I muttered, “Not now.”

“How can I not start?” He stood, pacing the room. “You disappear in the middle of the night, don’t *tell* anyone, and don’t get back to the hotel ‘till after midday? You know damn well you had, like, thirty fuckin’ interviews today, Em. Your ass is in so much trouble…” he paused, probably finally picking up on the expression on my face. “What the *fuck* is up with you?”

“I met someone, ok?” ghedghed, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible, “I spent the night with them.”

Dre rolled his eyes. “All this over a bitch? Fuck, why didn’t you take her back here?”

“Maybe ‘cause I wanted some god damn privacy?” I tried not to flinch at the thought of Jason referred to as a girl. Although he’d probably find it funny.

“You still in trouble, man,” Dre said, but his voice had lost all its anger, thank god, “So what was she like? You get her number, or what?”

I shook my head, again deciding to be as honest as I could. “Nah. She was a fuckin’ prostitute. Not really the kinda person I wanna be spending too much time with, you know?”

Dre rolled his eyes at me again. “So not just a bitch, but a whore. Jesus, Em, next time make it worth it, will you?”

“Yeah, whatever,” I muttered, heading into the bathroom, “Look, Dre, I gotta take a shower, aight?” I looked pointedly at the door, wishing he’d just leave already so I could be miserable in peace. Dre threw up his hands and started heading out. But, to my irritation, he paused just before he left.

“There’s something you ain’t telling me.”

I sighed, shook my head. “Like what, huh?”

Dre shrugged, “I dunno. I just get the feeling you got burned last night.” Fuck it, he knew me too god damned well.

“Yeah, maybe I did, ok? You happy?” It was best just to go along with him, if Dre decided there was something wrong, he’d keep at me like a dog with a bone until I spilled my guts. And this was one thing I did *not* want to be spilling my guts about.

“This whore,” Dre spoke carefully, sensing I was on edge, “They something special, or what?”

I closed my eyes, running one hand through my hair. “Yeah,” I whispered, remembering all of *his* whispers, telling me he wanted me, telling me he knew what I wanted, telling me how much he needed me. *Me.* Telling me he loved me. “Something real special.”

~The End.~
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Whispers