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Up From Here	By : aliciakristine Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 3454 -:- 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
- 4
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04.

His world
spun, tilted off its axis, and crashed into an abyss of blackness. He couldn't
see, couldn't think, and couldn�t breathe. He was somehow aware of her beside
him, one hand on his shoulder, asking him if he were okay. He couldn't reply
yet. He couldn't do anything yet.

"Marshall?"
she said. "Please, Marshall, please don't do this. Don't make it
harder."

"Cancer?"
he finally managed to say.

"Yes."

"What
kind of cancer?"

"Intestinal."

"What
can we do?"

She
looked at him for a long minute, surprised and touched. Just like that, they
were a team again. Just like that, it wasn't Marshall soliciting the help of
his attorneys or his home or his money. It was Marshall stepping in and
becoming involved. Finally she said, "I don't know. I don't know if
anything can be done."

"Of
course something can be done," he said, refusing to believe what he heard.
"Tara, something can be done. Don't get it in your head that it can't be.
People live through cancer all the time."

She
nodded patiently.

"What
- what do you know?"

"Well.
I have cancer in my small intestine, a cancer called adenocarcinoma. Have you
ever heard that? It begins in the cells that line your organs, especially ones
that secrete fluids. There are three tumors in my small intestine right now.
One is threatening to block it off totally."

"So
do you need chemotherapy?"

"The
doctor didn't know if chemotherapy or radiation would be effective. He said my
best bet was surgery, but the position of the tumors makes the surgery pretty
risky. If my small intestine is nicked, I could poison myself from the inside
out or bleed into my stomach."

It
sounded so� scary.

"I'm
rich," he said, almost to himself. "I'll take you to the doctor
tomorrow."

She
laughed. "Marshall, I don't even know if I want this surgery."

"Why
wouldn't you? If it's going to save your life-"

"But
that's just it. There's a chance it could kill me. There's a chance the cancer
has spread and I'll have to undergo a major operation for no reason. There are
so many risk factors involved that I just don't know if it's worth it."
She saw his face harden and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be angry,
Marshall. I didn't say that I was ready to lay down and die. There are other
options, you know. I won't know which is best until I see a specialist. But...
the medical bills are going to be astronomical. I don't qualify for any state
insurance policies because of the size of the settlement I was awarded when I
divorced Rob. They take into account the money you receive, but not your
expenses."

"I'm
rich," he repeated. "Filthy fucking rich. So rich I could spend ten
thousand dollars a day for the rest of my life and die a millionaire."

She giggled.
"Rub it in, why don't you? Let�s not think about this anymore.�

He took
her hand, something out of character for Marshall, and looked at her in the
near-darkness. �Tara. Listen to me.�

�I�m
listening.�

�I�m
going to make sure you�re okay.�

She
cried, and he held her, close to tears himself. He had never been so scared in
his life. Not even when Kim attempted suicide did he think she may actually
die. Kim wanted attention, not death, and it was a lot easier for him to be
pissed off than it was for him to pity her. But Kim was Kim. Half the time, he
didn�t think he�d really care if she died. But Tara � God, Tara couldn�t be
sick. Tara couldn�t have cancer. Tara couldn�t die, for Christ�s sake. Even if
he never saw her again, Tara couldn�t die.

They went
downstairs and played a game with the girls that night. Marshall watched Tara
and the way she relaxed around Hailie and Laney, and by the end of the night,
the three of them were ganging up on Marshall in Monopoly. He lost first and
wandered into the kitchen to pull something out of the fridge for dinner while
they finished their game.

He was
cooking the pork chops the maid had left in the fridge to thaw for dinner that
night when Tara came in, her arms folded across her chest. Her skin was pale,
but she was smiling. �Hey, you. Did you finally learn how to cook?�

�You�re
fuckin� right,� he said, grinning at her. �Do you like breaded pork chops?�

�Sure,�
she said. �But I don�t have much of an appetite lately.�

�You�ve
gotta eat something,� he said, the concern in his voice sounding too foreign.
When was the last time he cared about someone eating? He couldn�t remember.

�It hurts
when I eat,� she said, and sat down at one of the cherry oak chairs that
matched his kitchen table. The room was big, with what seemed like acres of
countertops and a flat-top ceramic stove flush with cabinets on an island. A
rack of copper pans hung above him and he reached for a small saucepan.

�You can�t
just not eat,� he said. �What if I
made you some pasta or something?�

�I�ll eat
whatever you cook,� she said. �Just to make you happy.�

He ran
some tap water in the pan and put it on the cook-top, then stepped towards her.
�Come here, Tara. Give me a hug.�

Her
eyebrows rose, but she obeyed. He had changed so much, but he was still so
familiar and so safe. She loved him with a part of herself that she�d refused
to even acknowledge for years, and that buried part of her was shaking itself
loose. She wrapped her arms around him and he his around her, and the two of
them stood there in each others� embrace until the meat needed to be flipped.

�What was
that all about?� she asked, lingering at the stove near him.

�I can�t
want a hug?�

�You�ve
never been the one to ask me for one.�

�You�ve
never been sick,� he said, avoiding her gaze.

�I�m
still the same old me,� she said lightly. �Just because I�m sick doesn�t mean
that you have to hug me.� She stuck her tongue out at him.

He
grinned. �You don�t like being hugged by me?�

�I�ve had
worse,� she said, trying to sound nonchalant but loving that he was flirting
with her.

�I�ll
show you �worse,�� he said, and wrapped his strong arms around her. She
pretended to fight him off, but there was nowhere she would have rather been
but in his arms. He tickled her and she shrieked, kicking at him, and he spun
her around so that his face was flush with hers. Her laughter died immediately.

�Marshall?�
she whispered, and again he answered her by pressing his mouth against hers.

When he
pulled away, he touched her bottom lip with his thumb before releasing her. �You�ve
gotten better at that,� he said, and it took her a minute to realize he was
teasing.

�You�re
mean,� she pouted.

�You love
me, anyway.�

He turned
back to the dinner he was preparing and she looked at his back, thinking how
much she still did, indeed.

They ate
at nine o�clock that night, late by even Marshall�s standards, but nobody seemed
to mind. The girls insisted that they eat in the formal dining room to give
Tara �the full effect,� and Tara couldn�t believe how nice it was. The table
was long and handsomely stained dark oak, and a chandelier overhead sparkled
light on the ordinary meal before her. It was so strange to eat in a room so
fancy while wearing a pair of Marshall�s sweats and eating breaded pork chops,
watching the girls as they laughed in their pajamas across the table. It was
strangely exciting. She felt like she had when she was a kid and her mom worked
at a ritzy hotel downtown, sneaking into the reception rooms decorated exquisitely
for newly married couples and their guests and sitting at the table for the
bridge and groom, imaging how much money it must take to afford something so
glamorous.

The girls
said good-night to Tara, neither of them batting an eyelash when Marshall told
them that she�d still be there in the morning. She wondered if they were just
hard to surprise or if he had women spend the night a lot. She hoped it was the
former. Thinking of Marshall with lots of different women didn�t sit well in
her already queasy stomach.

Marshall
came back downstairs to find her rinsing dishes off in the sink and stacking
them in the dishwasher. �You don�t have to do that,� he said, leaning against
the doorframe. �I have a maid.�

�So? It�s
relaxing. Thank you for dinner.�

�You�re
welcome. Do you need a ride to your car to get anything for in the morning?�

She hadn�t
thought of that and nodded. �I don�t have any clothes here,� she said. �I�m
wearing a pair of your boxers.�

�I guess
I�ll have to burn them later,� he teased, and she threw him a dirty look across
the shiny marble countertops.

�Are you
going to leave the girls here alone?�

�No,� he
said, surprised. �There�s a security guard here around the clock.�

�Are you
serious? I thought we were the only ones here.�

�No,� he
laughed. �He has an apartment above the garage.�

�Oh,
well, in that case.� She turned the water off and put the last handful of silverware
in the dishwasher. �I�m surprised the girls didn�t say something when you told
them I�d be here in the morning.�

�They
like you,� he said, shrugging. �They know about you.�

�What do
they know?� she asked softly, walking towards him, pushing the chair she�d sat
in earlier back under the table.

�That you
were my first real girlfriend.�

She
smiled. �Is that all?�

�Just
that you knew Hailie when she was a baby. Hailie asked if both you and Kim were
my girlfriends at the same time and I felt like a real dick. I don�t know if I
ever apologized for all that.�

She
shrugged. �Who cares, Marshall? Who cares anymore?�

�I do.
You do. You must.�

�I care
that I�m here now, and that you didn�t leave me stranded in the middle of
Detroit in the middle of winter with nowhere to go. That�s what I care about. I
care about getting well and getting my education so that I can get my son. That�s
what I care about.�

�You talk
like you lived in Boston for more than five years.�

�I had to
learn,� she said, shrugging again. �If you wait tables and sound like someone
from far away, you don�t get tipped as much. Tourists like locals, locals like
locals.� Her eyes dimmed and she said, �Well, at first it was for Rob�s sake.
He started acting so much like the people he worked and spent a lot of time
with, and I was afraid that he was going to get irritated with me. When it all
boils down, I�m still a girl that was raised in a trailer by the railroad. But
he didn�t want that anymore, and I could sense it. He wanted someone� Oh, I don�t
know. Someone��

�Someone
without a past?� Marshall asked.

�Yeah,�
she said, and her eyes brightened again. �Yes. Someone who, when he was ready
to run for office, wouldn�t have any skeletons in her closet when the press
started looking.�

�What
skeletons do you have, Tara?�

�I was
raised in a trailer by the railroad,� she said. �In Boston, that�s enough.�

Marshall shook
his head. �Well, I was raised in a trailer by the railroad too. I guess we�ve
got the same skeletons, huh?�

�I guess
so,� she said, smiling, and followed him towards the garage.

�Are you
feeling okay?� he asked her as they passed the storage rooms he�d shown her
earlier.

�Hmm? Oh,
yeah. I�m feeling okay.� Her stomach hurt, but she was used to it, and she didn�t
want to worry him. He had enough to worry about. She�d done enough to worry him
without showing up complaining of being in pain all the time.

�Let�s
take my Hummer,� he said, opening the door for her. �Have you ever ridden in
one?�

�No,� she
said, climbing inside. It didn�t look like it sat quite so far off the ground,
but it was much harder to climb into than his SUV, especially with her being so
short.

He
crossed the front of the H2 and got in the driver�s seat, slamming the door
behind him. The interior was comfortably cool, but her teeth chattered anyway
before she could stop them. Embarrassed, she put one hand over her mouth. �Are
you cold?� he asked. �I�ll go get you a jacket.�

�No, its
fine-�

He had
already hopped out of the SUV and she stopped, shaking her head and smiling despite
her discomfort. Since she�d gotten sick, the cold affected her more than it had
before. It seemed to seep through her skin and wrap itself around her bones.
Tonight it found the pain in her abdomen and made it rear its ugly head into
something more than just a mild ache. It was hard to keep from crying.

The key
was in the ignition and she turned it on, turned the heat on, and waited
impatiently for it to warm up. When Marshall came back in with a big yellow
coat, she took it gratefully and wrapped herself in it. �Thank you so much.�

He put
the transmission into reverse and opened the garage door with the remote on the
ceiling. �Are you sure you�re feeling okay?� he asked, ignoring her. �You look
like shit.�

�Thanks,�
she said, smirking at him.

�No,
really. Are you sure you should be out in this cold? Why don�t you stay here
and lay down while I run and get the shit out of your car?�

The pain
was intense, and she only argued for a few seconds before relenting. He
surprised her by pulling her forward for a kiss before she climbed down, and
she stood in the garage and watched him back out of the garage. In the
driveway, he rolled the window down and yelled, �Go lay down in my bed, Tara.
Do you need any medicine or anything?�

�No,� she
said. The only thing I need is you. �I
have some Ibuprofen in my purse, though, if you�ll grab it for me. It�s in the
front seat of my car.�

�I�ll be
back in no time,� he said, and she watched his headlights get smaller as he
backed out of the driveway and onto the street. She didn�t close the garage
until she couldn�t hear the sound of his engine and then, so appreciative of
his thoughtfulness that she felt like crying, went upstairs, stripped out of
her clothes, and collapsed into bed.
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