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Whispers Two	By : Queenie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 6350 -:- 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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“Pardon?”

I was sure I’d hallucinated her last sentence, ‘I need you to stop fucking my man.’ No. Not possible, didn’t happen. I was tripping.

“Oh don’t try any of this polite English crap. I know about you and Marshall, ok?” Donna’s voice, despite her words, didn’t seem to carry any menace. She was speaking slowly and calmly in her long Texan drawl, still puffing on her cigarette. But she still wasn’t quite getting through to me. I still wasn’t sure if I was hearing her right.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t know what you mean…”

Against all logic, she laughed, a soft, gentle sound. “Oh, yes you do, sweetheart. You’ve been boning my boyfriend. Last night I’m almost positive of. And probably today. Was he with you today?”

I was confused beyond belief. I had no idea what to say to her. How did she *know?*

“I…I know Marshall,” I said hesitantly, deciding to stick as close to the truth as I could without actually touching on it, “I’m a friend of his. But Marshall isn’t gay, Donna.”

She laughed again. “Oh, you little silver tongued bastard,” she said admiringly, “I could almost believe you, if I didn’t already know the truth. Bu I do know the truth, Jaso
“T
“The truth?” I said weakly, slow dread building up in my stomach.

“Yeah, the truth. People think I’m dumb, you know that, Jason? People treat me like I’m dumb. I’m blond, I’m a Texan, and fuck me, I’m an underwear model! Three strikes, right? But I’m not too stupid to see what’s going on right under my nose. I’m not to stupid to see what’s going on with my own boyfriend.”

I had no idea what she was on about. “I have no idea what you’re on about-”

“Shush for a second. Let me talk,” she interrupted. “Marshall is gay, I know that much. It’s fucking obvious. I was prepared to live with that. What I didn’t know until he came to London was that he had a boyfriend.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend…” I whispered, wondering whether or not I was still lying to her.

“Whatever. He refused to tell me where he was last night. I find in his wallet a receipt for a room at somewhere called the Westbourne Hotel. I ring them up, just out of curiosity, you understand, and they confirm that yeah, he was there, with a teenage boy.” She paused meaningfully, then went on. “So you’ll never guess what else I found in his wallet, will you?”

I had a pretty good idea. How else had she gotten my number? “What?”

“Your phone number! ‘Jase,’ it said, in that messy writing of his. And gee, it was so cute, there was a little heart next to your name. Ain’t that just so sweet?”

I was actually really touched, while at the same time cursing Marshall for his sentimentality. “Sweet, yeah,” I said dryly, “I had no idea he felt that way…”

“Silly boy. Of course you did. But I ain’t finished yet. I was intrigued, to say the least, so I rang Andre. Y’all know Andre, right? Dr Dre, Marshall’s best friend and confidant?” She drew the last word out into its syllables sarcastically. I got the feeling she didn’t like Dre, or was jealous of him. “I told him everything I just told you, and you know what he said? He said I’d have to talk to Marshall about it. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t call me a stupid, suspicious bitch, for a change. He told me to talk to Marshall. But instead, I thought I’d talk to you, first.”

Lucky me, I thought, still having no idea what to do. Keep denying it? Why not? I couldn’t make things any worse, could I?

“Look, Donna, I’m sorry you’ve gone to all this trouble and all, but I am not fucking Marshall.” I let out a short laugh, “I wish I was! You’re a very, very lucky woman to have him.”

She sighed, “Look, I didn’t ring you up to argue about this, OK? I know the facts. Whether you admit them to me or not is irrelevant.”

I echoed her sigh impatiently. “Than why did you ring me?” I asked, more confused then ever. The woman was insane. “What was the point?”

“Oh, just to tell you that I know,” she replied, “And also to ask you to do something. Not for me, now, for Marshall.”

“What?” I asked, but again, I had a pretty good idea of what she was going to say.

“Stop your affair with him, Jason. Just stop it. It’s going to end up hurting him in the long run, I can already see it.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to hear that. Not after I’d spent all day convincing myself that it was going to be ok. “Donna-”

“No, Jason, I’m serious. No more games. If you really love him, you’ll leave him the fuck alone, ok? I’ve known him for long enough to realise that apart from his lil girl, the only thing he truly loves is his music. His fans, his fame, they’re everything to him. Yeah, he may bitch a lot, but if that was taken away from him, he’d be destroyed.” Her voice lowered, almost pleading, “Jason, I know he doesn’t love me. I know exactly what I am to him. But I’ve still grown to care for him. I don’t want to see him hurt. Break it off with him, let him go back into hiding. Because it’s the only thing that will save him.”

I felt a few tears slipping down my cheeks. It was true, that’s the bitch of it. What she was saying was the truth. But how could I do as she asked? “I love him,” I choked out, not caring anymore about letting her know, “I really love him.”

Her voice was gentle when she replied, understanding. “I know, Jason, I know. It’s hard not to, isn’t it? But you have to think of him, not you.”

“He loves me too,” I protested, “Breaking it off with him will hurt him just as much as it will hurt me.”

There was silence for a second; I got the impression that that comment had stung. “Not as much as losing everything he’s worked so hard to get,” she said stiffly, “Think of him, will you? Just think of him.” In the background, I could hear the sounds of a door opening; keys dropping onto a table. Marshall? “Look, I’ve gotta go,” Donna said abruptly, and I knew my guess had been right. “Don’t mention I spoke to you, right? But remember what I said…if you love him…” She hung up, and I slowly let the receiver drop to the floor, staring into space.

‘Ignore her,’ I was telling myself, ‘Pretend you never got the call. She doesn’t exist.’

But that just wasn’t possible. I couldn’t ignore those words, because it was as if she’d ripped open my chest and branded them straight onto my heart. ‘If you really love him, you’ll leave him the fuck alone, ok?’ Well, I did really love him. I did. I loved him in a way I’d never loved before, with everything inside my soul. But could I bear to do it? Could I possibly bear to just leave him?

I heaved a long, frustrated sigh, and slammed the receiver back on its cradle, hauling myself to my feet. Why did everything have to be so bloody complicated? I’d just managed to make it right in my mind when all…this happened. Nothing in my life was ever easy.

Standing in the middle of my room, I was suddenly at a complete loss for what to do. I stared at my neatly made bed, at the teddy bear lying on the covers, at the wad of cash still on the pillow. Too much to process, too much to think about. The whole world seemed to be caving in on me, and I was still just me, just an eighteen year old kid who was in far too deep with all this love bullshit. I decided to go out.

First, I took one of my just-too-hot showers, trying to scrub away with hot water and soap all of my problems, as if they were nothing but streaks of clinging dirt. I washed my hair twice, desperately squeezing my troubles out of the curls, imagining I was wringing away all the dross of my life. Then I stepped out and dried myself roughly, until my whole body seemed to glow pink, my skin tender and a little sore. The slight pain, though, was invigorating.

I dressed for comfort, for a change, eschewing all my tight leathers and sparkles and choosing instead an old pair of baggy jeans and a soft green baby doll top. I tried to ignore the sign blazoned over the front of the top that proclaimed I was a ‘Heartbreaker,’ but eventually it was too much for me, a little too truthful for my liking, and I had to switch to a pink one with a pair of glossy red lips on the front. Much better. Brushing my hair back into a quick, messy braid, and shoving my feet into a pair of boots, I was ready to go, happy to leave the make up and glitter for another night. I grabbed my keys, and with a last, sour look at the phone, slipped out of the door.

I didn’t know where I was going. All I knew was that I had to be out of the flat, out of the confines of those walls and into the night, where, to be honest, I felt much more at home. I walked the streets slowly, gazing into shop windows, regarding the other pedestrians dreamily, smiling at the people who drove past more out of habit than any actual want to be picked up. When a couple of cars did slow down besides me, I just giggled and waved them on, telling them to try again another night. It occurred to me to feel flattered that men could want me even without my elaborate mask of makeup, and I found myself preening that little bit more.

But it was all a front. On the outside I was fine, just the same as normal, but inside my mind was still racing from Donna’s call. I wanted to forget it, I tried to forget it, but even after an hour of aimless wandering, I could hear her voice, her slow Texan drawl commanding me to break it off with Marshall.

Oh, Marshall! I thought in despair, what do *you* want? In your true heart, what do you want? What is more important, your fame or me? I wished I could ask him, but I knew I’d just get an answer that I wanted to hear, and maybe even just an answer that Marshall wanted to hear. Maybe he thought he wanted to make a go of things with me, maybe he thought he wanted to try, but was it what he *really* wanted? Deep down inside? I hated the idea that on the outside he wanted me, but inside he was actually scared, miserable, mourning his career. God, how could I take his career away from him? Everything he’d worked so damn hard for? Maybe he wouldn’t want to, but a part of him would hate me for that. Wouldn’t it?

I found a park bench and sat down on it with a sigh. Or maybe…maybe all this was just my own insecurities, my own reluctance to trust anybody. I couldn’t believe that he would give it all up for me because that just wasn’t in my nature. I wasn’t the kind of person who could believe in themselves like that, or who could believe in other people like that. As much as I loved Marshall, I couldn’t quite trust him enough to let him take care of my heart that easily. And so I was sitting there thinking up reason why he wouldn’t want me. Getting in before he could, so to speak.

“Oh, fucking hell!” I finally said out loud, careless of who could overhear the crazy kid talking to himself, “I don’t know. I just don’t *know.*” I leaned my head back and gazed up at the few stars that were visible through the London smog. I had to look at this rationally. What were my choices, my real, actual choices? I had two. Leave Marshall, or stay with him. Either way, there was a chance of us getting hurt. Except, if I left him, it wasn’t really just a chance, was it? It was a given. If I looked Marshall in the eye and said, ‘I don’t want to be with you anymore,’ it was going to cut him open. And I just couldn’t do that. There was no way I was going to say those words to him.

It was terrifying. I was still scared, still worried about him, still fearful that this relationship could ruin so much for him. But I’d made my decision, finally, and I was going to have to see it through. “Oh, god, Marshall,” I whispered, “Please don’t hate me for loving you. Please let it work. Let me trust you. Please.” Scary as it was, it was empowering to be able to let go a bit, to just place myself in the hands of fate and say ‘fine, give it your best shot.’ I stood to go home, the night time streets couldn’t help me anymore. I’d made my choice.

It didn’t take me as long to get back as it had to find my little bench. I walked home just a little more confidently, held my head a little higher. I didn’t wink at the cars that drove past, and I didn’t have to turn anyone away. I wondered if they saw the change on me, the decision to let myself love and be loved. I also wondered if it was all in my head, decided it probably was, and didn’t give a fuck.

By the time I reached my apartment, it was nearly twelve. I wasn’t put off by the late hour, I was used to coming and going by night, of course, but I did think to lend an extra caution to my movements, made my heart beat a t fas faster. I didn’t exactly live in the most reputable neighbourhood in Brixton, as I myself was proof of. I’d had to defend myself around here more than once.

It hit me suddenly, as if for the first time, that Danny Muir had been killed out here, that his murderer hadn’t yet been found. This knowledge made me glance around just a little more fearfully than usual, inspect the people walking around a little more suspiciously. Who was here who shouldn’t be? Who should I be afraid of? That blond man, for example, looked familiar, hadn’t I seen him at the park? No, I assured myself, stepping up to the door of my building, I was being paranoid. Except… I glanced over my shoulder and had a closer look. He was very tall, longish blond hair, decidedly unattractive, and yes, he *was* the same man I’d seen hovering around me at the park. So what the fuck was he doing around here?

An unexpected flash of fear made me drop my keys, I knelt down to fumble around in the dark for them quickly, come on, Jason, pick them up, get the fuck inside your building, get the fuck inside your flat…

“Are you Jason?” The voice scared the life out of me; I jerked sharply and looked up into the blonds face, my bottom lip automatically going between my teeth, a habit that constantly made my inner lips sore. “What, cat got your tongue? Are you?”

“Who’re you?” I responded, clutching my keys so that they stuck out between the fingers of my fist, and slowly standing up, sizing up the blond. He was standing too close for comfort, and he was a lot bigger than me. I was going to have to be on guard.

“I’m someone who wants to know if you’re Jason,” the guy replied straight away. I paused. We weren’t going to get anywhere like this.

“Yeah, I’m Jason,” I finally said, “Who the fuck are you?”

He took a step closer, and I gripped my keys harder, adrenaline displacing my fear for the moment. If I had to, I’d punch him I the face and bolt, the keys would leave some serious gashes. I knew; I’d done it before. “So,” the blond was saying, “You’re him, eh?” He was looking me up and down, a small smirk on his face. I felt a tremor run through me.

“Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m not going to,” I said coldly, turning my back on him and slotting the key into its hole. “Fuck off.”

“Wait just a second.” I felt his presence right behind me, then, his arms appeared to either side, fists against the door jamb, trapping me. One of his hands was holding a knife. “We need to have a little talk.”

Aww, fuck, I thought, but I’d felt the key turn just far enough to open the lock without the door swinging forward. Ok. Be calm, Jase, you’re going to have to time this just right. Dear god, don’t let him have seen me turn the key. Let it be too dark.

My heart pounding its way out of my chest, I slowly lowered my arm, slotting the keys back between my fingers as I did, and turned around. “So talk,” I said, and moved back just a bit, until my back was lightly touching the door. As far as I knew, he hadn’t noticed I’d had time to open it, yet. I felt my muscles tense, felt my eyes go wide. I was going to have to be quicker than him; it was my only chance.

I waited ‘til he’d opened his mouth to speak, then, with all my might, slammed my right fist into his stomach and twisted, simultaneously turning to the left and pushing open the door with my hip. He doubled over, grabbed frantically for my wrist, but I pulled it out of his grasp and slashed the keys across his cheek. “Little mother fucker!” he grunted, but I was already out of his grasp, running, almost tripping, into the building, slamming the door shut behind me before bolting up to my flat. My hands were trembling as I sorted out my keys and found the right one, but I noticed with satisfaction that they had blood on them, and there was blood on my fingers. Good.

I burst into my flat and leant against the door, my heart going at a million miles an hour, my blood rushing through my veins like rapids. I’d started shaking, I noticed, badly, but I was safe. Safe.

Suddenly, despite that knowledge, my knees felt weak and I slid to the floor, resting my head back against the door. “Oh, fuck,” I muttered in disbelief, “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.”

The coldness that had been with me through the whole thing was evaporating, that still calm feeling had disappeared and left me this shivering, moaning wreck. I had no doubt in the world that that was the guy that had killed Danny, and he’d wanted to do he same to me. *He had wanted to kill me.* I had just escaped death. And god, what if he was still out there? What if the keys had just scratched, him just made him angry? I glanced down at them; the blood was turning sticky, drying on the keys and on my skin. I flung them away in disgust and wiped my hand on my jeans. I felt sick.

And there was so much I had to do. I had to ring Torio, to start with, he was the perfect person to call at times like this, and no doubt he’d make me call the cops, and yes, as I should, all very well and good, and I needed Marshall, needed to hear his voice, but… Oh, Christ, I needed a hit before I could deal with all that.

I crawled into my room and reached under my bed for the box in which I stored my gear, drawing it out and setting it on my lap. With still-shaking hands, I started preparing the last of my stash, not bothering about aesthetics for once and spotting a vein on my inner arm instead of my knee, tapping it up until it was a thick, inviting blue line breaking all the whiteness.

I wasn’t thinking as I injected the shot, wasn’t paying attention. Hadn’t paid attention to how much I was cooking up, hadn’t paid attention to how much I’d drawn into the needle. I was running on auto-pilot, my mind still filled with images of the fight, the blond man and his knife, so close, too close…

The high started out the same as normal, overwhelming, overpowering, but then it…kind of kept going. I dropped the needle as I felt a numbness creep over my limbs, blinking a couple of times at the tingling I was getting…no, this was not right. And it got worse. I felt a tearing pain in my lungs as I found I couldn’t take a proper breath. My stomach seemed to clench in on itself, I fell forward a little in shock and pain, and started retching. A few drops of blood dripped down onto the floor.

“No…” I squeaked, wincing as the effort of tal too took away precious breath, breath I couldn’t spare. I looked around wildly and saw the phone, just to my left, just there, come on, Jase, you can make it… But the numbness in my limbs won out, and I was left sprawling on my stomach across the floor, my face turned to one side, a little bit of blood making a warm trail over my lips and down my cheek. The world seemed to swim in and out of blackness, my body was going from pain to numbness, pain to numbness, and then…less pain, until I couldn’t feel a thing, till my vision blurred and was slowly taken away. “Marshall…” I whispered, though I doubt any sound came out. My eyes slipped shut. “Marshall…”

And then…nothing.
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