7. Hands On You

Bree's P.O.V.

Things have been really quiet at the rehab center lately.

Marshall and I maintain our routine, same all routine of us hating each other in public, and him continuously messing with me during group therapy session, but we are together without it ever having being agreed upon every night.

I smile slightly just as I roll my eyes at him once he makes his way through the door of my room like always.

"You ain't shit for earlier, Em," I tell him.

"Oh, but you already knew that, girl," he smirks.

He makes his way closer to me and snakes his arm around the small of my back, pulling me closer to his body. Our lips meet and lock together, as my plan cups the back of his bleach-blonde head.

Or should I say, dirty blonde at this point, because his roots have really been growing out and becoming more and more prominent lately.

"Marshall, you really need to let me do your roots for you," I suddenly let out, completely out of the blue.

"Yeah? You wanna do that for me?" He smirks against my lips, picking me up, my legs wrapping around his waist.

"Yes, why not?" I giggle. "Tired of looking at your head in those nasty durags all the time," I say, instantly earning myself a harsh slap on against my butt.

"I see you got jokes," Marshall speaks harshly in my ear as I yelp out in pain, only for him to gently rub the spot he's just smacked, somewhat soothing the soreness that spreads there.

He then carries me over towards my bed ans unceremoniously throws me on it, climbing over me and removing his t-shirt in the process, tossing it somewhere.

"Whatever, Marshall," I breathe out, just as his lips smash against mine again, he's always so impatient.

But then again, so am I.

My fingernails dig into his back, causing him to groan.

Marshall then leans back, giving me just enough room to move freely and be able to do what he wants me to.

"Take everything off," he commands me, never breaking eye contact with me, our gazes locking in a battle of wills with each other.

And I oblige him.

I strip out of my clothes, just as he removes the rest of the stuff he has on, then the two of us are completely entangled in each other once more.

"I really can't stand you though, you know," I feel the need to remind him in between kisses. "You literally make my life a living hell in this place, Marshall!! Especially in group therapy!!"

He pulls away from me again, his eyes at first appearing cold, but in reality, they are actually super intense.

"You know imma always ride for you though, girl. As long as you ride for me," he then tells me, and I have no idea what he even means, nor do I have a chance to process his words, because he immediately slams his mouth back on mine, and I can't really think straight anymore. All I can do is attempt to tug on his short hair, bringing his face even closer to mine.

His hand reaching in between our bodies, Marshall plays with my clit before pushing his dick inside of me...

*

The next day, is visitation.

As always, I have absolutely nobody to come see me, but I pass through the room anyways.

Spotting a very familiar face sitting at one of the tables.

And when I say familiar, I don't mean that I know this dude, or that I've ever actually met him before, because I haven't.

Still, everybody knows who 50 Cent is though, and I slightly fangirl as I walk past his table, my heartbeat slightly speeding up.

Even as there's this other man sat right next to him, somebody I don't recognize at all.

Another patient here at rehab, perhaps? Somebody 50 Cent cane to visit?

No, because I don't recall ever seeing this man before at all.

"Ayo, lil momma! Ain't you Bree James? Shiit, come here, girl, I knew it was you and I'm a fan," Fifty Cent then suddenly draws out, his New York prominent in his voice as well as the huge trademark grin on his face and I stop in my tracks.

He knows who I am?!

"You know me?" I ask incredulously, walking on wooden legs and taking a seat across from him at the table, the whole situation being so surreal to me. I feel truly star struck.

"I mean, shit, of course I know who you is, girl. That crime drama you did a couple of years ago, it was hot," Fifty tells me, all of his pearly white teeth showing so clearly in his smile.

And I'm shocked, because I know exactly which movie role of mine he is referring to right now, but the thing is, as proud as I was for starring in that flick and doing something completely different from my wholesome Nickelodeon girl, Disney princess image, the movie itself was either completely ignored by audiences or panned by the film critics, causing me to become so depressed back then.

It was like nobody would ever see me for who I really was as an actress. Outside of the sitcom, adorable child star world.

"You... You've seen Copycat?" I then ask 50 Cent incredulously, who nods eagerly.

"That shit was dope, girl. They need to cast you in more shit like that for real. Ain't it right, Obie?" He then looks at the guy sitting next to him, who just shrugs, looking bored.

"Never seen that shit, to be honest. My bad, girl," he smirks at me.

"It's all good," I reply back, smiling.

Just then, I feel another presence right next to me, and as I'm turning my head, my eyes are immediately met with a pair of extremely angry (for some reason) blue ones, as Marshall hops in the seat next to me.

"Ayo, Em, wassup, dawg. How you been, nigga," Fifty then greets Marshall, and the other man, Obie, does as well. They assp get up from the table and do that half hug thing dudes always do.

And it immediately is clear to me that Fifty and Obie are both here to see Marshall, which obviously makes sense, now that I think about it, since Marshall is supposed to be like 50 Cent's mentor or something.

"Yo, I'm good. How you been, Fif? Obie?" Marshall greets his buddies, but I can feel his intense blue eyes trained on me for some reason, tension and anger radiating off of him in waves for some reason.

"Shit, I've been making moves, you know what I mean, nigga?" Fifty Cent grins.

"Oh, no doubt," Marshall nods, his eyes still trained on me, and I begin to feel like the third wheel, then 50 makes a reference towards me, making everything so much worse somehow.

"Shit, how come you ain't tell me, dawg, that you at the same rehab facility as Bree-motherfucking-James?" Fifty Cent grins. "You know I'm a fan of hers."

And the tension radiating off of Marshall then...

"Oh word? I ain't never know that actually, never knew you liked her like that," He says through gritted teeth. "Go for it though, dawg. I'm sure she likes you too," he smirks mockingly, glaring down at me.

I swallow hard.

"Excuse me," I then say in a small voice, getting up from the table. "I'm sure y'all have plenty to catch up on," I then add, promptly walking away.

What the fuck just happened?!

I feel confused by it all, Marshall's reaction especially. He had glared at me like he literally wanted to kill me.

And about an hour later, when he barges inside of my room unceremoniously as usual, he literally looks like just that.

"You really are a slut, ain't you, Bree?!" He asks me with no warning.

I quickly get up from my bed and walk up to him.

"What did you just say to me, white boy?"

"Ah, you've heard me. You are a motherfucking slut. You wanna fuck my boy, Fif, don't you?!"

And I actually really don't.

I'm just a really huge fan of him as an artist, but other than that...

"What is it even to you, Em? Are you jealous or something?" I ask him sweetly, causing Marshall to scoff as he steps closer to me, towering over me.

"Bitch, don't even flatter yaself. I been told you before, I don't get jealous over worthless ass whores, and that's exactly what you are, ain't you, Bree? Smiling all on that motherfucker's face like you was ready to suck his dick right on the spot!" He angrily spits just as my eyes widen.

Before I ever get a chance to defend myself though, he continues talking rapidly, that Detroit accent, the same one all of us that grew up around here have, but his being more prominent somehow, more... stereotypical or something, "Well, guess what?" Marshall then adds and then his face is like an evil death mask. "Ya wanna be a slut. Go ahead. Jake!" He then calls out to somebody and the orderly that used to sell coke to me before walks in.

"I am officially removing the ban for you to deal with this nasty ass chick. Do go on and sell to her if ya wanna. Go on and fuck her too, I ain't care no more," Marshall states harshly, storming out of the room.

And I just stand rooted to my spot, wanting to both dissapear from the face of the Earth right now, and also wanting to kill the evil ass disrespectful white boy.

In the meantime, Jake looks from the direction Em has just disappeared in, and myself.

"So, you want some coke or..." his voice trails off unsurely.

And it would be SOOOOO nice to get high right now, like seriously...

"Um, no, I'm good. Can you please just leave, Jake?" I respond, shocking my own myself so much...

*

The next day, ironically enough, and the world really must be full of irony, the topic for the group section is abusive and toxic relationships.

And when it's my turn to speak, I fully expect Marshall to butt in and call me fake, insult me, call me a whore, even hit me maybe, whatever.

Especially when I start describing my relationship with my ex, Adam.

Opening up fully, because lately, I've decided that while I'm at this facility, I might as well tell the whole truth, no mote pretending or playing a role.

So, I tell everybody that's willing to listen about the first time Adam and I have met.

On the first day of our story, the future seemed so bright.

It was like this weird fairy tail of total opposites attracting.

I mean, we were not even each other's types.

Adam was a rocker, a bad boy, known publicly for dating blonde bombshells.

And i was the America's sweetheart, the Disney Princess, the Nickelodeon girl, the good girl. A girl with caramel skin, green eyes and jet black curly hair.

We were not supposed to click. He wasn't supposed to like me, and I wasn't supposed to like him, and yet, somehow, he approached me at this party we were both attending.

And honestly? Back then, maybe I did at first only saw him as a stepping stone or something. Maybe he was just a means to an end to me at first. Maybe I was in fact thinking that having a fling with somebody like that would help me shed my good girl image somewhat, something I was literally sick ajd tired of by that point.

But then I actually fell in love with him.

And he fell for me too.

Or so I had thought.

Our relationship quickly turning volatile, I was in way too deep, and way too stubborn to ever get out of it or ask anybody for help.

Adam started putting his hands on me.

Despite of him telling me that he would never do such a thing. He did reassure me though that we would always be there for each other.

But he lied.

And in return, I would put my hands on him as well.

We would fight like cats and dogs, then make up just as crazy like, just as passionate.

All of it culminating in me ending up at the drug rehab, doing a mandatory stint here, because I had burned his car...

And I fully expect Marshall to mock me as I speak, just like he always does.

But for once, he is completely quiet. He won't even look at me. He just stares into space, chewing on his buttom lip.

And he continues to do so while the other people that's willing to share share their stories as well.

Still being the only person that's never actively participated in any of the group therapy.

Then, as soon as the session ends, Marshall bolts right out of the room.

And I just look after him and roll my eyes.

Then, hours pass, and he still hasn't come to my room, so I decide to come to his instead.

I don't really know why.

Must be that by this point, I am completely addicted to our whole dynamic, as well as me just being addicted to toxicity period.

So, I make my was across the hall, and i push the door with my hands.

Spotting him sitting leaning on the bedframe with a notepad buried in his lap. His lips move slightly, mumbling something to himself as he rapidly writes in the notepad with his left hand.

Then, without even glancing up from what he was doing, he speaks, "I know you are mad at me, Brianna. But frankly, I ain't even give a fuck."

"Why would I be mad at you?" I ask, shutting the door behind me.

Marshall releases a rush of air from his mouth, then he finally looks up at me.

"For how I had talked to you earlier," he nonchalantly clarifies, licking his lips out of habit. "I realize now that I've jumped to conclusions like a motherfucker. Fif even told me that it wasn't even like that between you two. But I ain't even give a fuck. Not that I'm jealous. Not like I like you like that, girl," he then shrugs.

"Um, ooooookay," I reply back, suppressing an amused smile that threatens to appear on my lips, tugging on their corners.

Because like... I didn't even ask him about ANY of this!!

"Well, I don't like you either," I then say sweetly to him, watching his eyebrows furrow as Marshall puts his notepad away, staring intently at me from where he's sitting.

"What are you writing in there anyways?" I then ask him.

"Oh that? Just the lyrics for the song I was supposed to collaborate with my boy, Obie on. When him and Fif came to visit me yesterday, he reminded me on how I still owe him a feature once I get out of rehab, so I figured, imma start working on it already, get a head start, you know what I'm saying?"

"Um, sure," I reply back, then my eyes involuntarily light up.

"Can I hear it?"

Marshall stares at me again. His face is blank as he finally picks up the notepad and looks at it, then puts it back on the bed as he gets up.

"Fuck ya wanna hear it for?"

"Just curious."

He shrugs then, his eyes darting towards the notepad, even though something tells me, he doesn't really need it.

Then he goes,

You gon ride for me (you gon ride?)Then I'm gon ride for you (I'm gon ride)If you put your mouth on me (put it on me)I'm a put my mouth on youTogether there ain't nothing we can't do (there's nothing)Any problem we can see it through (we see it through)Baby if you promise to be true (you promise?)I will never put my hands on youCome on and think about it

As he raps, I slowly walks up to him, feeling chills slowly go down my spine.

I've never been an Eminem fan, as I've stated earlier. Like... I've never hated the white boy, nor have I ever particularly liked him, I've always been indifferent to his music.

But this...

After finishing rapping what appears to be the hook for the song, Marshall then raps the bridge to me

If you gon stand by me (if you gon stand by me)Then I'm gon stand by you (then I'm gon stand by you)If you promise you'll be trueThen I'll never put my hands on you (hands down)But! don't you play me for no fool (no fool) bitch!Cause if I put my mouth on you (on you)After you put your mouth on someone elseBetter find someone else newCome on and think about it

And those lyrics, they are not particularly deep at all.

But I feel them.

Mostly because...

"You've got that from what I've said earlier, haven't you? During group therapy session? My relationship with Adam?" I ask him frankly, stopping directly in front of him, and he just nods.

No regret, no shame, no reflection whatsoever in those cold blue eyes.

Marshall took something that was personal to me, and he flipped it, channeling MY story into HIS feature on some other rapper's song.

"You are really something else, Em," I breathe out.

His arm then wraps around my waist, and he pulls me closer to him.

"Do you hate me for this?" He asks me, and for the first time ever, I do see something on his face, like a ghost of vulnerability on his face.

He stares at me as he slowly caresses my cheek, his eyes locked on mine, and I suddenly realize that I wasn't even breathing this whole time, so I slowly exhale.

"No," I breathe out.

***

Not me posting 3 chapters of this book in one day after not updating it for ages lmaooooo

Anyways, I honestly don't know how you guys feel about this story, it might come off as a bit repetitive with the whole therapy session/ Marshall mocks Bree/ she gets angry at him and confronts him/ they fuck dynamic, but it's honestly meant to be like that for while they are both still in rehab together, because one thing about being in a facility like that is that all of your days blend together, and it's literally the same thing over and over, and it's just their routine for right now.

Anyways, I've had an idea for yet another Eminem book, but as of right now, I'm thinking I might or might not just incorporate it into this one, and y'all will know what I'm talking about if I end up doing it, because I will tell you lmaooo.

Also, I'm aware that we haven't heard from Marshall's P.O.V. as of yet, and I do intend to let him speak eventually, but it's going to be way later on down the road. As for right now, y'all are stuck with Bree 🤷🏾‍♀️😂