10. Addicted Part 2

Marshall's P.O.V.

"Em! Marshall? Are you listening to me goddamit?!" My managers gruff voice is currently through the blissful and mellow state I'm currently in, and shit is annoying as all hell. Having had popped a few Vicodins earlier, right before coming to meet him at the visitor's room.

I was in no mood to see Paul just now, simply because I was in no mood for no lecture.

But I knew he was gonna show up today though, cause he told me he would, and one thing about Paul is that the fat fucker always keeps his word. He does exactly what he always said he would do, he always comes through, and frankly, I can respect that for real. That personality trait of his always being helpful and useful to me.

But in instances like this, it could be annoying.

Cause I ain't wanna be bothered with no preachy shit, yo.

Just wanna coast through my time during this rehab stint peacefully.

"Marshall!"

Paul's meaty hand connecting to the back of my head, I cuss at him.

"What, dickwad?!"

"Fucking focus, you idiot!!" Snapping his fingers in front of my face, I force myself to squint my eyes, staring at his huge frame. Giant ass motherfucker...

And what I see once my eyes do laser reluctantly on my manager's ugly ass broad mug, is an unmistakable look of disappointment.

Been there, done that.

Been disappointing people that actually care for me my whole life.

But who gives a shit though?

I know I don't.

"You are high as a kite in here, ain't you, Em?" Paul huffs out, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

I just stare blankly at him.

Of course, the fat bald-headed motherfucker would know.

Paul's been around me long enough to be able to read me like a book, and at times, I hate that shit. Hate for anybody to be able to read me, to be honest.

But Paul is one of the very few people in my life that ain't ever used being able to rid me as some sorta power play against me.

The only other people being Proof, the rest of the fellas from D12, my dead uncle Ronnie, and my baby daughter, Hailie.

Pretty much everybody else in my life that's ever meant a damn to me or truly knew me, they fucking betrayed me, man.

Including my ex, Kim, and my own momma, long before that.

Both of whom happen to be women, so in all honesty, fuck all bitches.

They are all sluts that seek to fuck a man up one way or another. Take a man for all his worth. Money, fame, fuck knows what else.

Hell, even that Mariah Carey chick, all she ever wanted to do was use me, and she was fucking famous herself, no need for her to pretend to like me for no clout.

But nasty ass thirsty ass sluts simply can't help themselves, I guess.

Either way, I ain't no angel neither.

I would tell a motherfucking slut exactly what she wanted to hear, which is cut straight to the chase. As long as it gets them to open their legs.

Cause that's all they are good for.

Especially coke addicted bitches.

Let me tell you.

Those are the worst.

No self-respect whatsoever.

Not to name no names.

Bree..

Yeah, damn right, I'm talking about you, you nasty ass whore!

"I ain't high, Paul. Just chilling in here, is all. Healing. Admitting my past mistakes. You know what I'm saying?" I smirk at my manager who practically laughs out loud.

Like a deep belly laugh.

The bald fucker really thinks it's funny what I just told him.

Then again, Paul does know me pretty well.

Fuck..

"Marshall, I don't know how you've pulled this, but you are clearly still getting high while being in here," sighing in pure defeat as he looks at me. "So, I'm pulling you out of here, kid. Absolutely no sense in you staying in here, delaying the release of your new album because of your stint in rehab, if you, yourself don't even believe in the possibility of ever getting better."

Paul looks at me sadly as his words come out rather stern.

And the look on his face reads as pure pity to me, and I hate it.

So I lose it on him.

"I ain't fucking leaving out of here, Paul. Not yet," I state.

"Oh yes, you bloody are, Em!"

"Nah."

He tried to give me his best intimidating look then, sort of like how a disapproving father would view his continuously misbehaving disappointment of a son, I suppose.

I won't know shit about that though.

Cause even if I clearly disappointed my own faggot father back when I was only a baby.. so much so in fact that the bastard had split without so much as giving one last look at me or kissing me goodbye, so I wouldn't know what exactly it supposed to look like when your pops looks at you all stern and shit.

The way that asshole left, I ain't remember shit about him, so fuck him.

Paul do be tryna play that part at times though, acting like he's my dad, even if it ain't even that much of an age difference between the two of us.

And I know that in his own very overbearing overprotective way, Paul cares about my well being. He's one of the very few people that does.

But he still gotta mind his own goddamn business though.

"I ain't checking out of here, dawg. Not yet," I simply say, and Paul Bunyan's small beaded eyes immediately begin to study my face, I can feel them.

I scratch the back of my head underneath my durag, when he finally speaks out, voice slightly raised up in a question mark.

"And what exactly is it that's keeping you here, Em?"

"Not a goddamn thing, Pauline. I enjoy being away from the public's eye though. The peace of it."

"Right," Paul continues to stare at me hard, but my face remains emotionless.

At the end of the day, I ain't even lie to him.

I needed to put my whole goddamn life on pause.

The expectations motherfuckers have of me these days.

The burden the fans put on me.

All of it is frankly too much, and sometimes I feel like I'm cracking under pressure.

Even if I won't ever admit that. To anybody.

But this whole fame shit, man?

I ain't never expect that, nor have I ever wanted it.

All I did want was to finally be able to make enough money to be able to take care of my daughter. Get Hailie everything that she's ever wanted, and all of the things I could never have.

Tale as old as time.

And even Kim too.

As much as I hate the goddamn bitch, I always wanted to provide for her.

Even if it was solely the reason of being able to finally stick it to her, stick my success down that evil and vile bitch's throat!

Oh, and I've also wanted to gain recognition.

After years of people straight up shitting on me and pretending to not recognize my skill on the mic, just cause of the color of my skin, I had wanted to shut all of them fuckers up, and I did.

But I never wanted to get this big though.

Neither have I ever predicted it.

And now, everybody wants me to be my alter ego, Slim Shady, 24/7, churning out those hit songs for them to consume, and I'm starting to lose focus at times, lose the grip of my main motivation for even doing all this on the first place.

It was all supposed to be about HER, after all. All about Hai.

But I barely even see her these days.

Cause dad's always busy.

So go play with your toys, Hailie, baby, and don't bother him.

The guilt of that weighing heavily on my chest, but what can I even do, man?!

I'm caught up in this shit, have sold my soul to the devil for this a long ass time ago.

And the stint in rehab, it had seemed like a perfect escape out of all of it, even if only for a short period of time.

It was like me pressing a pause button on the crazy ass circus that literally is my life.

The Jerry Springer Show.

"Don't you want to see your daughters?" Paul then asks me, rudely barging through my thoughts as usual, and frankly, my fists ball up at my sides immediately once I hear those words fall from his mouth.

I feel a very strong need to quite literally murder him on the very spot he's sitting on, cause how dare he.

Next thing I know, I'm getting in his mug again.

"Don't ever in ya goddamn life ask me no shit like that, Paul! Of course I wanna see my daughters. But I just... I ain't ready for them to see me yet. Not like this," I huff out, my voice suddenly meek and defeated, and I feel the need to put it together again, hating for anybody to see me weak.

This is the exact reason I don't share shit in them whack ass therapy sessions too, cause I never want nobody to see my weakness.

I'm a man after all, and I rap. In the world of hip-hop, you don't admit to things like not being strong enough.

Paul, to my great chagrin, doesn't at all seem to be bothered by my outburst. He simply leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"It doesn't look like you are doing anything to improve yourself in here though, Em," he concludes. "You wouldn't be getting high in here if you were really serious about recovery."

And he's right.

I ain't serious about this shit.

But then again, I don't really got a problem with the pills, do I? Motherfuckers are just blowing it way out of proportion. Those are all prescription meds that I'm taking.

Not like I'm shooting heroin up my vein or smoking crack, you know what I mean?

Ambien helps me sleep, Valium keeps me calm and Vicodin makes my pain manageable, ever since I tore up my knee after falling off a stage.

There are valid reasons for me to be taking all them pills, and if it also makes me feel good as shit, then what's the issue?

I sure as fuck don't see it.

But I do admit that I ain't check into rehab to kick the habit.

Just needed to make everybody shut the hell up and stop worrying about me.

Also needed a break from motherfuckers.

And once I do get some rest in here, then I feel like imma be a better man for my daughters, not always on edge like I currently am.

So, I do enjoy being here in a way, even if it gets boring at times, but luckily for me, I've found a perfect toy for me to play with in here.

This chick that's a former child star.

All grown up now though. And hot.

And I've lied through my teeth to her back when I had originally told her I ain't know who she was.

I did know who she was.

But it gave me a sick sort of satisfaction to pretend like I haven't.

Just seeing the undignified look on her face when I had told her that lie did something to me, cause she looked hot.

And hours later, I sneak into her room, which is easy as fuck to do considering that there's no locks on any of the doors here.

Some dumb hospital policy which totally works to my advantage right now.

The first thing I'm seeing entering the dark room, way past lights out, is this girl's curly mop of hair, spread out against the pillow.

None of the head covering that she usually wears while sleeping.

Which leads me to believe that Bree had fallen asleep accidentally, unintentionally.

Cause if she knew she was about to go to bed, she would've wrapped her head with something, I've learned that much about her so far, even if the shit always seemed silly as all hell and annoying to me.

Still, I'm slowly lifting up her covers like the creep that I am, and quietly getting in the bed with her, my large body spooning her petite one, as I wrap one arm around her stomach.

I feel her move against me just slightly, as she sleepily grumbles.

"I keep telling you to leave me alone, Marshall."

"I'm sorry, but I don't seem to be able to do that, baby girl," gently moving her curly hair away with my other hand, I kiss the back of her neck, and she mumbles something else barely coherent in response, and almost instantly she's going back to sleep, her light steady breathing echoes in my ears while she unconsciously snuggles closer to me.

I smirk to myself, knowingly damn well that if she was actually fully awake and aware, she would probably cuss me the fuck out. She ain't even say a word to me in group therapy today, she just kept giving me dirty looks, even when I would try and mess with her like i usually do. She refused to give what I had wanted, which was her getting angry at me, or so she had thought.

In reality, just the pissed off look in her pretty hazel green eyes was more than enough for me.

But now she's asleep again, another thing I've learned about Brianna so far, is that she's able to sleep through anything, it could be a whole earthquake going on, and this broad wouldn't wake up.

And I take full advantage of that fact, pulling her body into mine and closing my eyes.

For whatever fuck ass reason, I've grown accustomed to sleeping next to her, and being the creature of habit that I am, I ain't think I could actually fall asleep without her while I'm here at rehab.

Guess I'm addicted to her company or some shit..