21. They Not Like Her

Marshall's P.O.V.

"Ay, look at this shit. The prodigal nigga has returned. Welcome back, Slim!" Bizarre's crazy ass hollers as soon as I step foot through the studio door.

The rest of the fellas all turn and stare at me, the smell of weed smoke heavy in the air like always. A bunch of giggly dumb slutty chicks sitting in corners.

"Fuck outta here," I scoff to cover up my embarrassment, shit's being real clear to me.

I was in fact slacking off, barely showing up for work. All to be laid up somewhere with the rhinestone chick.Hate to admit it, but yeah, Paul was fucking right. I wasn't thinking with my head. And that only tells me I was goddamn right to cut her off cause she wasn't good for me. Something about her, it clouded my mind, distracted me from what was the most important.

As a matter of fact, in a way, she still manages to fuck with my head eveb now, cause look at this fuck shit. I'm still stuck thinking about her slutty ass.

Fuck her!

I make my way fully inside the recording room, plopping down on one of the rolling chairs beside the mixing board. And almost immediately, Proof sits down next to me with a huge grin on his face and pats me on the back hard as fuck, almost making me double over the mixing board cause i wasn't expecting him to do all that. Motherfucker sneak attacked me and shit.

Then he wanna talk about some, "Fuck happen to your Lilly white ass, doody? Can't take a hit no more, nigga?"

"Man, fuck you" I try to throw a right hook at him, but miss. Proof grins and we quick to dap each other up. I then look at the mixing board and practically see it staring back at me, asking me where the fuck I've been.

"Aight dawg, catch me up. Where we at with the Devil's Night album?"

And I ain't even gonna lie, getting back into trying to work on them songs, to recreate them from memory alone.. it's frustrating as hell. Shit always feels like something I've got a grasp on, but not quite. Like it keeps on slipping through my fingers, and yet, I've got it. I know I've got it. All the words, rhymes, bars, they was in fact in my head before. It came from my mind, and it is all still there somewhere, buried right at the back of it. All I gotta do is just scratch deep enough to recapture the shit.

But I shouldn't have to, given that all of them goddamn songs was already written before. Sketched in that stupid notebook I lost.

Fuck!!

Lowering my face onto the mixing boards, the controls on it dig into the skin on my forehead, but I only press deeper, the annoyance and frustration of having to quite literally recreate the whole goddamn album the lyrics to which I've previously had mapped out before from scratch driving me fycking nuts.

See mentally, I've already moved on from this particular record, my brain racing ahead of itself and already starting to come up with brand new ideas for the next one after that, cause that's just how my mind operates.

So no, having to backtrack, force myself to try and stop the flood of all those new lyrics forming in my head and concentrate instead on recapturing the ones I've lost, it's making me want to punch something, tear a dry wall apart with my bare hands or some shit.

Things would be easier if I could just say fuck all that old shit and just use the new material I was thinking up for my next record for this current one I'm working on. Only see, I can't do that. Something in me, that addictive and obsessive part, it fucking refuses to allow me to just let shit go, let all them bars I came up with before to go to waste. So I must think them up again, bring them back, even if the shit fucking destroys me.

"Are you okay, Slim?" some broad's voice rings in my ears, only adding to the cacophony of random ideas, noises and insanity currently running through my thoughts, and i flinch, my head jerking up as though being startled out of a deep sleep.

Seeing two groupie bitches sat on either side of me, both smiling up at me, their eyes clouded with the kind of blind admiration look women's been giving me ever since I became famous. One of them is blonde with blue eyes, exactly my type, while the other one is a brunette with green eyes. Variety or whatever the fuck.

I roll my chair around, my back now turned towards the soundboard with my new notepad sitting on top of it.

Filled with empty scribbles and wanna be rhymes.

Mock song lyrics that's almost painful for me to read now, knowing that they are just ghosts of whatever I've written before.

And the new shit? It might even be better than that old shit I've come up with, who knows. But that's exactly the problem, ain't it.

I'll never know.

And I think that's what's driving me crazy, you know what I'm saying.

I don't like to question myself like this, not at all. And yet, I can't help that shit. I feel like I'm going nuts.

My eyes scanning the recording room, I spot all the rest of the fellas goofing around and having a good time as usual.

Bizarre is eating his food, literally 3 separate plates somehow being balanced in his lap. Proof rolling multiple joints not too far away from where I'm seated. Kuniva and Kon having a mock rap battle in the booth. While Swifty is making on some girls.

And a groupie chick doing what she no doubt assumes is a sexy lil dance in front of me. I take a pull from the blunt held in my left hand, leaning forward. I rub my chin with my other hand, staring the girl down hard. Slut tries too hard, but I'm almost used it by this point.

Bitches wanting me bad, wanting to bust it open for me just cause of who I am.

I lick my lips, leaning forward.

Thought of another irrelevant slut clouding my mind, and I need a way to erase them quick.

Cause see, maybe SHE'S the reason I can't concentrate enough to write what I need to write, the goddamn rhinestone bitch.

Harmony.

"Say baby, would you let me hit it raw?" I ask the groupie girl, getting straight to the point, already knowing what she would say next.

Cause these broads, I swear to fuck, they so predictable, dawg. Too predictable.

Too simple, too easy to read.

And way too easy to humiliate cause they will just go right along with it.

Watching redness spread all through the girl's translucent skin on her cheeks, she giggles, lowering her eyes a bit and pretending to be chaste.

"But of course. You can do anything you want to me, Marshall," she whispers once her eyes finally lift back up to meet mine.

"Don't fucking call me by my government name, slut. You ain't know me well enough for all that," I swiftly reply back, my jaw clenched tight, and the groupie, she looks absolutely mortified then.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, Slim!!"

She damn near drops to her knees, a horrified expression in her suddenly huge, bugged out teary eyes. And I don't see shit but fakeness in them.

Mock innocence.

Hell, at least Harmony Jones was real about her shit.

Fuck yeah that girl had looked innocent as well, but those were just her facial features. She was goddamn slut though, but she ain't never lie about it. In fact, the crazy broad seemed proud of it.

Proud to be exactly who she was.

The lil groupie slut currently stood in front of me though?

Everything about this broad screams artifice.

And she ain't even tries to put on a fight.

Cause see, rhinestone would've done talked all kind of shit back to me by now. Would've ripped me a new one for talking to her like that. She'd probably insult me in so many ways, maybe even in a freestyle. Call me out of my name. Attempt to beat me up with her small fists.

This girl here? She's as dull as true hell, which is exactly what I envision the fiery pits of it to truly be like.

Not motherfuckers burning.

Not your very soul quite literally being brutalized and torn to shreds, nah.

Just complete and immense boredom.

Feeling unstimutalted and just left there.

And it goes on for centuries, until you realize this is it.

Shit will never end cause it's infinite.

And I can already tell she will readily take and swallow whatever humiliation I'll lay on the table for her.

I decide to push her further though.

Wanna see just how far I can take it with her.

"Can I fuck your ass? Matter of fact, can I put my whole fist through it before I stretch it with my cock?" I ask the girl, a bored smirk forming on my face.

She meets it with a wildly excited gaze. Almost looking like a damn cartoon or some shit.

A fucking comic book villain, but not the big one.

Not the Joker, more like the Joker's lakey.

"Hell yes, Slim!!"

"How about a four way with myself and all three of you sluts then?"

"Okay."

"What if I wanted to say, take a shit on your tits?"

"Um... I don't know... I guess, okay, sure. If that's what you are into..."

Already this dumb slut disgusts me.

Still, I take her back to another recoding room with me, telling the rest of the fellas I'm gonna take a break.

And of course I ain't actually wanna do none of the vile shit I've just mentioned to her neither. I'm a freak, but hell, even I don't get off on quite literally shitting on bitches or putting my whole fist up their ass. That's some weird shit for real, so nah.

I just wanna fuck and get rid of some of the excruciating tension that's been building up inside my balls lately.

And maybe this dumb groupie cunt can make it happen for me, get this other girl I keep thinking off out of my head, you know what I'm saying?

I was wrong to think that though.

Should've known that too.

Cause the whole time I'm pounding in and out of this girl and she goes, "Oh my God, Em, I'm gonna, I'm gonna... I'm cumming again!!", I don't feel a thing. Not pride, not a sick sense of victory, satisfaction orcockiness. No ecstasy rushing through my balls as that first nut hits me, nothing.

Not even disgust at how loose this bitch's pussy actually is.

Don't even give a fuck about that.

It's just emptiness instead. A goddamn deaf blind and dumb black hole that's only being pierced by the random girl's joyful screams of pure ecstasy which I actually envy right now for real.

Must be nice.

A crazy high like no other.

And don't get me wrong, I ain't even blame this dumb slut.

Her whimpers coming out all spent and raw, she sounds exausted, which ain't even a surprise.

This is her fourth nut after all.

I done made the broad cum repeatedly, one after another, and the only problem with that shit is that for the life of me, I ain't able to get off myself.

No matter how long I fuck this bitch, no matter how hard my cock gets (and believe me, that shit is rock hard at this point, the sensation is practically becoming painful), I don't seem to be able to bust. Shit just won't happen for me, I keep teetering right on the edge of it. And it's most likely cause I'm so goddamn high right now, being this much under the influence could apparently dull your body's responses to stuff.

So it's no wonder I can't bust, shit is actually reasonably natural, man. I can't unload simply cause I'm numb.

Only problem is that the whole time I'm slamming in and out of this groupie chick's loose ass pussy, all I can think of is this other whore, and how much I would rather be inside of her tight cunt instead.

The goddamn rhinestone chick, Harmony Jones. She continues to invade my thoughts, and shit don't even make sense, yo.

Cause she ain't nothing special.

Bitches like her literally come a dime a dozen.

And I've already fucked her anyhow, multiple times too.

But I can't stop thinking about her, continuing to lose whatever is left off of my mind over her. She continues to linger there, whispering to me how this other girl I'm fucking, she ain't like her, and how she could never be her.

Shit is like an obsession, and the only other woman I've ever felt this way about before was my ex-wife.

Which at least had made sense back then, cause see, Kim? She fucking knew me. Knew the real me, the guy I was long before the fame. Not Slim, not Shady, not Eminem, just Marshall. So me and her, it's always made sense, and it was always one of the reasons, aside from us literally having a kid together, why I had wanted so badly to stick with her at first.

I used to think that Kim understood me like no other woman ever could.

Imma be goddamned though, cause Harmony? The lil rhinestone chick, she knew me all inside out. She understood me without even realizing it.

All cause deep down, she is a lot more like me than she would ever admit.

And even though I ain't even known her for that long, she felt like a kindred spirit to me.

Which is exactly why she was so wrong for me, as ironic as that may be.

Life truly is a bitch, and it sure as fuck ain't fair.

Cause all of the girls that I like the most, they seem to practically spell out my downfall..

"YOU did this to us, Marshall. You sent me away, told me to leave," Harmony whispers to me in my dreams, taunting me, fucking with my head just like she was in real life.

Another week later..

Another after party following yet another meaningless awards awards show.

Myself and the fellas had to have attended, of course.

Cause see, when you are featured in a said show and are winning awards, you goddamn best to show your face afterwards. Paul told us so, and that motherfucker knows best.

So I greet my teeth and mingle.

And by mingle I mean mostly chilling and getting high and drunk with D12 while the rest of these industry clowns make spectacles out of themselves. Ain't even gonna lie. Some of those being pretty entertaining. Giving me ideas for future random disses for sure.

All hell breaks lose though when I spot Harmony whom, I ain't even gonna lie, I've practically been eye-fucking the whole time during the actual awards show.

And her being sat in a row directly in front of me just before didn't help neither.

I fucking wanted her bad, and I needed her to turn around and say something.

Throw some slick disrespectful remark at me, suck at that stupid lollipop in her mouth.

But the goddamn girl won't even look my way, not once, whenever our paths did cross each other during the duration of the spectacle, she'd find a way to dodge me, a small devilish smirk playing on her plus lips every single time, absolutely fucking infuriating me.

And once I did get her to briefly talk to me, all she fucking said was, "That's what YOU wanted though, wasn't it, Em? You wanted us to take a break, so we are."

Just like in that stupid ass dream I keep on having about confronting her stupid ass.

Then she kissed me on the cheek, her big brown eyes staring mockingly up onto mine as she pulled back before walking away.

Not even gonna lie?

I've been going nuts ever since.

But now she marches across the venue the after party is being held on a mission.

And everything about her is off, every single goddamn thing.

Her moves are no longer precise, cat-like, controlled, nah.

Harmony Jones is unraveling right in front of myself and everybody else who is daring to look.

Beautiful features twisted in ager which frankly makes her appear even more sexy to me.

Those brown eyes blaring with fury. In fact, her whole petite body trembling with it when she approaches no other but that lame ass boy band dude, Timberlake.

Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, the dumb fucker's eyes already growing wide as saucers, she yanks him closer to her, their face at exact eye level despite their height difference, before she bellows, her normally melodic voice now completely distorted with rage.

"JUSTIN!! NIGGA, I'M GONNA FUCKING MURDER YOU FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO MY SISTER!!"

And the pretty boy is desperately trying to get away from her, but there's no escape.

Harmony is exactly like me in that sense after all.

Once her crazy ass is on you, you ain't getting out of that shit until she buries you and throws away the shovel.