Impossible Is Nothing (An Iggy Azalea/Eminem Fan Fiction)

Chapter 19: Runway

6 months later: May 1996

Marshall's P.O.V.

It's been a while, but after a long fucking time, I finally got Brittany's ass to join me in the studio.

We didn't intentionally mean to hold off for so long but she always had things coming up for her and so did I. We even forgot about it after a while. She was always busy with work and I was busy with putting out my album, working, and getting caught up with everything else relating to rap. But with me having to go back to the studio myself, I got her to come along with me this time around.

Another 6 whole months that flew by. We were still together after all this time. There haven't really been many problems or conflicts in our relationship; maybe we'll disagree, argue, not see each other for weeks as a result of it, but we'd always end up coming back to one another. Things were going strong and I couldn't be more grateful for that.

For my Infinite album: After I released it, man, that shit flopped. It didn't sell many copies, radio stations avoided it (even though I did motherfucking keep it toned down), and worst, people said I sounded like Az and Nas.

What. The. Fuck. 

Brittany told me she felt pretty gutted and thought I should've deserved more. Also, adding that I shouldn't let that stop me; I had a talent and I wasn't going to let it go to waste. I'll admit, it did bring me down. But you know what? Brit was right. I wasn't going to give up. I was already back at the studio, trying at it again.

But actually, not today, not right now. I pushed my intentions off to the side. We were going to focus just on her for today. She had always been so interested in it and I swear, I see it in her she wants to rap herself. I've always seen it since the very beginning. She's just never put in the initiative, which I was going to change. I bet she'd be ill if she tried.

I reserved one of the local studios for the two of us. We were sitting together and I was working on new lyrics off to the side while she was finishing up hers. If she had trouble coming up with a rhyme, I'd help her.

Briefly, Brittany (sitting right beside me in the other studio chair) spoke up. "I think I'm ready," she collected all her papers.

I sat back suddenly, getting myself comfortable. "Well, I'm excited. I've been waiting ages for it."

She stuck out her tongue. "Time to pass the mic to me," she said metaphorically, smiling. She drew in a short inhale. "So, this is a little piece I wrote that's important to me. I call this one 'Runway.'" B gave me an unsure, timid, and bashful look. I nodded at her to go right ahead—there was nothing to be scared of. She started; and shortly, bashful she was no more:

"You ever start to feel that home wasn't your home/Kinda like somebody made you wear the wrong clothes/What you say ain't gotta be what you made of/Well see your heart don't always match where you came from/Couldn't see you so they treat you like a misfit/Because your mind clicks in another district/Call you fake but they don't know what's inside you/'Cause what's inside justifies what divides you

Searching for that place right where you wanna be/That's really real where it's never full capacity/Throw that, and get away, never come back, don't go the wrong way."

After Brittany went, I was blown away. My eyes stayed on her, even after she finished.

It was silent a little until she spoke, curious. "How was it?"

"It was... sick," I told her truthfully. "You got great flow. I think you sounded like a female version of me," I chuckled, making her chuckle. "And what's up with that ghetto accent you were doing it with? It's different. Surprised me a bit."

She let out a long sigh. "You want me to rap in my 'Australian' accent? No way, Jose."

I "aw-ed." "I didn't mean for you to be so self-conscious, teasing you all the time about that," I said, sorry. "I'll quit."

Brit shook her head. "Nah, it's okay. It's what I'm most comfortable with," she shrugged. "But thank you for everything else," she added, smiling lightly.

I smiled from the corner of my mouth, praising her more. "I think the lyrics were real. I felt them. But," I paused. "What did you mean by them? I'm not sure if I get it."

She paused before starting. "I mean that—well, you know, I've tried hinting it to you a lot of times. Sometimes I feel I don't fit in or belong here. I'm still hoping to be able to move down to Miami; I feel like my real home is there."

I frowned. "...I thought you weren't being serious the times you brought it up," I said blankly.

Brit looked a little offended after I said that. "Uh, no? It's always been my dream from the start." 

That caught me off. "I'm not following you right now," I let her know bluntly. "What is it, are you not happy here? What's wrong with Detroit; with Michigan?" I started to demand.

"Nothing is," Brit tried calming me down.

"I thought you found everything you've been looking for here," I inserted.

She let out a sarcastic laugh. "Are you kidding? I'm sorry, but I don't want to strip for the rest of my life. It was something I was doing full-time to earn extra cash fast as soon as I could, right until I save up enough and will be able to move down there. To be honest, I've had enough money saved for a while now. The only reason I've been sticking around here is because—"

"Of me. So that's it. I've been the one holding you back," I came to a conclusion, nearly yelling.

"No," she denied, pained. "I just want to see the outside! Miami's so beautiful, it's one of my favourite places. I've never had very good memories here since I was a little child... I'm hoping starting new could change that."

"So this isn't a good memory?" I motioned from me to her. "The fuck are you talking about? Fuck's so special about fucking Miami, anyway? Because, I see don't see nothing."

"...excuse me?"

"I don't know," I threw up my hands. "It just feels like I'm on a whole different page than you," I stated. "To me, I can't picture myself being anywhere other than my home. This is where I was made and brought up—became me. So that's pretty fucking special to me, get me? I just don't get what you find so special about a place you don't even know."

"You want to cherish and hold on to the shitty life and childhood you had growing up in this rubbish town? What I don't understand is by what you mean by that," she claimed.

"Look what I am now. Look what I transformed into despite it. That's the fucking beauty of it. But, I guess we see the motherfucking opposite."

Brittany desperately tried to go back, switching the topic or some shit. "I'm sorry, I don't want to do this. If only we cou—" 

Well, too late to start over, huh? I was already furious. "You know what?" I just said on top of her no matter what. "I'm only giving you two choices, because otherwise, I'm just wasting my time here with you at this point. I need an answer," I demanded, looking at her straight in the eyes. I then came to reveal it. "Is it going to be me or Miami?"

There was hesitation coming from her. "I can't answer that now."

That made me blow. "Fuck it, fine, if that's how you feel, then fuck this," I sprung up out of the studio chair, fucking shoving it to the ground in anger.

Storming out, I heard Brittany calling out after me. "Marshall, please," she broke out into tears. "Wait!"

I didn't care. I wasn't hearing or taking this right now. I guess I wasn't that important to her, then. Maybe this relationship wasfinally coming to an end. All I knew now was that I was done.