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

Chapter 26: Like Toy Soldiers (Closing)

April 11th, 2006: 6:46 A.M.

Brittany's P.O.V.

An unforeseen phone call is what woke us up early this morning.

Marshall and I were sleeping together in bed in our room we shared, Hailie sleeping in hers right down the hall. At the very faint traces of light coming from outside came gleaming in, the home phone placed at the nightstand went off, a groan heard coming from Marshall and me both. I wasn't going to answer to that, no thank you. Barely blinking, I just rolled over, hiding and burying myself more in the covers. Doing that, Marshall grumbled and groaned, knowing he was the one left to answer it.

Cursing to himself, he sat up and went to retrieve the phone, stopping it from its obnoxious ringing. He started it off, annoyed. "Who the hell's this, calling so late? Early I mean, damn?"

There was indistinct mumbling on other side of phone I couldn't make out. I was curious (since we never got called at a time like this) so I listened in best I could while still half-asleep. That's when Marshall said the one word that started it all:

"Proof?" There was a sudden change in his tone. "What do you mea—"

DeShaun? That made me turn to look at him in a hurry. When I did, I saw that he appeared as pale as a ghost.

"Is this some fucking joke?" Marshall continued, furious with unbelief, yet... pain? "No time to be fucking playing games right now so early this—" Pausing once again, the only sounds coming next from Marshall was him hyperventilating, gulping desperately in need of air.  

I sprung up. "Marshall? What happened?" I raised my voice in tremendous worry. My arms hastily went around him for support, rubbing him anxiously.

The next event was Marshall dropping the phone from his hands mid-call. He began shaking uncontrollably, head falling uneasily in his hands. After regaining himself a little, he finally answered me so I wouldn't be left unknowing. "It's Proof..." he let out dryly. He turned to look at me, appearing shaken up and empty. "...he's been shot."

Feeling a deep, hollow ache in the center of my chest, the only thing I could get out was a "What?" Tears began burning in the back of my eyes suddenly.

"We g—got to get the motherfucking hospital right now," Marshall demanded at me, having trouble speaking. He attempted getting out of the bed, stumbling to the ground. He lost his sense of balance. Walking straight had been unsuccessful.

Following his orders without saying another word, I had been all the same. Wobbly, shaky, and my breathing abnormal. While I turned to look at Marshall, I saw he was keeping himself supported on the nearest wall.

Eyes making contact next, he spoke. "Wake Hailie up... we can't leave her at home by herself."

I whispered low to him, hesitant. "I—I don't think it's appropriate for her to—"

"Just fucking do it, alright?" Marshall strained, his voice breaking, tears rolling down his discoloured cheeks.

I nodded silently at him, holding myself back from bursting more into an unpleasant mess.

There wasn't any time for us to change; we left still in our pyjamas. Waking up Hailie in a hurry, we rushed straight to St. John Holy Cross Hospital.

 ~♥♥♥~

Marshall's P.O.V.

There, lying on the stretcher with multiple bullet holes planted in him, Proof was. I stood there, frozen, staring at his lifeless body. The color in my face left, my eyes widened, I didn't want to believe this. He was gone; already pronounced dead.