Wearing the Shoes that Fit You - Fan Fiction Eminem

Warning

Marshall POV

I saw her every day I was in town. Sometimes, it would be when I was on my way to the studio. Other times, it was when I was on my way home. Although the weather changed day to day, there wasn't a single one that I didn't see the woman running.

Her dedication was impressive. Even when it was raining and it had to be uncomfortable, I'd see her out in a rain slicking jacket, listening to music with her hair in a high pony tail as her feet took her across the sidewalk and pavement. She would smile to those she passed, but I didn't have the impression that it was real. Although I'd never met her, I felt like her smile covered something deeper.

If she were worried about her figure, I could have told her to knock it off. She was soft appearing and curved in all the right places. Though she ran twice a day it seemed, she hadn't appeared to have lost weight. As the days passed to months, she seemed to tone, but never gave up what made her look luscious.

She didn't stop very often. Rather, she seemed to just divert her feet when she confronted an obstacle. However, I'd seen enough of her over the months to be able to describe her perfectly.

She had beautiful, coffee and cream skin that glistened with sweat as she ran. Her hair appeared thick and long, coming down to her shoulder blades even when it was tied up on top of her head. Her lips were plump and I was sure her eyes were striking. Even from the distance of my car, I'd caught her glance a few times. Each time, it had sucked the wind right out of me.

I'd sound like a fucking idiot, but I'd have sworn on whatever you put in front of me that the woman was lost. Not in the traditional sense of not finding one's way, but in the more heartbreaking, distance from the world that one sees in people who are alone. Though she smiled and waved when my neighbors noted her presence, I never felt the warmth that should have come from the action. She was acting.

Day after day, I looked for a sign that she was coming out of it. I'd been through hard times myself; I couldn't help but hope for a glimmer of something, anything, that would give me a sense that she was finding peace. Rather, as the months turned and she continued to run, I had a soul deep conviction that her runs were the only thing keeping her connected.

I found myself thinking about her at odd times. I'd be out with Paul having lunch, and I'd wonder what her favorite food was. I'd pick Whitney up from school, and I'd wonder if she had a family. I'd work out in the morning, and I'd wonder if she'd ever thought about having someone run with her. At night, I'd think about what it would be like to have her in the other room, showering the remnants of her run off her body before she came to bed. I'd never met the woman, and yet, my mind had created a million scenarios in which she and I were something that mattered.

The thoughts and ideas just kept coming, leaving me with an almost impossible feeling of loss when I didn't see her in the morning. The relief I'd feel when I'd catch her run back that night was almost oppressive. As time passed, I'd come to rely upon her, even if she didn't have a fucking clue that I was watching.

I started writing about her. Verses would come to me as the mystery of the beautiful, Latina appearing woman filled my head. Nothing I did would shake them, so I just let the pen flow. Over and over, time and again, I'd end up with songs that were aching in their feeling. I couldn't have said whether it was hers or mine, though.

One day, I noted that there was a man who was running behind her. That time, I ignored it, imagining that it was just a coincidence. It wasn't until a week had passed and I'd continued to see him tail her that I started to get concerned.

The man was big. He had a presence that radiated power and restrained violence and my worry only increased. I didn't know if she knew he was following her. Hell, I didn't know anything about her but what I guessed from her mannerisms.

Doubt plagued me. I wanted to stop and warn her, but I wasn't sure how to do it. How was I supposed to tell her that I'd watched her run for months, but that the man who followed her for just days was the threat? I'd have sounded like a creeper. There was no way that she'd believe me and worse, there was a chance that she'd stop running her route altogether.

When the second week started and he was still pacing her, half a block behind, I decided that I couldn't wait any longer. Even if she ended up frightened of both of us, at least I'd have done something to protect her from the man who was ghosting her steps. So, as I saw her on a run that night, I pulled over and called out.

"Hey!" I yelled. Although I'd resolved myself to warn her, I hadn't really worked out how to do it. She stopped, however, and looked at me curiously.

I waved her over and she frowned. She looked around, as if to confirm that I was talking to her. I nodded and waved again.

She seemed to hesitate, but then jogged across the street toward me. As she did, the man behind her sped up. I watched him and willed her to move faster. When she was almost to me, I blurted it out.

"You should get in the car," I told her. "That man is following you."

She glanced over her shoulder, appearing confused for a moment. When she saw the man, who was barreling toward us, she turned back to me. I grabbed her hand, intent on getting her inside and to safety.

"Wait," she said, her voice slightly accented and low.

"Hey!" the man shouted.

"Come on," I insisted. "I'll get you safe," I said, my words rushed and tinged with concern.

"Stop!" the man screamed as I tugged at her hand.

"Quick!" I said. He was close, now.

The woman put out her other hand to the man, raising it with her palm up. His steps faltered and he looked confused as he slowed. She turned back to me and, for the first time, I saw a real smile light her face.

I felt my pulse skip and my eyes widen. The transformation was stunning. It filled her face and made her milk chocolate eyes warm. She was breathtaking and, I realized possessively, that look was for me. I couldn't utter a sound; couldn't do anything but stare.

"Thank you," she said, her words caressing my ears like the soft touch of a lover. "But, it's okay," she explained.

"He's my bodyguard."