Wait, what? Me and Eminem?! (An Eminem Fan-Fiction) *Completed*

Chapter Twenty Eight

"I would never hurt you. And I know people say that shit all the time, and they break their promises, but I've been here for you and you've been here for me. Just like I trust you not to go around with others, you do the same for me. Because no matter how fucking hard I look, I'll never find someone like you. Because you saved my life." I was praying mentally for strength. "You...keep me going through the day. And Dev is a friend. He will always be just a friend. He can't be anything more to me."

"You look like more than 'just friends' in the picture," he remarked coldly. It felt as if we were slipping right through my fingers and after finding perfection, I wasn't about to let it leave so easily.

"You have to trust me," I implored. "Dev is only a friend. I swear to God to you."

"Why should I believe you?" he demanded calmly but protectively.

"Because I would rather hurt myself than hurt you. I just met up with Dev because I wanted my friend back." My legs refused bluntly to hold me up anymore, and back gliding against the wall, I sank down until my bottom skimmed the ground, knees hiding my face. My eyes were as if they had been ignited and blood rushed to my head, making me woozy and disheartened.

"I just want to be with you. It's hard for us because we're so different. You're a celebrity, I'm not. You're amazing...I'm not. I  want to be everything you deserve. And the paparazzi is making this so hard." My voice was muffled from behind my limbs, but I coiled my muscles and clung onto myself.

The silence was almost painful. It was suffocating the two of us and I was too listless to look up and firmly hold Marshall's eyes with my own, so my head stayed bowed, tension reverberating off our bodies. I knew not what else to say. Countless celebrity loves, couples, and even marriages had been wrecked by multiple false accounts from the paparazzi, and what I would do if that was the case for us, I didn't know. A gap had been created between us emotionally, and I would have sacrificed anything to have it gone.

I felt a light brush on my arm, and my head snapped up tentatively. Marshall was crouched, face unreadable, but quite obviously distraught.

"Get up," was all he said.

I did as was ordered, and hid my face from him, embarrassed at my untimely tears.

"Don't cry," he requested under his breath. Then came a halt as he thought out his choice of words. "Why should I believe you? I've been fucked over so many times, I've been beat black and blue emotionally, and why should I think you're faithful to me?"

I couldn't stand there and let him convince himself our relationship was a lie. My hand shot out audaciously and grabbed his, our fingers lacing together. Heart steady throbbing, I lifted my head and viewed him as he glanced down, then took another glimpse and examined how flawlessly our bodies flowed within one another.

"Because. Because now that I've had you, I can't see myself without you. And this might sound weak as hell, but I could never do that to you. I've seen how you've been hurt. I know you're trying to change some parts of yourself for the better, for me. And I could just never...never be that selfish in a relationship."

"I don't trust him. I don't want him to touch you," he muttered.

"Do you trust me?"

He was mute. Ponderously, his eyes locked onto mine, and it was like he had reached into me and stroked my soul. Heart shaking between my rising and falling lungs, I awaited his answer, expecting the worst but hoping ferverently for the best.

"Should I?" he debated in the same undertone we were both communicating in.

"I can't make you trust me," I admitted mournfully. And fearing the worst had come to reality, my fingers went limp and began to snake out of his. But abruptly, he grasped them and kept us together, connected through the simple link of our hands.