The Monster (My Best Friend Eminem, My Husband Marshall Mathers)

Chapter thirty-seven

            “Natalia, please listen to me for once” Mr. Tweed said, frustrated. Slowly, gathering my courage, I approached the body, pulling the sheets back. It felt as though a thousand sharp objects have pierced my body. I turned my head, from the torn up corpse that use to be my assistant. There was a buildup of tears in the back of my throat that threaten to come out.  

            “Natalia, come on” Mr. Tweed pick me up, slowly I felt the room spinning. I took a deep inhale of air and suddenly fell to my knees, feeling the buildup of tears burst. Holding myself on the floor as Mr. Tweed bent down to comfort me.

“Not here, Talia” he whispered. Nodding knowing a lot of my collogues were watching, I gathered myself and let him escort me to the bathroom.

            After feeling this morning’s breakfast and last night’s dinner forcing coming out of my mouth, I realized I can’t be at work and I must go home. Mr. Tweed offered to drive me, but I declined feeling I needed some time to myself. He offered me about two weeks off from work, and to continue at home.

            When I got back outside, the swarm of police cars was down to a minuem, the almbunce was gone and yellow tape surrounded about half the block. I continued down the other street feeling the need to be in the fresh air. The cold air reduced the nausea I had and I felt relieved. Passing a little convenient stand; every magazine from ‘People’ to ‘Weekly’ had pictures of Marshall and I on them.

“Rap legend files for divorce”

“Slim Shady is back…on the drugs”

“Eminem hospitalized”

“Drugs provided by Dre.”

            The magazines made me sick to my stomach. And I felt a rush of acid come up to my mouth and noise. I leaned against the wall letting whatever is left in my stomach out. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. My dreams have turned into nightmares. Marshall’s actions prove that these magazines are true.

            I remembered when I lived a hell growing up, moving town to town, place to place, school to school, Eminem or Marshall was always there. Somehow his words were more comforting then my mother’s. And at night, the only escape was to slowly drift to sleep thinking of him. And sometimes if I got lucky, I dreamt of him. The most occurring one was when he would sing to me like he did with Lily in “8 Mile.” I would ask him to sing to me, he would lay next to me, and start singing some of his songs to me, softly.

            They were vivid but sometimes they felt so real, I could actually feel him next to me. At the age of sixteen; settling down in the town apartments in Newark with my mother, one night I actually heard his voice so clearly. Turning to my side feeling some sort of warmth traveling around my body, as if someone was gripping to huge me, I heard him whisper, “Ronnie.” That dream has always stuck with me, it was a dream foretelling something that was going to be a big part of my future.

            Wipping my mouth from any left overs, and looking back at the magazines, how I held a greater hate for them then the people who wrote them. Out of impulse, I grabbed arm full of them and threw them in the trash can, some in the streets and some in the sewers.

“What is wrong with you, lady?” I turned around, my hood was down, and my face well enough exposed to show who I was. It only took the young boy a few seconds to realize who I was,

“Eminem’s wife?”

“I’m sorry” I said. He scanned the destroyed magazines, “No…” he said. “It’s ok…I understand…” I was taken back by his statement. Tears started to stream down my face and I felt myself coming back from my daze.

            “Hey, Hey…it’s ok…um…” he said. He quickly grabbed the stole and sat me down.

“Come on, do you really expect people to believe this?” He asked. The boy had to be no older then a high school student in his Junior year. He was a black, his hair shaved with a little mustache.

“I don’t expect any of you to read it” I said. “Only you know what goes on, Eminem would never turn back…he…he is too strong of a man…his music proves it.” I was surprised by his maturity and how he did not quickly ask me what was Marshall like at home or for some sort autograph from me.

            I did not want to go home, at the moment I felt lost and confused feeling I had no home. It was twelve noon, and my stomach began to growl. Stopping off at a small diner for a turkey sandwich, I felt strangely better.

“Hey” a voice said, directed to me. Vincent stood behind me, dress in a demin jeans and a black winter coat.

“May I sit with you?” He asked. Vincent was the last person I wanted to see. I felt obligated though, for the last time he took me out for coffee.

“Yeah, sure” it pained me.

            Vincent sat right next to me as a waitress came over, “Anymore coffee, sugar?” she offered Vincent.

“Just a small cup” he said. She poured him a half a cup and directed her stare at me, “Hey aren’t you Eminem’s wife?” she asked.

Coolly I said, “No, sorry you must have me confused with someone else…” she looked at me as if she could see right pass me and left.

Vincent starred at me blankly, “It is a useful trick…” I said, “Sometimes.”

            For a while we talked as I knawel at the plastic straw from my drink. I told him about finding Tina dead in my old office. He cuffed his hand over his mouth,

“I’m so sorry” he hugged me tightly. Awkwardly I pulled away giving him a stiff motion.  He noticed my blank motion as I stirred my coffee around,

“You know, you don’t need him…” he said. “What?” I glared at him.

“…He doesn’t deserve you…I mean” he said. “No, I heard what you said, I was just giving you a chance to redeem yourself…and you failed” I said, putting on my coat and paying the bill.

            “Wait, Talia…wait” he said chasing after me outside. “Look, I know what you are thinking…this was Natalia’s dream and it came true for her…she is living a lie…” I shouted.

“Well, I’m not…none of you know him like I do…” I said walking away.

“You? What you talking about?” “Look, you don’t understand ok…just go back to Jersey, I’m sure everyone is missing you!”

            Vincent grabbed me by the arm and forced a kiss on my lips. I pushed him away kicking him in the groan and smacking him in the face, making my escape across the street to my car. Once I was in my car, my heart began to pound so fast that I thought it was going to jump out of my chest and fly away. Once I calmed down, I started to cry out of fear and frustration.

“Oh God” I cried. Taking deep breathes before I started the car. As the engine roared, I laid my head on the stirring wheel, wanting Marshall to come to my rescue.

“Marshall…” I cried, tempted to take out my phone and call him.