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

Chapter Eighteen

Hello readers old and new. c:  I'M SO PLEASED WITH THE FANS, VOTES, COMMENTS I'M GETTING! <3 It legit makes my fucking day. c: And I want to make something clear. All the facts about Eminem I put in this story are true, I don't like basing fan-fiction off a fantasy, unless I purposely say that a fact is untrue. So far, I've only done this with one thing, and I said that Marshall never had anything with Mariah. Hopefully this isn't confusing. Anyway guys, keep reading and the song I've included this chapter is one of my favorites. <3 -Parisa(;

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I awoke in the morning because it felt like someone was cutting off my air supply and I couldn't breathe. My eyes fluttered open eventually, unwilling to do so because last night had only provided me with a good four hours of sleep. I took in tired breaths through my mouth, filling and emptying my lungs deeply. I was horribly congested, possibly because of how fucking cold last night the weather had been. Groaning softly like an animal, I pulled my knees to my chest, stomach coiling unhappily, and rested myself in a fetal position. Mucus clung to the back of my throat and I wanted to blow my nose, giving me temporary comfort, but I wasn't willing to wake Marshall.

The thought of him crossing my mind, I shifted my body, head and limbs heavy, so now I was facing him, but in the same spot I'd laid in a moment before. Flat on his back, halfway on the sheets, his hands were folded on his ascending and descending abdomen as he took in air. His head was tilted to the side, mouth somewhat open, face angelic and peaceful. I would have kissed him in that beautiful second, but my head was too stuffed, my body too exhausted, and my stomach too upset to even move an inch.

I watched him for a while, and then my eyelids began to droop. I dug my knees into my belly, begging silently for the pain to stop. Amazingly, the aching slowed, and I was permitted to doze off, snuggling my face into the crook of my elbow, pleased.

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It didn't last long though. I was roused unintentionally as Marshall tucked some blankets around me. My eyes squinted to adjust to the weak lighting, and just as he dropped his head to kiss me, I objected suddenly.

"Stop, don't kiss me," I rasped, and he shot back, stunned, unsuspecting I would respond. He gathered himself quickly, and peered down at me. I must've looked like a fucking mess, my eyes half-open, hair matted and tangled, the pounding pain of my body reflected in the way I laid. Gently, he pushed my legs away, clearing some space where he could sit beside me on the edge of the bed, and did so.

"What's wrong, Adrienne?"

I coughed, and with every wheeze, it was like my throat was bleeding. "I'm sick."

His hand flew to my forehead instinctively, and felt it. "You're pretty hot."

"Thanks," I simpered, taking his observation the sexual way. He cracked a small smile, and then the dignified look reappeared on his face.

"Why are you sick?"

"I don't know."

"You were cold last night, weren't you?" He sighed, massaging his scalp thoughtfully. "Why didn't you tell me, Dri?"

"It could've been the tap water," I vouched. "I drank some last night."

"You should have just asked for some water. I would have gotten some for you." Gazing down at me, he allowed his fingers to cautiously caress my cheek and jawline. "What hurts?"

"Just my head." In that moment, a dull shock of pain whipped through my stomach, and I winced. "And my stomach."

"What can I do, Adrienne? Let me help you."

"Do you have some pain medication?"

"Yeah, we do."

I moaned, rubbing my eyes. "I need some of everything." His eyes were anguished, the blue surrounding his dark pupil seeming to vibrate with strain.