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

Chapter Thirty Five

Bonjour, Marshall minions(: Just so this doesn't confuse you, this chapter picks up a few hours after they've gone to bed, as Dri will explain. This is a cute chapter, so I won't stall, but as always, check out the author's note at the end, and thank you for reading(:

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That same night, I awoke in the middle of the evening, and reaching for my phone, the screen was illuminated once I tapped it groggily with my finger. 4:37. We'd been in bed for barely over two hours, and I'd forgotten I had work tomorrow. I reminded myself reluctantly to call in and inform Mr. Rizzo I would arrive later than expected, yet all this slacking caused me worry. If I was to be fired, I would have nowhere to turn, and absolutely nothing to fall back on, which I blamed on my independence and pride. The thought itself terrified me, and I shifted on the mattress, setting down the phone and knotting my fingers together.

I laid in that position for a few minutes, before restlessness took me over completely despite how sleepy I was. I ultimately flipped my body around to face Marshall, so I could watch over him and count his breathing, but as I squinted through the dim lighting of the bedroom, I noticed a horrible honesty. He wasn't there.

I was unsure what to do. Maybe he'd heard something, or had gone to verify the girls were sleeping well. Maybe he'd become parched and starving, and was downstairs rummaging for food and drink. Maybe he was in the bathroom. But I hadn't heard any noises that would attract attention; the house was mute. There was not a trace of faint lighting coming from the distance, its reflection on the stairs and floor. And the bathroom door was wide open, the inside dark and unclear. I couldn't just lay there when I knew that had I been him in that moment, he would have moved out of bed to pursue me.

Unsurely, intimidated by the size and span of the house, especially in the dark, I pulled my hair out of my face and to the side, carefully sitting up and dropping my feet over the side of the vast bed. Toes now on the ground, I stood and adjusted the borrowed shirt I was wearing, and threw on my panties that were hanging seductively off a chair nearby. Padding out of the room in the uncommon stillness, I worked my way downstairs and examined the rooms I knew of. There was no sign that he had been there, not even a sign that he was there.

I inspected the majority of the downstairs areas, peeping into rooms meekly to locate him, but when every room had been found empty, I trudged back upstairs and decided to scan the rooms of the girls as well. Easing open first Whitney's, then Hailie's, then Laney's doors, the girls were all secure and fast asleep in their beds, curled up and breathing steadily.

I was at a loss where to search next. My heart was now lurching abnormally, and before I could think thoroughly, my feet began pulling me left, straight, and left again, in the direction of his personal room/studio.

The room was shut, but from underneath the door crack and hinges, weak light flowed. I hesitantly pressed my body up against the wood and stroked the door with a fingertip, listening for any sort of noise. Upon hearing a low sigh, my heart settled, comforted by the fact that he was indeed in there. I knew not whether to enter or to leave him in peace, but it most definitely wasn't normal to be up so late and so secludedly, so with the most gentle of touches, I tapped the door open, and entered on weightless feet.

He wasn't located in the studio room, and moving into his personal memorabilia area, the door wide open, I found him seated on the floor, surrounded by all his sentimental objects arranged on the walls. I gulped, quite loudly, and rested against the doorway, silent until he took note of my intruding presence.

"Dri?" he croaked, almost as groggy as me. "Go back to bed." At his feet was an enormous giant glass case he'd taken down from the wall, and between his fingers seemed to be worn fabric.