I'M NOT ADRIFT | Eminem

"Do you wanna explain what the fuck that was?" Locking the bedroom door behind him, he ushers me inside.
His eyes spell contained anger, narrowing at me.
He beckons me to explain myself.
Apparently I have a lot of that to do.

"Did you tell him we're together or did you leave that out of the entire life story you spilled to him?" His voice is low.
I feel the fear.
Please, I don't want to loose this.
I can explain.

I blink anxiously, feeling my body already start succumbing to involuntary twitches and shoulder tics.

"I figured that I would never see him again, so I kind of just felt fine with-"
I start but I'm not given the liberty of finishing.

"Telling him you're psychotic? You box? Shit you didn't tell me for months of us knowing each other- no, you didn't even tell me you boxed, Dre did." He let's out an exhaled sigh, running a hand over his face.

"Again, I won't ever see him again, it feels good telling a complete stranger stuff that you wouldn't otherwise tell people about... I don't know... it just feels relieving... but I understand why you're upset... it's fair."
I mumble, keeping my eyes to the ground, head twitching to the side repeatedly.
I watch the floor melt and disintegrate underneath me.
I want it to come back.
I feel like I'm gonna fall.
I'm scared.

"You don't tell that shit to someone who finds you attractive, especially not a guy! Nisha, you forget that practically the minute you open your mouth, some dude is gonna think you're his soulmate!" He scolds me, making me feel very strange.
First, he implied that he thought I'd be his soulmate.
Second, I should probably stop talking to people cause I'm like a super attractor...

"He must have asked how you know me. What did you say?"
I remain quiet.
Fuck, what do I say?
Oh come on!
Just say the truth.
Yeah.

"I said I was your director-" voice meek and apologetic, I want to crawl into a hole.

"Director?! Seriously?"

"Well what did you want me to call us? He could sell that shit to the press if he really wanted! "Eminem's Baretender tells all about Eminem's director turned lover!" Some shit like that! I wouldn't tell anyone unless you were ok with it!" I find myself defending my reasoning desperately.
I didn't know this would be such a big thing.

"Yeah, but you could have at least said you were in a relationship, maybe then he wouldn't have been flirting with you so hard!" Frustrated with me, he tries to, what I assume is, get the point through my head.
I'm stuck on the flirting point though.
Flirting...?
Yep.
I've come to the conclusion that I'm kind of dumb as shit when it comes to understanding people's intentions if they're... romantic?
I didn't see what was happening as flirting.

"Flirting...? I mean, other than the last comment, I just don't-"

"I know, you don't understand! I understood that when two girls dressed like sluts carried me off, flirting incessantly, and you didn't care at all! I get it, you're adrift, head off somewhere else, thinking about something morbid or strange!" He shouts sarcastically, mocking my half developed response.

Oh...

I feel my heart sink and I don't really know what to do - what to say.
I feel lost, lonely.
I suddenly want to leave.
I knew this would happen.
Of course that's how he really sees me.
That's how everyone sees me...

I slip into a silent retreat, hands trembling, my eyes well with tears of regret, disbelief... disappointment.
I keep my eyes on my fingers as they fumble with one another.
My stomach wants to scream.
I want to scream.
I wanna go to bed.
I want my bed.
I want to go home.

"Nisha... I-"
Part of it is frustration, part of it is the realization that I don't deserve this.
I cut him off.
Like he's done to me any time I've tried to get any proper words out.

"I'm not adrift."
The words stick on my tongue like stubborn taffy.
They resound in my ears.
"I'm sorry I don't give a shit about this dance normal people do together, this co-dependent, obsessive, insecure... crap."
I'm starting to think that being normal isn't fucking desirable.
If I'm supposed to care about half assed pick up lines and stupid flirting attempts - bitching and moaning about Marshall spending time with anyone but me who's the opposite gender - then I don't have much desire for this at all.
I have little mental capacity for it.

"I'm just upset... I- when I heard you told him you're psychotic... I just felt angry... or... I don't know... yeah, I guess insecure" he sighs, getting on his knees in front of me and cupping my hands in his.

He brings my fingers to his lips, softly kissing them desperately.
"You guarded that information with all your life when it came to me, and you didn't have a second thought telling him...? That shit hurts Nisha"
I can only feel, eyes too blurred as the tears escape them.
I can't see, colors fuzzing together.
I sniffle quietly, wishing he could just understand.

"I hid it from you because I wanted to be everything you thought I was instead. I've lived essentially my whole life Marshall... whole life, being told that I'm crazy, or I'm psycho, messed in the head. Or people sympathize with me to the point I felt ostracized, 'Oh poor girl, how sad she ended up like that!' or I was in psyche wards, where everyone in them was real nice and dandy, and sure, they made me feel less alone. But I was still spending most of my life locked up. I knew that. I felt that..."
I feel my voice cracking, yet I still speak with distinction.
I want to fall into a heap of nothing on the floor.
I want to sleep.
I feel the headache coming.
My sinuses hurt.
I can't breathe properly.
I hate it all.

"I didn't want you to think of me like that... I wanted to be different for you..."  I finally crack up, shoulders shaking and chest heaving.
Tears endlessly slide down my cheeks.
I want to go to bed.
I feel cold.
I feel empty.

"I'm sorry... I don't want you thinking that I'm like them... I didn't mean it- what I said- I was just jealous... and it's stupid..." grabbing my face, he desperately tries to wipe my tears.
I bite my lip from crying louder, but eventually need to let go, taking in breaths.

"Don't cry baby... I'm so sorry..."

It feels like drops in the void.
He holds me close, hopeless attempting to cradle and comfort me.

It still doesn't feel real.
He showed how he really feels.
Now he's just trying to patch it up.

"I love you... you're special... I wasn't looking to be in a relationship with an average girl, and- and really, I love your strange thoughts and the morbid things you talk about..."

Patch work.
It's just patch work.
I'm sorry.
Let me fix it.

But why patch things up with a partner who you don't like?
Why not let it go once you've finally said the truth?
Unless it's not the truth.

I feel unsure but I don't want to let him go.
I want to believe him.
Maybe it's my fault again.
Maybe I'm being paranoid. Like I've been my whole life.
He really is sorry.
I can hear it in his voice.

'Please believe me.
I think he's being honest.'

'Who are you talking to?'

'You...'

'You as in yourself? You as in me?'

'Yeah, I guess so... it's all the same...'

'I'm talking to myself, so I should at least give myself an answer...'

No answer comes.
I don't know what to think.
I never do.
Nothing is ever the right answer.
This is exhausting.
My head hurts.