I'M NOT ADRIFT | Eminem

You Need To Wake Up

"How do you want me to do that, baby..?"
I feel him grin against the skin of my neck.
I know something about me gives him a sick high.
Without even needing to be inside me.
Some form of sweet, taffy like ecstasy rises in his throat.
He can taste it.
It tastes of something foreign.

I'm not like any woman he's every been with.
I'm the woman who will laugh and grin widely with sick pleasure when he hits me.
I'm here to deliver him to something new.
Something shocking and uncomfortable at first

"Slap me, mark me, fuck- I don't know. Just make it hurt"
I'm impatient. He'll give me what I want, but not quick enough.

I'm society's unwanted child.

"You're something fucking intoxicating..." He groans, riding up my sweatshirt with his desperately hungry hands.
Ready to defile me.
Ready to take.
Starved and impatient after given the green light to do anything.

A slap feels pathetic to me.
Part of me wants to shout - tell him it's not good enough.
It stings.
But it's not real pain.
It's not the pain that knocks you on your ass.
It doesn't make you question your worth.
What the point of your existence is.
How far you can test your mortality.

It doesn't draw blood.

"Fuck me. Hard."
It's this or something darker.
I can't rope him into every crazy thing I indulge in.
I've got Nate for that.

"Anything for you" he chuckles, low and sexy.
Fuck.

My breasts hurt.
His hand is powerful.
The sting is subtle.
But it doesn't bother me.
I'll take anything.

I grab at his sweats as he grasps at my shorts.
Our arms clash in the fumbled attempt at being quick.now we're taking our own pants off.
Whatever gets us at the other faster.

"Hard, Marshall. Hard. I wanna feel the pain"
Kinky words coming out of my mouth.
And I used to be so shy...
Mhm.
People change.
Well to be fair, I've been this way a long time.
What does it matter?
If it materializes then so be it.

He shoves himself inside of me.
I contract and tighten around him hungrily.
I'm impatient.

I don't know if I'd describe myself as an addict... but this is my next fix.
It's right here.
A different drug, but a similar effect.

"Marshall- Fuck! Fuck!"
I don't even recognize the way my voice sounds.
I hate that.

His thrusts are the result of an unhinged desire.
There is no limit.
There is nothing to be scared of.
Nothing to be wary of.

"Take me Nisha- shit- this how you want it, slut?"
The harsh words don't come close to the strength of his thrusts.
Humiliation is only humiliation when you choose to suffer.
Being called a slut doesn't matter to a person like me.
It's welcomed in a strange sense.
The more the merrier.

He fucks me with a merciless degree of destruction.
I'm his canvas.
Painfully strong thrusts come then recede into emptiness.
Then they come crashing back.
Like an ocean during turbulence.
Tsunami.
Something disastrous.
It destroys people in its way.
It is the highest power.
For the moment.

His lips ravage the skin of my neck in a tyrannical display of dictatorship.
He's the one in control.
At least it feels like it.
In the most literal sense.
Despite him doing my bidding.

This is my journey.
This is my tour of the universe.
This is my descent into the perishable, the abyss.

I'm temporary.
I'm frail.
I'm ending.
Somewhere.

"Fuck Marshall!"
Shouting.
Shouting is a good way to communicate.
If you want someone to hear you - Really hear you.

His thrusts are so deliciously painful.
Sickly sweet, dripping like delicately crafted honey.
His thrusts taste like sadism.

My head falls back.
Darkness pools in as I squeeze my eyes shut.
My hands fist the sheets in strained hopelessness.

Make me like everyone else.
Maybe I'll feel whole then.
Maybe I won't want some philosophical cure.
Maybe I'll enjoy being normal.
Maybe I'm normal all on my own - in an abstract sense of the word.
The one that takes accountable that normal isn't a set term.
It's fluid.

I feel the climax building.
I'm standing in front of a train station.
This all feels so deeply impersonal.
It's dark outside.
The train is coming for me.
This is what I want.
I want the ending.

My legs desperately cling to Marshall's waist.
"Bring me there-"
It's a strange request.
I don't need to give it.
He knows what to do.

Small lights in convenient stores.
The stupid orange of pill bottles.
Coffees in boutique cafés.
Getting fucked out of my stupid perverted ways.
Theses are the things that complete me.
These are the absurd joys of an estranged passenger of life's bullshit.

"I'm- fuck- I'm gonna"
I don't see why people feel the need to tell the other that they're going to have an orgasm.
Consideration?
Not quite.
Something else...

I'm getting close, I don't tell him.
I just prepare to feel the universe collapse behind my eyes.
I prepare for the departure.
Prepare to withdrawal from your body for a moment.
Prepare because it feels like flight.
Strap in.

I tighten around him.
I feel myself heading towards the edge without many choices left.
He's bringing me there with him.
I love the way he hurts me.
The earthquake.
The shattering pain in his thrusts.
In and out.
Quickly.
In and out.
Harsh.
Strong.
Quick.
Well-executed.

"Fuck- fu- Marsh- all!"

Then it hits.
It hits like it's never hit before.
The endorphins are enough to spiral any addict out of control.
I'm the addict.

My jaw hangs open.
I'm in shock.
I feel the sweat.
The thick film of discomfort.
It all helps the overall effect.

He pants above me, mouth wide open as he keeps his eyes shut.
He needs to collect himself, if only mentally.
"There's no human condition you haven't seen yet, Nisha. No one understands they've been experiencing it until there's no use caring..."
Sliding off me lazily, he drops onto his back.

Air feels hard to collect.
I can't get enough of it.
I can't catch up.
I can't grasp the human experience.
The typical type.
It's a blanket statement.

"We're incredibly different, but we're held back by limitations, built by experiences and formed with individual characteristics. That will never not be human."
He says all this with an exhaust.
With a tone of deep thoughtfulness, he delivers the statement between subtle pants and shifted breathing.

I roll over, on my side.
I gaze at him.
I get a high just by listening to his words.

What's the definition of the human condition?
Nothing exclusionary.
Not in the sense of human beings.
No one's excluded.
Not me.

The human condition is described as all of the characteristics and key events of human life, including birth, learning, emotion, aspiration, morality, conflict, and death.
I've been experiencing it all my life, just not in the way others do.
Not in the way books tell you that you will.
I just wanted to feel normal, but that term is liquid.
It takes a different form for every person to aspire after.
It fools men and women into great depressions and addictions, searching for it.
Searching for what they think it is.
This is where you have to wake up - where I need to wake up.
Normal is a relative term, we're never getting there.