We Made You || An Eminem FanFiction

The days blurred together—quiet mornings, long afternoons, and Marshall's steady presence. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate him being here. In fact, on some days, it felt like the only thing that kept me from unraveling. But there was something else too, something I couldn't quite shake. I felt watched—every glance, every soft question, all searching for answers that I didn't have.

Marshall never said it out loud, but I could see the unspoken questions in his eyes: Are you okay? Are you getting better? Are you slipping again?

I wasn't slipping. At least, not in the way he feared. But beneath the concern, I felt something else gnawing at me—anger. It wasn't loud or sharp; it simmered quietly, like a fire waiting for the right moment to catch. And I hated that I couldn't let it go.

I was angry with him, angry with the choices he made when I couldn't make them for myself. I understood why he did it, why he had given the doctors the go-ahead to take my pills and my control. But knowing that didn't make it easier to accept. It didn't make the anger any less real.

The pills were hidden, deep inside my travel bag. It wasn't just about the pills themselves—it was about the control they gave me. No one knew about them, not Audrey, not Austin, and definitely not Marshall. I'd kept them tucked away, just in case. I hadn't even looked at them since the collapse, but knowing they were there had given me a sense of control, something tangible in all the chaos.

But now they were gone.

They'd taken everything when I was unconscious in the hospital. Rummaged through my things and found the pills I'd hidden. And he—Marshall—had let them. He had signed off on it, given them the green light to take the last bit of control I had left.

I sat in the bedroom, staring at the space where I used to keep them hidden in my bag. My hands were cold, balled up in my lap as my body trembled slightly. The clothes I wore hung loose, a constant reminder of everything that had unraveled—the weight I'd lost, the strength that had disappeared, the person I used to be.

My chest tightened as I stared at the spot where the bottle had been. I should have been relieved—they were part of the poison that had brought me to my knees—but I wasn't. A part of me still ached for the control they offered, for the comfort of knowing I could fix myself, even if it was in the worst possible way.

They had taken that control, and I didn't know how to get it back.

And he had been part of that.

A soft knock on the door startled me, pulling me from the storm of thoughts swirling in my head. Marshall stepped into the room, his eyes careful, his movements deliberate.

"Harley," he said gently, his voice a murmur. "You alright?"

I nodded too quickly, my heart pounding in my chest. But Marshall wasn't buying it. His eyes flicked to my travel bag, where I had once hidden the pills, and for a moment, I thought I saw something like regret in his expression. He knew. He knew what wasn't there anymore, but neither of us wanted to say it.

"I'm fine," I muttered, the lie burning on my lips.

He didn't sit immediately, just stood there, his hands in his pockets, his presence both comforting and suffocating. Finally, he sighed and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, close enough to touch, but not too close.

"I know what you're thinking," he said after a long silence, his voice steady but cautious. "And you're not as alone in this as you think."

The familiar knot of anger tightened in my chest. I didn't want to hear it—didn't want to hear that what they'd done was the right thing, that taking my pills was necessary. It wasn't about that. It was about the control they'd taken from me without asking.