Spend Some Time (Eminem Fanfic)

40. Copping Mechanisms

Melody's P.O.V.

The next few days are a blur.

I honestly just want to move on from what almost happened to me, and forget all about it, and pretend like it never was.

But I just... can't.

It seems to me like whenever I close my eyes to so much as blink, flashbacks of those guys tackling me to the floor and ripping at my clothes pop right in my fucking head, and I feel terrified all over again.

And maybe I'm just being dramatic, because at the end of the day, the worst hasn't happened to me after all, Cornell stopped it at the last minute. I don't know, maybe he did have some type of a feeling left for me, and that's why he didn't let his asshole friends go through with it at the end of the day. But I still can't shake it out of my mind.

To the point, where it's starting to fuck with my work.

Just the other day, I was supposed to be in this New York rapper's music video where I was supposed to grind on him as he puts his arm around me, and the moment he touched me on the set, I flipped the hell out.

I turned right around and slapped the shit out of him.

Then, apparently, or so the other people on the set tell me, I had a panic attack.

Needless to say, I got fired from that job.

It was all in the tabloids too.

I just don't seem to be able to have a man, any man, touch me now.

Even if it's supposed to be just pretend, like for a fucking music video shoot!!

I don't know what to do with myself, I just can't get over this shit, and I feel like I'm going crazy!!

And I still can't believe Cornell would turn on me like this.

I'm so fucking confused.

Was he always a bad guy, or did my cheating ways with Marshall turn him this way?!

Was it all my fault?!

I just don't fucking know!!

Speaking of Marshall.

He called me the next day after my disastrous music video shoot in New York.

He's been trying to call me for weeks, ever since I made a mistake of frantically calling him at the airport at Saint-Louis, but I kept sending him to voicemail.

The only time I did answer him, was that same day, after just getting off the plane in New York, sitting in the back of a cab.

Our conversation went a little something like this.

Me: "Hey."

Marshall: "That's all you got to say, 'hey'?!"

Me: "I don't know what you mean?"

Marshall: "Fuck, Mel!! I'm going crazy over here! You call me, clearly imply that that asshole Nelly did something to you, then you hung up on me, leaving me all in suspense and shit. I don't know if you aight, if you straight, what the fuck is going on with you, you know what I'm saying?! Tell me something!! Just tell me something, Mel, cause I..."

Me: "I'm fine, Marshall."

Marshall: "No, baby, you are not fine. I can hear it in your voice that you are not fine. But I get it. You don't wanna fucking tell me for whatever reason. You don't wanna tell me what happened. But are you safe right now? Are you back in New York? Tell me that, at least, damn!!"