Impossible Is Nothing (An Iggy Azalea/Eminem Fan Fiction)

Chapter 17: Tonite

The next week

Marshall's P.O.V.

Today was the big day. One of the biggest battles of the time at The Hip Hop Shop.

To be honest, I wasn't so sure that I had it. I didn't get the best sleep the night before. And truthfully, without Brittany by my side, I didn't feel my most confident. I got my rhymes memorized, I stayed up all night studying them, and I went over shit tons of stuff. I was prepared to an extent; but without the emotional support, sometimes it doesn't even matter how much you prepare beforehand. You'd still feel like you're missing something.

It was crowded at The Shop. Like that helped my current situation plenty. I don't know why but I always got the shakes before I went up. Damn nerves. I didn't know what it was.

It was thirty minutes until. Then twenty, and fifteen... I wasn't the first up, thankfully. I still had time. Basically though, it was like any other week, like any other battle. It was just taken a little more serious. And you win stuff, like actual cash, and other neat items. But it was still a big deal around town. With flyers and shit, it accumulates more and more people, which, yeah, just what I needed.

I was searching hard in the sea of people hoping that Brittany made it to this one. She's been making it to nearly every other battle, though, which I appreciate a lot from her. But out of all those, I just wish she could make it to this one out of any. Fucked up thing is that I didn't see her. And if she came, she usually would've been here by now. Proof noticed, too, and every chance he wasn't talking with people he would wish me luck and stuff. Which, well, it's good support; but not great.

Before I knew it, fuck, it was my turn up. It was against this wack battler named La Peace. Pfft. Some name. It was shortly decided I was the one shooting first. Come on, you got this, the voice in my head kept telling me. I scanned the crowd once more, reminiscing the first time Brit ever showed. Were my eyes going to fall on her again? Was she here? And the answer, after checking once more: No.

I was handed the mic. All eyes on me—from the audience, all the way to my opponent in front of me, giving me the most menacing glare. Soon, the beat began. I'm up.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. One second, two, three, four on the clock. I was motherfucking choking. My mind went blank. Not speaking up, the crowd began hollering things. Booing, telling me to spit already. But it's like I couldn't. Something was holding me back. I was going to lose on the spot. 

That's when something caught my attention. People were shifting in a rapid manner below me, like a person was shoving to get past; and holy cow, yes it was—a person being Brittany. She was here, and getting a place in the front. Our eyes made contact (although her eyes were more giving me the "Fuck are you not going for?" look), but that rush enough was great to get me going. The adrenaline felt powerful. Suddenly, I thought straight again. Focus came back. I can conquer this. Weak? What was I thinking before? I'm Marshall fucking Mathers. Eminem. I spat.

"Go back where you're from, exit's there, why don't you beat it/Yeah, who gives a fuck if I'm conceited; you're defeated/Man, you ain't nothin' better than a pair of pants full of creases/Better step up quick 'fore I leave you in 'La Pieces.'" Basically, stuff like that's what I said. I thought I fucking slaughtered. I had to be cut short because of the time I wasted not going in the beginning. But whatever, at least I got something out of me.

Once the timer went off, the crowd actually cheered for me: from booing to actual cheering. Right after, it was his turn. He went off about honkey this, honkey that, how I can't rap for motherfucking crap; why even bother, he wanted his wasted time and money back. And you know, it gets real old real fast when all you can think of at the top of your head is dissing a man's pigment. Who's impressed? Nobody. And, you can tell, the crowd was getting bored of it, too.