Page 547 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

But a part of me needs to hear it.

His eyes flick over my face,

searching for the least painful place to put the knife.

His mouth parts,

and for one stupid second,

I think something’s coming.

Then it closes again,

choosing silence,

jaw clamped down,

nothing coming out.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Long enough to be an answer.

Long enough to be the answer.

So I nod. “Okay.”

65 / BEAUTIFUL

EMINEM

// JAN 02, 3:17 AM - STROUDSBURG, PA //

I wake up, my swollen eyelids two heavy, painful slits. My temples throb as I stare up at a popcorn ceiling, dry-eyed, and for a second, I don’t know where I am.

My face feels stretched tight, raw, and wrung-out. ‘Cause I think I’ve been used up—tears, vomit, pride, hope… all empty, all gone.

I hear the hum of the ice machine outside my door.

Oh, right. A motel. You’re at a motel.

One where the ceiling looks diseased, stained brown and peeling at the edges, like old scabs.

I don’t even remember how I got here.

I don’t remember falling asleep, either.

The reality of what I did sits heavy on my chest all over again. The aftertaste of those words still haunts my mouth⁠—

I love you is a special kind of hell.

So is the silence that followed.

In that second, I could’ve lied.