𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

11

"MAKE SOME FUCKING NOISE, California!"

Trippie shouted into the mic, his gold teeth slamming against it, a loud thud following as the crowd hyped up. Trippie faltered in his steps by the impact on his teeth, the pain must be maddening, but he was too high to care. A sick and sly smile spreading over his face.

They had just finished performing the opening number Candy, and the crowd had been singing along to the chorus so loud, Colson had had to shout to get his voice heard over the speakers. I could tell it was frustrating for him, but the way his lips twitched every time the crowd went wild, I knew he loved the frustration they brought. It was one of his drugs, the screams and the shouts that fueled his adrenaline. 

"Fuck, the whole city is out here tonight," Colson mumbled into the mic, screams and shouts punctuated his statement all around me.

He moved the mic stand and brought it to the edge of the stage, closer. Then he fixed the mix into the stand, small thuds coming out of speakers and lining his movements. 

"Yeah, 'fornia is wild, ain't it?" Trippie spoke, his breathing hard against the mic, then he turned to the crowd, his figure clear in front of me on the stage, the outfit I designed for him vibrantly white and black against the lighting of the room.

"Ain't it?" he yelled to the crowd. 

The entire arena cheered with an eruption of screams and shouts. It did seem like the entire city was there. The life of California squeezed into this arena, all shouts of excitement and music so loud, hearts thudded like drums. 

"Okay, everybody," Trippie spoke again, walking on the stage, still addressing the crowd. 

"Kells out here about to perform his song, from Hotel. Fucking. Diablo." 

The crowd cheered again and the lights dimmed as Trippie disappeared off the stage, backstage. I was silently thankful I was here and not backstage. 

"Alright," Colson spoke, his voice thick and stage lights outlining his form in hues of purple and blues. His platinum blonde hair looked streaked purple, his purple sequined varsity jacket as vibrant as ever. 

"This one's a request," He mumbled, yet his voice was still clearly audible coming in from the speakers as thick. My stomach tightened. 

"From someone who stitched me up." 

His eyes instantly found me in the front row, like he knew I would be there all along. It felt like the spotlight was on me, and everyone else was just shadows and ghosts. 

The crowd screamed in excitement and anticipation, while my stomach kept silently clenching as my heart pounded. They probably thought his words meant more than what really happened, but somehow, I was feeling like they meant more too.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the the tall mic stand as the lights dimmed further, only a faint purple and blue glow against the numerous torch lights dotting the area like stars in the night sky. The instrumental started, soft electric music floating through the air. Guitarists and drummer going at it, reaching the cue. Then he opened his mouth and I held my breath. 

"Woke up and you wasn't next to me this mornin',
saw a yellow cab drive you down the street on Broadway.
wish I could erase the mistakes that I made, I'm sorry,
wanted me to chase you inside, but the house too haunted." 

My lips parted, a gasp that didn't even reach my own ears by the way the crowd cheered at the first verse. I remembered hearing the song when I binge listened to his album that day, the night was dark just like this one, but this one just felt brighter. His voice felt like butter, the way his Adam's apple bobbed it's way on his throat, the veins forming a map of life on his neck. His brows did furrow, like I expected them too, his eyelids shut in their reverie.