𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

15

THE ELEVATOR SHUDDERED SLIGHTLY as the doors dinged closed with the rapper turned popstar, Machine Gun Kelly, inside, with me. For a moment I had one of those terrible visions. The elevator getting stuck with a moving jolt, the lights inside plunging us into darkness, and then the wires holding the metal box broke one by one, and we fell to our deaths. 

I shuddered then, my breaths coming in sharp and heavy. I felt Colson's sky blue irises fixed on me, on the side of of my face. I straightened myself slowly. He probably thought he had an effect on me, he did, but I would much sooner plunge to my death in an elevator mishap than give him the satisfaction. Just a few months, I'll be out of this situation. I just need to hold on, somehow, even if my fingers are brutally being pried off. 

"It is Trippie's birthday?" Colson spoke after a while. His voice casual, as though he was at the grocery store and I was the cashier. I panicked slightly. The elevator doors should've opened before he spoke. I should've been been well out from this close proximity. 

"No," I replied, without turning my head to look at him. Smoke drifted in my vision, and my instincts fought against me. I wanted to yell at him for lighting up a spliff in an elevator. I wanted to list all the ways it was dangerous, but he was too far gone for all that. 

"Well," I felt him shrug nonchalantly, his deep voice a murmur. "It certainly is now." 

Confused, I glanced at him and caught his blue eyes unwillingly. They dropped to my neck, trailing down my body. I edged away from him, his meaning clear, and my instincts recoiled. He was a sick person, and in moments like these, he just felt normal? Was this a trick? That night on the rooftop of the studio was definitely a trick. I just don't want to fall for another one. I just don't want to throw around my trust, my good opinion, even a slight praise hummed in my heart, just to have it all shattered. 

"Stop it," I let out, refusing to be intimidated, or let him affect me. My eyes bore into him, and I mustered all the indifference I could in them.

"You will stay away from me." 

Trippie was going to be here now. He hadn't been present at all. I went to hell and I'm still not back, and he doesn't have a clue. I almost died, or worse, raped, by a pack of murderers. It was sick and made me want to scoff, but this was my relationship with Michael in a nutshell. He was never there for me, and I was the one who was always present. 

Colson laughed then, he took the spliff out of his mouth and held it, a trail of smoke danced from it. His eyes fell to his feet, a laugh painted on his face when suddenly, his lips twisted into a snarl. His eyes shot towards me. 

"I do what I want." Each word spoken felt like a lifeless pack of bullets clashing against each other in someone's palm. They felt weighted, hollow, and angry.  

I turned my eyes away from him, my heart felt so heavy.

"I know," I managed, no knowing what else to say. Any anger I felt, was defeated somehow. And that scared me so much. I cannot be defeated just yet, this was too soon for it. I needed to gather myself. I need to hold my own hand and help myself up. I need to hold on to myself. 

The elevator doors dinged open, a welcome rush of fresh air and relief. But the relief constricted in on itself when I spotted the three figures standing right outside. Colson's friends, fellow musicians, trusted accomplices. 

"Oh— we were just coming up for you man," Dominic spoke to Colson, just as his eyes met mine. A hesitant look spread on his face. I tore away the contact, I didn't want to be in their presence. 

"Excuse me," I spoke, ashamed suddenly of how meek my voice sounded. I wanted to scream, to let them, all of them, know that I am not weak. Despite how I might look or sound sometimes.