𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

16

"HEY," SAM JOGGED UP NEXT to me, he had seen Trippie conversing with a guard now, and he had taken the opportunity. "You alright?" 

Behind us, the two Mercedes had come to a halt, and I could hear familiar voices getting out as doors opened and shut, but I didn't turn to look. I didn't acknowledge. My hands were wrapped around my chest, each palm cupped each elbow like I was shivering, but it was like thirty degrees out. 

"Yes, I'm fine," I murmured, somehow ashamed to catch Sam's eyes. I didn't want to see the look he'd sport. It would be pity, I knew it, but that did not mean I wanted to see it or receive it. Sam's always known, or had the idea of what kind of a relationship Trippie and I had, but he'd never actually witnessed some of our intense moments up close. 

"Shit," Sam spoke as he reached out his hand to catch my arm and stop me. I hadn't realized I was already walking away from him. "Your neck is bruising." 

I looked at him then, an unsteady hand touching the side of my neck Michael had practically thrust his fingers into. A soft press sent a wave of pain rolling up. I had bruises in the shape of his fingers, and they were undoubtedly turning blue and green. 

Quickly, I tugged some of my hair forward, making sure it covered the disaster. 

"Shit, he's a bastard," Sam let out slowly. "You are going to be in the shoot, I'll call the makeup artists from the hotel, else, the shoot's going to look horrific with these bruises on you." 

Of course he'd worry about how the shoot's going to look first. Even though Sam's a friend, he's going to do his job first. 

"Okay," I hurriedly said, and gave him a small nod and smile, before walking away. I felt suffocated, despite being at this beautiful beach. Trippie was now talking to Colson Baker and his accomplices by the cars. The guards, Michael's team and the Est team stood around them, as though they were afraid of an ambush despite no one else  but the crashing waves in sight. 

They didn't notice me as I walked away towards the shore. The wind flapped my cardigan against my body. It was cool, and salty. If I could just close my eyes and take a deep breath, without these rushing thoughts in my head, I could feel at peace. My cell phone was clutched in my right hand, and I loosened my grip on it slightly. 

Some of team had started putting up the set up for the shoot. A giant poster that contained Trippie's album cover, was set as a backdrop against one side, foundation firmly held in place. It looked strange against the subtle peaches and blue of the atmosphere of the beach— a giant splash of read and black with a distorted image of Michael that made him look like he was an extra-terrestrial. 

Next to it was another set up in progress, the album cover for Machine Gun Kelly's hotel diablo. Looking at the album cover this size, made me flash back to the night I listened to his entire album on repeat. My room at home felt like a distant memory, and his lyrics swirled in the atmosphere like flares of light from the moon. 

To the far right, a joint album cover collage backdrop was set up. I was slightly glad I wouldn't be photographed in front of it. It somehow like two worlds colliding, two worlds that weren't so different from each other, and I didn't want to be part of either. 

From the corner of my eye, I saw Trippie approach me. His steps were sure, his dreadlocks now held back by the force of the wind. With his full round, tattooed face on display, it made me think of the time when I genuinely thought he was so cute. To the time when I had felt butterflies in my stomach months ago when he had looked at me for the first time. Before he had made me his, I was a fan, fangirling over the kind of person I thought he was. 

And now? Those feelings were no longer in sight or mind. 

"Baby," He cooed in his slurry voice, extending his arm to my waist as soon as he got near enough to do so. I stepped away. I saw his face fell, like he had just forgotten what he had done as if it had been years ago.