𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

17

THE KNOCKING ON MY HOTEL ROOM DOOR intensified as I hurried over to it, my stomach knotting up in ways I didn't realize it could knot up. Trippie was never one for patience. Seizing the handle, I unlocked it and pulled it open to find a bothered Trippie with his right hand midway in his hair. He looked frustrated, he looked annoyed, but most of all, his eyes bore that glass sheen that I was all too familiar with. 

He had stormed off to the hotel after the shoot, or whatever that was. He wouldn't speak to me, and I recoiled from the fact that he would believe what Travis Barker and Colson Baker had to say over me. The hours since, I had been pacing about in my room asking myself if it wasn't all so bad. Would Trippie let me go? That was what I wanted wasn't it? Then I could be rid of all this, of him, of Colson and his murdering plans in San Diego. It would set me back, from my plans of acquiring some recognition for my designs for being on this tour, but you win some you lose some don't you?

Trippie's eyes met mine. He looked so conflicted, like he was in torture. The way his raised both his brows and something about his hard look softened during our contact. I was afraid he would see the fear in my eyes, but I couldn't do anything about it because it was there and it wouldn't go. 

He didn't say anything, but he stepped inside, walking into the room past me. Quietly I closed the door shut behind him. Was he going to ask me for explanations? Accuse me of something I never did? If he did, I knew I wouldn't stay quiet. I would defend myself. I will tell him what really happened. Everything Colson Baker did. And if Trippie didn't believe me even then, then it was his loss. 

"Michael," I spoke into the tense quietness of the room. He just stood there, his back facing me, silent except for his heavy breathing. 

"Tell me it was bullshit." His voice was raspy, but steady. He wasn't high, his thoughts and anger in as much control as his sober self could manage. "Tell me that it was fucking bullshit." 

"It was," I cried incredulously, "I would never—" 
I broke off. I would never what? I would never cheat on him? or would I never let Colson Baker get close to me again? 

He spun around to look at me then, his expression neutral but desperate, like he wanted the answer he wanted from me like oxygen. 

I gave it to him. "I would never cheat on you." And I will never let Colson Baker touch me again.

His eyes glowed then, dark eyes reflecting the subtle yellow lights on in my room. He stepped closer to me, and in about two strides, Trippie's thick arms were around my waist and I was pulled flush against his stomach. Our faces were inches away from each other, and from this distance looking into his black eyes was entrancing in some sort of way that I couldn't figure. 

"You always know what I want to hear," He let out, hot breath fanning my face. He smelled sharply of cocaine, with the musky scent of smoke underlining it. "But you rarely ever say it." 

I didn't know what to say, so I said what he wanted me to. "I know." 

He kissed me then. A flush of warm lips pressing against my own. My eyes fluttered close, desperately searching for what I used to feel for him when I first met him, grasping those tiny strings where ever I could find them in the crevice of my memories. My left hand touched the side of his face, a few of his rough dreadlocks under my palm. My right hand placed itself on his chest. Like always, I knew what he wanted from me, and I decided to give it to him. 

There was no running away this time. I didn't want this, but I needed to do it. This was the first step to making sure Colson Baker could not control me. I needed someone on my side. I needed Trippie to believe me were I to expose his friends' ploys. I needed to take a step instead of retreating into myself. If Machine Gun Kelly wanted to play with me, I would much rather be a worthy competitor.