𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

24

I ZONED IN AND OUT OF MY SENSES. And God, I was so aware of it. My vision, rare and comprised of glimpses so few that I knew keeping count would be useless. The scene was a haze, an ombre effect of the blues and greens of the hospital room ceiling and the masks of the doctor and the nurses I found hovering over me. I couldn't keep track of time. I tried to, but I couldn't. My body felt so weak, that I couldn't believe it was mine anymore. I felt like a marionette who's strings had been brutally cut, and now she was just a heap of bones and flesh lying around and waiting for someone to do something for her. 

I hated the feeling so much, my eyes stung with the hatred I felt. 

I thought of mom, of Mickey. What were they doing? God, can I keep this from them? Can I keep everything I've fallen into, from them? Can I keep the person Colson Baker is forcing me to become, from them? 

In movies, they always show that you feel something when someone you loved was hurt, even if you were miles apart. Did Mom or Mickey feel it? Good God, I hope not. 

I drifted out then, away from my consciousness like someone had dragged me away. Then I came back again. It was like I was floating towards everything I knew, away from everything that was black and dark and soundless, that I did not know. But suddenly, my effort brought me closer than I had been before, I kept going. My hand reached out in the abyss, desperately wanting to touch the light at the entrance of the tunnel I was trapped it. And soon, it engulfed me in its cold embrace. 

I coughed slightly, eyes fluttering open. The hospital room I had seen in hazes and brief visions, was bright with lights. A mixture of the blues and greens and whites I had deciphered in my indisposed state. I looked at myself. In a mint hospital gown, my waist and stomach felt hard like a rock, and it took my sluggish brain a few seconds to realize that I was all bandaged up. My body didn't hurt. My wound didn't hurt, though the thought of how many times it had ripped constantly open that night made me swallow nervously. 

That night. The happenings flooded my brain. Everything, from when Colson Baker grabbed me from the private parking lot, to the.. 
I shut my eyes tight, trembling hands grabbing my head in all attempt to get my brain to stop.

For a while, just please, stop, I screamed inside. 

But it wouldn't listen. It was still going, replaying everything in my head over and over again, going through every excruciating detail that I wanted to burn out. 

"You okay?"

A voice spoke up and my eyes snapped open, self awareness clawing weakly at me. I looked to the source, to find a woman, maybe a few years older than me, adorned in a hospital gown, lying in a bed at a distance from mine, looking at me with an amused expression on light her face. I realized that this was a ward for two, and there was no one else here but us two. I wondered where the nurses were, and what they would tell me about my condition. I was only shot. It seemed simple. But God, there was so much more wrong about this than just that. 

When I didn't respond, the woman raised a brow. I realized that I had sit up, the familiar violet scent of my conditioner failing to calm me as my dark hair fell over my shoulders. 

"You need something?" The woman then asked, and I looked at her again. 

Maybe this was the only question that made sense. Are you okay didn't make any sense, because who the fuck was really okay? Nobody was, Me? I definitely was not. If she had asked me this question even months ago, I don't think I was even okay then. Struggling to get by, running around doing three jobs a day to pay for my mom's medical bills and Mickey after my classes. I really don't think I know what okay feels like. But, do you need something? Gosh, that was a question. Because I did need something. I need things I don't have names for, I need things that I don't think exist.