𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

25

THE FLIGHT WAS SHORT, LOOKING at Sam, his tousled hair and his dazed out face emerging off the plane, you would doubt how short the flight was. But for me, it was so very short. Time was never my friend. Maybe, I should have stayed a while. Maybe I should have stopped and collected myself properly before joining the tour. But I was here now. Any further collecting will have to wait. 

London air smelled of lights and smoke and energy. It was electrifying. The intensity of it hit me like an ice effect against my skin. My wound had healed a bit, it had healed as much as it could between boarding a flight as soon as I was discharged and finding myself in London. What I mean is, it hadn't healed at all. I liked to think that it had a bit, being an optimist still kept me going.

We left the airport and Sam walked us over to the cab he had called for us. The driver got out and helped Sam load our two suitcases in the trunk. It was night. The sky was lit with a thousand grainy stars.

The cab whizzed by buildings and the busy streets. I rolled the window to my side down, and a gush of cool air wafted through my hair and kissed my face. London was lit up. There were lights coming from everywhere, and busy chatter radiated off the streets like a cloudy halo.

I shut my eyes, trying to zone out Sam's presence beside me. We hadn't spoken much on the flight, nor at the airport. I sensed him wanting to say something at times, but he'd think better of it and stay quiet. I was thankful for it. Silence was my best remedy right now, and I didn't have much time for that too.

The cab soon stopped in front of our hotel. I stiffened as realization came full force. This is it. Trippie and Colson were staying in this hotel, and Sam had pre-booked rooms for both of us aswell. The rest of their teams were probably at another hotel nearby. Trippie never liked all his crew at the same place except for shows.

"Are you good?" Sam's voice brought me out of my thoughts.

I was standing in front of the hotel, one hand on my suitcase handle, eyes looking at the bright building but mind lost elsewhere. I didn't even hear the cab drive off.

"Yes," I responded slowly. "I'm good."

The cold wind lapped the material of my shirt against the tight bandages aross my waist. I supposed I didn't look injured, and I was glad for it. Unless ofcourse one were to lift my shirt up and see my torso wrapped up like the mummy.

"Show night's tomorrow," Sam murmured, repeating this information for like the fifth time since the hospital. "If we're lucky, they are all drunk at some club right now." He added under his breath.

Despite myself, I looked to him and laughed. The sound airy, light, everything unlike what I had been feeling inside— but still so genuine.

Sam mirrored the laugh, his stiff edges loosening up.

"Come on," He motioned to the entrance as he reached his free hand out for my suitcase.

"Its alright," I hastened, "I'll manage."

He nodded, before taking the lead as I followed him into the hotel lobby and towards the reception.

'You'll manage, Davina,' Mom's words echoed in my ears. I had called home before boarding the flight, made some things up about the work load and jet lag— lies about why I hadn't returned her calls.

'You always manage. Just don't give up alright? Hasn't this been your dream? It all may not be exactly what you expected, but that doesn't mean you won't make it at the end.'

Sam's phone dinged twice in the elevator, and he sighed before finally taking it out of his pocket. Our rooms were on the sixth floor. My room key read 304, while his read 284.