𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

26

MY EYES FLUTTERED OPEN AND with my senses, came a wave of weakness subsiding over my body. It didn't feel as though I had been out for long. I think it was perhaps for mere minutes. I tried to sit up. I was in my hotel room, on my bed.

"It was Trippie, wasn't it?"

The question was hard, and it struck me by surprise as I looked to Colson, leaning against a wall in the room. I didn't realize he had been there. I didn't realize I had let him in. His expression was harder than his tone. His light eyes seemed so dark from here. I should be terrified, but strangely, weirdly, horrifyingly, I felt safe.

The bed felt like another kind of comfort, now that Trippie wasn't in it with me. I looked at Colson. He must have put me on the bed after I fainted. I tensed. I wasn't wearing anything under my robe.

"I'm asking you something," He spoke again, his irises fixed on me as his jaw visibly tightened.

"What are you asking?" I managed, wincing as my movement incited pain.

I sat upright, resting my back against a pillow.

"Trippie did this to you, didn't he?" Colson snapped, his patience lost.

Did this to you. I cringed. Quickly, I observed myself. I wasn't bleeding, at least I didn't feel so, because my dark robe felt dry. The sheets on the bed however, were telling it like it was from the stains from earlier. I felt horrified, embarrassed, humiliated. No God, please, this should have been seen by anyone but Colson Baker.

"You let him fuck you, and he did this."

Colson's voice sounded like iron clashing against iron. The skin at his face had tightened to a red, and I could see it bleed into the whites of his small eyes.

"You let him fuck you." He repeated, realization setting into him like he hadn't seen the full picture before.

"Why?" His eyes turned to me. "Why, Davina?"

I stilled. The sound of my name on his lips seemed such a foreign thing. I couldn't remember the last time he'd said it when he wasn't traumatizing me.

Colson looked at me expectantly, his eyes waiting for a response, though I knew he wouldn't like any that he may receive.

"He's my boyfriend."

The words left my mouth of their own accord, for a second, I wished he hadn't heard. But he had. Colson spun around and his hand grabbed a marble center piece. He threw it against the wall and that thing shattered into a thousand pieces with a sound that no longer seemed to affect me as it would have months ago.

His breaths were harsh and I stifled a gasp. He ran his hands through his messy hair, gripping it tightly, briefly.

"If I hear that word from your mouth again, I swear to God I'll—"

"You'll what?" I asked, disbelief marring my face. "What is left that you haven't yet done to me?"

Colson paused, eyes blinking, brows furrowed as he turned to look at me.

"I will never hurt you like this," His words were soft now, his expression bordered a strange sincerity, the kind that he had worn on that studio terrace months ago.

I gasped. So he did exist. The Colson from that night was still alive.

"You think what you have done to me is better?" I let out. 

I wanted to cling onto that glimpse of him. I wanted to grip that string tightly and secure the kite of his former self. I wanted to hold that thread of him so close.