𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

27

Davina Martinez's pov;

I DREAMT OF THAT NIGHT. IT WAS BULLETS, a crescent moon, an old white van, an abandoned building, a run down experiment lab, and Colson. Always, Colson.

It made perfect sense. My subconcious knew that night couldn't exist without Colson Baker in the picture. That night couldn't have happened if he hadn't yanked at the reins. He had to be in there, hiding behind a dilapidated wall perhaps, or in the shadows entirely. He just had to be there, or else, the nightmare wouldn't be complete.

I woke up, and it wasn't with a start. I woke up like those girls in sketchy thriller movies, stirring to life in composure with no stimuli whatsoever. No alarm had woken me, no bird pecking on my windows, no everyday street chaos outside. I woke up because I had to.

The events of last night filled my head, and I quickly scanned my room for signs of movement, not sure if Colson Baker had truly left. Had I seen him leave?

Yes, yes I had.

I sighed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Rolling over to grab my phone from the side table, I flicked the screen on. 9:45am.

Had I slept too late? It was show day. The last show in London before the tour moved on, and knowing how busy show days were and how early calls were required, I couldn't remember a single thing I had to do.

Then I realized I hadn't actually asked Sam any of today's agenda. Why would he spare me work if I was in the position to resume my duties for tour again? Sitting up quickly, I called him.

"Hey," His voice rushed over the speaker, a comparitive hitch louder than the chaos that sounded behind him.

"Hi Sam," I started, "You haven't told me what is on the agenda for today. Am I needed at the final fitting? Should I go in beforehand to make sure of things?"

"No, yeah, yeah, do that," He hurried, clearly distracted. Meanwhile the shouts behind him escalated to the point where I could audibly make out swear words in a very familiar voice.

"Sam, is that Trippie?" I asked, suddenly alert. "Has something happened?"

"Uh— yeah," He paused, sighing, "It is something for sure."

"Tell me," I added quickly, getting off the bed and planning to head out instantly if I was needed in some way.

"It's Trippie, he's chewing the manager off right now. Someone broke into his room last night."

"What?" I gasped, "Is he okay? Was something important taken?"

"Well yeah, only his dignity I suppose," Sam managed, the jet lag in his voice stemmed from multiple things at once. "Apparently, they only beat him up. He had had multiple drinks by that point so he couldn't make out any faces, or defend himself for that matter."

"Oh," I murmered softly. Why would someone suddenly want to—

"When was this?" I asked quickly, heart hammering inside my chest.

"About like, 1:30."

I stilled. My family had called at midnight, and Colson had stayed till the duration of that twenty minute call before leaving. He did it.

"Needless to say, Trippie's sporting some raunchy ass bruises which he only noticed in the morning. Can you believe he slept after he got his ass kicked like that? I mean, who does that? Why was he so fucking hammered in the first place?"

I didn't answer. I knew why Trippie would resort to black himself out like that.

"When I told you to get in the car, you got in his fucking car."