𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

34

THE SMALL CHANGING ROOM WE WERE in felt suffocating, and the Zac Posen dress I wore suddenly felt so heavy on me—like lead that was weighing me down. 

Colson Baker's dusty light eyes bore into my dark ones. He looked at me with a fierce sort of determination that I couldn't mirror for the life of me. Just yesterday he had walked me back to my hotel room, I was still a part of the tour, he had helped me choose what to wear—he had given me hope. But now? I didn't feel that hope anymore. His words about revenge on Trippie were just rocks to me. I could see the hatred in his eyes, but.. it didn't affect me.

I didn't want Colson to hate Trippie, to avenge me. I wanted nothing like that. None of that was what I truly cared for. None of that mattered to me. I just wanted him to believe in my love for him, I wanted him to find his old self that I had met so many months ago now—but Colson had other priorities, ones that I could feel dampen the palms I had pressed against his chest. I pulled them away and saw a sheen of translucent blood cover them.

"I don't want you to do any of that," I managed after a long pause. "If you think seeing Trippie or anyone be killed by you is what I want at present—or ever—then you're wrong."

A look of blatant disbelief crossed his eyes.

"If you think like that," I continued. "Then you've never really known me like I wished you had."

Colson steeled his eyes, making them unreadable again.

"I kill, Davina," He let out through gritted teeth. "I have and I will, if need arises. If you haven't realized that still, then I've not made myself clearer to you like I hoped I had."

I closed my eyes shut, blinking away the frustration I felt. It was freshly startling every time how frustration always gave rise to more tears with me. Why couldn't I handle the emotion without making a mess of myself? Gosh, it took such strength.

I opened my eyes and met his light blue ones with newfound and defeat, while my chest screamed in protest.

"Alright," I spoke, "What will you do now?" 

I gestured vaguely with my hand, fighting back tears. "You didn't go with the crew, you're bleeding—," I broke off as my voice cracked. "What will you do now?" 

He blinked, taken aback on finding no audible protest from me of his earlier statement. He had repeatedly reminded me that he would never be the same, and I was tired of hearing it—seeing it. It was as though he had expected protest, had wagered on it, and not finding it left him reeling.

"Birmingham," Colson answered firmly. "To the tour and to Trippie Redd." 

I nodded, breaking eye contact because I knew the disappointment brimming in my eyes will not change his decision. It never did, so why would it start now? He was bent on revenge, bent on proving himself to be stronger, bent on thinking that somehow retaliation with Trippie would fix us. But it won't. It won't. 

I stepped away from him and his arm on the back of my waist fell away.

"I will go then," I glanced at him and then at the door. "I have to return this dress."

My voice sounded so small, so meek. I hated it suddenly, despised the sound of it.

"Do that," Colson murmured, his form still hesitant at the change in my demeanor. "We'll leave for the city soon."

Pausing, I looked towards him in mild confusion, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"The only city I'm going to, is Seattle."