𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

39

Machine Gun Kelly's pov;

'YOU THINK YOU HOLD THE WORLD in your hands, and you might, but you will never hold us—you will never hold me ever again.'

Her words were shards of glass in my forehead. They were stuck in odd angles in my brain, and they bled whichever way I tried to move them. And the irritation of words wasn't the pleasant kind of numbness I got from actual glass crashing against my forehead. I didn't hold the world in my hands, I may have acted like I did, but I knew I never had. I didn't want the fucking world.

And when had I ever held her in my hands, in the full sense of that phrase? She had always been defying, always unexpected. She always did the opposite of everything I told her to do, she always responded in ways that I could never predict. At the tour, she drove me crazy every second of every day. Her every fucking move was out of my control. So why then did she think I held her in my hands?

And us? What the fuck did she mean by that? She couldn't mean her and Trippie Redd, could she? Were they together again? I stilled as an angry jolt rattled my insides and my hands fisted at my sides. No. She can't be that fucking stupid to go back to that motherfucker.

The last I saw of that fucker was in Manchester at an event. He had chicks by his side, one on each arm. A fucking downgrade from having her at his side, but an grade nonetheless. We didn't talk anymore. I avoided that bastard like the plague. The song 'all i know' I featured him on again for Tickets to My Downfall, was a fucking arbitrary thing.

'Candy' had been a hit, so my record company wanted to have Trippie Redd again. I added him on for a track, had him fly in and record it the same night, so I didn't have to see his miserable face again.

That one fucking night was one of the hardest ones I've ever had. He reminded me of her. He reminded me of every godforsaken time I'd spot him walk into a room during our 2019 joint tour, with her right behind him. Every fucking time he'd grope her in front of me. Trippie Redd carried the ghost of the girl I had lost, and it infuriated me that even he didn't know it. It infuriated me that he was even alive to carry it.

I removed the joint I had in between my lips and exhaled the smoke away. The heat of my breath caressed my skin before the cool wind of the building terrace blew it away. The night was dark, dotted with dozens of lights blazing from every Brooklyn building and street I could see from here.

But the wind wasn't enough to blow the heat of her from off my skin. The photoshoot we had had hours ago was stuck in my head, on my body. The feel of her against me—God, had she always been this intoxicating?

Why don't I remember? I only remember having her and feeling like I had everything I ever wanted. That night, sex with her made me rethink everything. I thought it would stop, the excruciating lust I felt for her would stop once I had taken her. But it didn't stop. When she changed my bandages at my torso afterwards, in nothing but a bed sheet, I felt the want inside me grow when it wasn't supposed to. How much could I want a girl? It never went further than a one time hookup. But with Davina, I wanted it all.

It felt strange, saying her name in my head. It felt fucked up. I hadn't said her name inside since she left me.

I had become a mess when she did. I had almost lost.

The door of the terrace creaked open in the distance, and I turned my head to see who it was. Light poured in as the door was opened, and made visible the very girl who was currently fucking around in my head. My hands fisted at the sight of her. Her dark hair was lose, and she clung tightly to a coat around her shoulders as she closed the terrace door with a rusty creak of the iron. The terrace was plunged again in the moon washed darkness.