𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

EPILOGUE OF ACT I

One year later—

Colson Baker's pov; 

THE SMOKE POURED OUT OF MY MOUTH and nose as I exhaled, feeling my chest empty itself back again. My eyes saw nothing as the white smoke blurred my vision, until it cascaded away and my sight became clear again. 

I tossed the joint away from between my finger, picking it back up to crush it in the ashtray on the polished wood table. 

"Mr Baker," A knock sounded on my office door as a muffled voice spoke through it. 

"Come in," I let out, not looking at the door as it opened and footsteps came in. My eyes were fixed out the window, Los Angeles was wild on hot days like these. The sun gleamed like the solar star it was, and the world beneath continued living like they did everyday. 

"What is it?" I snapped when the woman hadn't said anything, and I felt her stiffen at my tone in this quite office. 

"It—It's Connor, sir," The woman spoke and my eyes snapped to hers. 

"What? Is he alright?" I pushed the chair back, getting up quickly. "Speak!" 

"H—He's not eating, sir, I tried to but he's being fussy—" 

Instantly, I approached her and had her by her throat, my fingers gripping her tight. She was older than me, a housekeeper that worked as a nanny for Connor's welfare, but when it came to Connor, I wouldn't think twice before putting someone in the ground. 

"If my son is being fussy, you take it, you bear it," I hissed, anger vibrant inside me as my veins throbbed in fury. "If he's being moody, you take that shit. Got that?" 

She nodded anxiously, and I let go of her as she doubled over, choking on a cough. Then I walked past her, exiting my office and making my way to Connor's room. It had been a whole year since I had brought him here, to my LA house without his mother. It had been a whole year since her death. She had died, a fucking year ago today, in my arms. 

I glanced at the time in a hallway clock. 4:00pm. At this time I was being prepared to be let out of the prison, unware that I would not only meet the love of my life, but also my child. I stepped down the stairs and approached Connor's room. I had decked it all out. Filled it with every expensive toy I could get my hands on, every comfort I thought he would need. I would do it again and again, even if he was to lose or burn everything. I would buy all this shit for him again.

He was sitting on the carpeted ground, playing with a remote control race car, which was exactly half his size. Hearing me approach he turned to look at me, his blue eyes lighting up. I grinned back at him, agony twisting itself out of my body temporarily at the sight of his smile. I bent down and sat beside him, finding the bowl of food his nanny must've been trying to feed him. 

"Daddy," Connor gushed, as he clapped his hands together. 

I opened my arms and he hoisted himself up and walked over, stumbling into my embrace as he wrapped his hands around my neck and I held him to me. I could barely breathe, thinking of how much I loved him. My heart ceased to beat with his small form in my arms, I felt like I would burn the entire world and not think twice after, if only my son asked me to. 

"You are not eating?" I asked him gently, and we separated from the hug as he looked into my eyes curiously. "Daddy wants you to eat, Connor. Daddy wants you to be so strong, that nobody will even think of hurting you." 

"Strong," Connor repeated, his voice rounded at the edges as he put up an arm and tried to replicate a muscle flex I had taught him. 

He'd watch me and grin, whenever I had taken him to the gym during my sessions, as he played with his toys nearby and I weightlifted, my eyes not leaving him once.