𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

45

A/N:
Alright, since I some have time before law school starts, let's just forget I said anything about a friday update schedule lmao. I'll use that starting mid september. Anywho, I hope you like this chapter!

***

a week later,

CONNOR SAT WITH HIS FEET DANGLING from the stool, by the pristine marble table in the kitchen of my suite apartment in the city. He was humming a song I couldn't recognize, as he munched on his bowl of fruit loops and watched a cartoon on my iPad.

I had walked over to him, briefly watched a few minutes of the cartoon as I brushed my hands through his soft platinum hair. I didn't recognize it, and it only made a melancholy surge inside me at the realization that I didn't even know what he liked anymore.

Once in Manhattan, in his early two years, I had watched Mexican cartoons with him-films like Coco, just for the hope that he would embrace my culture-or even just find an appreciation for it. He had. He had loved Coco so much, and enjoyed hearing the Spanish dubbing.

But I faltered to think that he probably didn't remember anymore. The words I taught him of Spanish, the films we watched. His father knew nothing of our regime. I doubted it that he would've made the same effort that I had.

But it was alright, Connor was supposed to have his own interests, and if they had changed in these past two years, then I shouldn't be bothered by that fact.

Outside, the March heat was still in the air-as if frozen in place. The humidity was intense, a bit jarring, as I drew the sheer curtains over the closed glass windows intending to soften the wrath of the sun though the apartment was blaring the air conditioner on full.

"I can't bring him in front of the boss again," I spoke then, knowing that Noah-who sat seated on the sofa with his cell phone in his hand-was listening.

Noah was the most attentive, sometimes I thought not even a leaf could fly by without him noticing. He didn't speak unless it was absolutely necessary, and somehow he still kept all his connections so firm in his grasp. How do you hold on with other people when your way of communication was so different? It baffled me. But with Noah, I think I understood it.

I looked at him, slowly making my way from the window and seating myself opposite to the dark skinned man in front of me.

Noah's features were settled, not a muscle in his face moving as he shifted slightly to tuck his phone into his jeans pocket, fixating his hazel eyes on me.

"I cannot bring Connor in front of the boss again," I repeated lowering my voice, holding onto the sofa seat with both hands-my shoulders taut.

"He can't be continuously reminded of my son," I turned to glance at Connor in the distance, still eating his afternoon snack.

"I just-I fear he will think of my son as bait for something, or even as an expendable."

Noah didn't respond, his eyes bearing into mine in plain scrutiny-as though he was only listening, without having generated an opinion at all.

"But I don't know how I'll keep Connor away," I brought both my hands to my face briefly. "I can't leave him at the suite for hours on end when I'm summoned by the boss, and I can't bring him along."

"It will be the same thing then, Noah," I pressed, my tone taking an arguing stance. "Like his father, I would be shutting him out-isolating him."

"Even if I hire someone to keep him company, look after him at the suite while I'm away-it would be the same thing and I won't be doing anything different than what he was already being subjected to. How would I know that the person I hired isn't reporting to the boss? He would never let me hire someone without going through them himself."