𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

52

A/N:
Here's to bringing back statuesque fridays <3 school for me starts on monday so i'll be updating every friday from now onwards. <3

***

Davina Martinez's pov;

NOBODY TOLD ME THEY DIED. Nobody told me that they had been killed off. My family-my poor innocent mother and my ambitious little adoptive brother-brutally murdered just for the mere fun of it by a man I was working with for the past two years. All the while, I hadn't been told. All the while, I thought that my family was alive and moving on. What a sick game I was acting out, following multiple scripts at once-all written by the men around me. I played everything exactly how they wanted it-a marionette dancing in the dark on a stage that had no audience.

And now the murderer lay dead at my feet, a bullet to his skull.

"Because you're a murderer and Trippie is not."

I had vouched for Trippie Redd once, in front of the very man that sat chained on his knees in front of me. I had believed Trippie Redd hadn't had the capacity for murder-I had believed he wouldn't stoop to it no matter how much he was provoked.

But I should've realized that these past two years had changed him as well as me. Heck, he had been under Whittall for longer than I had. He'd been long in the throes of change. He had long become a murderer and.. so had I.

Becoming a murderer felt.. damning, but also like nothing at all. Taking a life felt profound moments before you took it and then seconds after. But when those seconds trickled by, vengeance went stale inside you like a iced coffee left in the sun. I didn't know how I knew that fact. Despite working for Whittall, I hadn't yet killed.

But I knew satisfaction was a goddamned thing to achieve, but when you had it, it felt numb-as though it would fade away if you didn't grip it tighter.

I wonder if that was what Trippie had felt when he'd butchered my mother and shot down my brother. Satisfaction. But why would he feel the same satisfaction I felt? My mother and brother had done nothing to Trippie Redd, and he couldn't have harbored a direct vengeance against them.

No. Trippie Redd's murder was cold blooded, senseless and wicked. My murder of him was vengeance. My murder of him was my fight, it was justified, it made sense.

It made sense. It made sense. It made sense.

I didn't realize that instead of looking at the body sprawled at my feet, I was staring at Machine Gun Kelly and crying, until a streak of wind hit my face and an icy sensation erupted on my cheeks.

Brought back to realization, I saw that he was gaping at me. The capillaries in his watery eyes were hot and red, streaking the whites of his eyes like lines on a complicated map. His mouth was set apart and he was breathing through it, pieces of his platinum hair falling over his forehead into his sky blue eyes. His bottom lip faintly trembled, but other than that, he didn't move.

I brought my hand to my face, using the back of my wrist to wipe the tears dry on my face.

My movement seemed to stir Machine Gun Kelly out from his shocked stupor.

"Davina."

His voice was a broken whisper, as though he didn't trust himself or what he was seeing anymore-as though he feared he was going mad, descending into the darkness of insanity.

But it wasn't the way he said what he said, it was what he said. My name in his voice. God, it was always the little meaningless things. Names uttered in broken voices speaking a thousand different unsaid things.