𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

53

A/N:
okay, let us just forget i said anything about friday updates. my law school schedule is hectic, you guys i'm so sorry. uploads will come, but they will be sporadic. anyways, i hope you're all doing so good. turn off the lights, grab a snack, get comfy and let's begin?

***

"I'LL FUCKING FIX THIS, OR I'LL DIE TRYING."

His words were still hot on my skin, tangled in my hair, burning inside my ears like a piece of paper on fire but never quite turning to ash. The blood in my veins thrummed with the beat of each syllable, and no matter how hard I had scrubbed myself clean in the shower, his words refused to leave me-just like his touch.

It had been a whole day since I had seen him last.

"I'll fucking fix this or I'll die trying."

He had said those words to me and I had abruptly pulled away from him, brought back to my senses like I was a discarded doll yanked back by her hair tangled in between the short thick fingers of a little child. I had dragged myself back to my feet, and I had turned and I had left. I spoken no other word to Machine Gun Kelly, and he hadn't said anything else to me. But there had been something else in his manner.

Desperation was not only etched in the way he had kissed me, but it throbbed under his skin and radiated from his eyes. He had wanted me to say something, and if I had looked into his eyes before I had left, I would know exactly what. But I hadn't met his eyes, I hadn't said anything. I hadn't betrayed how I felt about his statement-his bold claim.

It was an impulsive thing to say. It didn't have any logic, it had no support. His words were just words. He was bound in chains, for God's sake, who was he to fix anything? Least of all me, and the situation I was in? I was better off than he was at present. It was he who needed to be saved-to be fixed. If he had any sense left in him, he would realize what exactly needed fixing.

I ran my hand over Connor's warm forehead, stroking his head again and again, soft motions, gradual motions, lost in the moment. He was fast asleep, and the time on every digital and analog clock in my suite apartment read 1:30am.

The pitch darkness of The Bronx sky outside was palpable, but it couldn't quieten the roaring lights of the borough sparkling from below. Buildings, clubs, shops, streets-everything shone with bright lights. New York, the city that never sleeps. The giant glass window in my room was a picture perfect display of the struggle of the sky and land outside. The night wanting to progress, The Bronx holding its ground.

It was faintly like a scene from music video.

I turned my head slightly to kiss Connor's forehead. The bed beneath our bodies was cool and plush, the breezes from the air conditioning gently caressing the room. I had turned all lights in the apartment off, and the bustling The Bronx scape below provided the perfect gentle night lights to revolve an ambience around.

I hadn't slept since I had last seen Machine Gun Kelly. Every time I closed my eyes, I would see him in chains on his knees in a pool of Trippie Redd's blood, I would feel his bloody lips on my own, I would see the want in his eyes, I would hear his words pressing against my ear drums threatening to make me go deaf. So I hadn't slept. So I didn't close my eyes.

He took the blame for Trippie Redd's murder. He just-he didn't say anything. He didn't do anything, yet the scene he had painted for me had pounced into existence like a sick jack in the box. I had left the basement and went home. I had waited, for the boss to summon me, to put a bullet in my expendable or to kill me outright for shooting down Trippie. I waited hours, but when I was called, it was only to be told that Machine Gun Kelly was being put in stronger chains because he murdered Trippie Redd.