𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

68

"DAVINA," HE CALLED MY NAME AS HE RAN up to me, and I knew that if I hadn't waited outside, he would've missed me.

I could've instantly gotten a cab, one of out the multiple ones parked that some celebrities and influencers had on stand by. I could've gotten in any of them and been well on my way now.

But where? Back to Colson's mansion. And what was the point of that, to delay a confrontation that was sure to come anyway, just because my heart had frozen inside my chest?

The venue's back parking area was darkened, with only lights from inside the venue casting a sheen on all the cars parked here. The parking area had high walls all around it to keep intruders and trespassers out, with big gates that were opening and closing for each car that had occupied this space and was now leaving. I could see a frantic group of paparazzi outside each time the gates opened and closed in their faces.

A couple of people-most likely the ones that the paps at the gates were desperate to click-their glittering attires and smart suits blinking against the night, stood in couplets, talking nonchalantly by the side of their cars and having a secret smoke-none of which was convenient inside the venue.

"Davina," Colson ran up to me, breathing heavily, causing a ruckus in the silent atmosphere of the night.

"I can explain."

I bit my lip to swallow an urge to scoff. He had told me he would explain whatever he did or said, to me. He had been telling me that for a while now, ever since I read those text messages from Megan Fox on his phone in New York. He told me not to assume-to jump to conclusions, and that guilt-tripped me. It made me feel like the one at fault, so I stopped. I didn't assume anything of where he went or how he prepared for his tour. I just trusted in his answers, but he never really explained any of it to me.

I still had so many questions. I was still hurt that he'd told Megan Fox when he was engaged to her, that I was only a one night stand. People aren't obliged to talk about their exes, I know that, but sometimes they have to if there's a child involved. I understand that too. But out of all he could've said about me to appease her-any lie he could've made up, he had chosen the most degrading one. That hurt, but I didn't evaluate his intention because he told me not to, he told me he'd explain.

And now this. How do I stop myself from evaluating-from assuming and getting hurt by the words I had heard? Last time I had read those text messages, and this time I heard words. How do I stop myself from jumping to conclusions this time?

"Explain what?" I turned to look at him, my voice was fine. It wasn't wavering, I wasn't crying. I was just.. fine.

Hollywood was flashy and mostly hollow, I understood that. The music industry-egotistic and haughty as it was at times-was still new to me. The only thing I was truly familiar with, the place where I truly felt like I belonged, it was the fashion industry. And the people part of it, they were not like Colson or Megan Fox, or Kylie Jenner or even Rihanna for that matter.

The people in the fashion industry were corrupted too, I knew that. But they were stronger, they were dignified, and they were so above squabbles like these that they depicted them like entertainment etched in their designs. They took heartbreak and embossed it on fabrics, and then displayed it all with confidence. It gave them route to keep it all out, to prevent it to pollute their minds or grieve their hearts. They were above petty squabbles like these, they were superior to them. I had learned that the day I had seen Zac Posen for the first time, choosing me to model his design for Balmain, the way he had held himself, detached and on a separate stage to everyone else, though his manner of speaking to others had always been civil.