METANOIA - A Martin Garrix Fanfiction

Budapest

"What?!" I exclaimed. "You're kidding, right?"

"You know I'm not, Maia." He said in a frustrated manner. I was being selfish and childish and I knew it, but I couldn't help it, this was so unfair.

I was standing up now, almost across the room from my brother, breathing hard in disbelief. I tried to breathe in and out slowly, letting the rage out of my head so I could think clearly.

"Okay," I said. "Let me get this straight; you're booked for an artist's tour in more than a dozen cities, nine countries in three and a half months, and you're leaving me here in Bandung to rot while you get all the travelling fun?"

"It's not fun, Maia. It's exhausting."

"We both know that's bullshit, Reu."

"Listen, you can stay, and have the whole house for yourself, that's awesome. You can invite some friends over to have some sleepover or something."

"It's awesome, yes, but kind of lonely, too. And my friends have parents to go on a vacation with, remember? They're not like us."

His gaze soften at that, a smile tugging at his lips, making him look more of a father than brother. And that felt like shit, considering we lost both parents at a car crash three years ago, when I was fifteen and him twenty. He fought hard, finally he'd found a fitting job as an artist manager.

And now his friend—I think his name was Scooter—offered him this job because he was handling another artist's tour, saying he had a lot in his hands.

"What about prom? Isn't that, like, a crucial part of a girl's life?"

"By the Angel, Reuben, have you even met me? I've already taken my Diploma three days ago, and am officially a free woman now. Prom is so insignificant. Besides, I can find some college to apply on the tour."

"Okay," he said after a moment. I practically squealed and turned buoyant, I hugged him. "But you have to promise me not to make any trouble, God knows I have enough already."

"Aw, Reu. Trouble is fun. You should try it sometimes." I said with a daring smile. "So when and where do we start?"

"Budapest. I'm leaving tomorrow at nine, I'll buy your ticket now. Go and pack your things."

I bounced my way back to my room on the second floor. Halfway up the stairs, I remembered something so I poked my head back down, saying, "Who's the artist your managing, again?"

"He's a DJ, name's Martin Garrix. You should search him out, get a little picture on his music. He's about your age, too."

"Huh," I said. "Not interested."

-

Amsterdam was okay, that was saying little because the only parts of it I could see was the road and the hotel's perimeter. My brother said this was the most functional and fitting-to-his-needs-and-job hotel. I okayed him before he could start rambling about business strategies.

It was already five minutes since Reu said he was checking us in and ran to the bathroom. I was bored to death. I couldn't find the energy to continue rereading The Retribution of Mara Dyer so I could read the third book that I'd already bought and downloaded yesterday when I was packing.

At least the couch was cozy.

I pulled out my phone from my mini-backpack and plugged in my headphones, playing my 'Halsey' playlist.

Halfway through 'Castle', a guy wearing black shirt, black denim pants, and holding a Macbook, came out of the elevator and talked to the receptionist and walked back, sitting on a couch across the table in front of me. He looked somewhere around seventeen to nineteen, and I couldn't point out exactly the color of his hair.