METANOIA - A Martin Garrix Fanfiction

Ibiza

Approximately twenty minutes ago, when I just started reading Maia's book and under her watchful eyes in my bedroom, her sitting on the bed and me on a chair a few feet away, I thought that situation was already hard enough, with me not being able to focus and having to reread a few sentences because of her gaze, burning through my skin with a blissful kind of sizzle.

But now.

Now was a thousand times harder.

Because she was no longer watching me reading, but sleeping, so peacefully, snoring ever so lightly. I tried to scan the pages of this book again and again but ended up reading her face and her body and the way she was so still again and again.

After a few minutes of agitation, I finally put down the book. I internally chuckled at myself. This was exactly the reason why Maia insisted on monitoring me, because she wanted me to actually read it, not just glance and take snippets of a few pages.

But she was sleeping now, and fuck if it made me some sort of creep, there was just something in her face (and my heart, probably) that made it hard to tear my eyes from her.

The light was still on and I considered turning it off, but I couldn't get my ass out of the chair. I pulled out my phone from my denim pocket to check the time; 11.43. Huh, she was probably exhausted, falling asleep this early.

I set the phone on top of the book, which sat on the vanity table beside me.

And I watched her.

I watched her heavy breathing, the way her chest and back heaved slowly up and down, and caught faster at random counts, like she was dreaming. I watch after what might be more than half an hour, how her fingers twitches and sometimes her brows knitted and her jaw withdraw.

Then she relaxed, like the dream was slowly drifting to a better one. She clenched a pillow and moaned lightly to the sheets.

Uh-oh.

I was totally beginning to feel like a creep.

After a few more minutes of telling myself to get the fuck away from her bedroom, I finally got out, holding her book and my phone close to me.

I was just closing the door when she began to scream.

-

Kau melakukan ini kepada kami, Maia. Kau membunuh kami. Pembunuh. Pembunuh.

"Tidak," she said. No. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," She was weeping and sobbing, her lungs felt like burning and her throat was dry as sand, but she couldn't stop the tears and the guilt. She couldn't stop the faces of her parents form glaring at her with contempt and rage, multiplying in every heartbeat that passed.

And blood, dear Angel, blood everywhere. It was her fault. She knew. All her fault.

She kept apologizing, saying sorry in every language that she knew, but none of it helped. In life before, her parents had been so proud of her gift with languages, every time she won a competition. But here, they were only ghosts, and ghosts came for revenge. They only care for her mistake. For the price she should pay.

Phantom fingers were touching her face, her skin. Her parent's, she knew from the wedding rings and the cuts and slashes, even shrapnels. She shook and trembled and cried harder at the sight of them, hundreds thousand of them, all around her.

But then came a different touch, one that didn't tear her flesh, and she woke with a start. She was sweating all over, her hair plastered to her forehead, and her shirt sticking to her back. Martin was holding her hands in one of his, the other only now reaching out to her cheek.