Garrix & Me (Martin Garrix Fanfiction)

Chapter 40

Zoe's POV

My palms find their way to Martin's chest and I push against him as hard as I can. Some of the small cuts open and they burn freshly as air brushes over the open wounds. Caught off guard, Martin stumbles and his back hits the elevator wall behind him with a thud.

My heart beats quicker than usual because I can hardly breathe and my head is spinning. Out of control.

Too many thoughts try racing through my mind at once in an atmosphere of confusion. I gave in yesterday when he told me about his past but I just don't understand why he's doing this. Kissing me isn't going to make everything go away, it isn't going to make the fact that he threw the most intimate experience I've ever had in my face as if it was a mistake. Maybe it was, though. Maybe I was just stupid enough to fall for his lies again.

It occurs to me that because I hardly see any emotion from him, whenever I get the slightest hint of it I let myself believe him. It's a sick cycle and whether I like it or not, I've let myself become trapped in it. The worst part is that Martin probably knows that. He probably knows that I will always give in and this is just a disgusting game he's playing trying to see how far I'll go.

But I'm not giving in this time. My decision is to ignore him, to pretend he doesn't exist and let my life go back to the normal it was before he arrived. I can't keep going back and forth with him. I've always pictured finding a guy who would love me unconditionally, who would buy me flowers and take me out and just be sweet and cliched. I didn't picture being caught up with someone like Martin who uses me and then makes me feel like crap afterward.

What are we anyway? It's not like we're in a relationship. I can barely call him a friend because friends don't do half the things he's done to me. I remember that day at the hospital, after he'd beat up Ian, the day I'd kissed him for the first time. He'd told me he wouldn't want to be my friend. And it sounds so childish and immature, but on a deeper scale of things, he must've meant it. For the whole month and a half that he's been here, all he's ever done is complain and wish he didn't have to be here. I've never heard him say anything good.

If he needs or wants me like he says he does, surely I would be the one good thing about being here? He shouldn't still hate it as much. But clearly, he really does hate me and he really is as heartless as I've refused to believe he is.

"What are you doing?" I spit in confusion, half aware of my bleeding palms and half aware of the malfunctioning elevator door.

Martin stays silent, looking at me with narrowed eyes.

"I missed you," he says slowly, frowning.

I scoff loudly and resist the urge to reach over and slap him across the face. "Are you kidding me?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Martin asks suddenly.

My head jerks to face him and I feel my temper simmering beneath the surface.

"You can't just kiss me whenever you feel like it," I yell, my voice rising and bouncing off the walls of the elevator.

He blinks, his jaw tensing.

"You can't just do whatever you want," I snap, my breathing erratic, "I'm just so, so tired of this.. this back and forth, running after you and then you treating me like crap!"

Martin says nothing but, in my anger, I notice his chest heaving.

"I shouldn't have to feel like this! I shouldn't have bleeding palms and a cut on my forehead! I shouldn't have been in hospital! I shouldn't have been running in the first place but do you want to know why? Do you want to know why, Martin?" I shout in the loudest voice I've ever heard come out of my own mouth.