Garrix & Me (Martin Garrix Fanfiction)

Chapter 37

Zoe's POV

I flinch as Martin slams the door shut behind him. My heart is beating quicker than it should as I turn back around to the mirror to fix my hair.

He really needs to sort out his temper problems. If anything, he shouldn't be angry with Nick because at least I didn't walk home alone. It's always Nick that's there when Martin disappears on me so why shouldn't I trust him? It's as if Martin knows he's in the wrong but still gets angry at nothing. At me, actually. God knows why because I haven't done anything wrong.

The thought of Martin being jealous of Nick crosses my mind. Maybe he is, but of course he'll never admit it. Why would he be jealous of Nick anyway? Martin is just over protective of me ever since what happened at the party back home. The fact that he doesn't trust me to keep myself safe is what makes my own temper rise to the surface.

Who does he think he is, storming in here pretending he cares and was worried? If he really did care, maybe he wouldn't have stood me up. But of course, Martin excuses his own shitty behavior because that's the selfish, self absorbed person that he is.

I throw the hairbrush onto the wooden dresser and it skids off the edge landing on the floor with a loud cracking sound. I allow myself to breathe in and breathe out, steadying my anger toward that thing sitting in my living room.

Glancing in the mirror, I find I don't look too bad. My hair decided to fall into waves that look like loose curls and it hasn't frizzed out which must be by some divine miracle. I don't like make up but it's made me look a lot less paler than usual and if I do say so myself, it looks sort of nice.

I unplug my phone from where it sits charging and slip it into my back pocket. Applying a stroke of lip gloss, I prepare myself to face Martin. I take one last glance in the mirror before swinging open the door.

The hallway light has been switched on and as I walk toward the living room, I hear shuffling.

I slow down and peek around the wall at the end of the hallway. Martin stands shirtless above his suitcase, furiously drying his hair with a towel. Little droplets of water run down middle crevice in his back. I watch as his arm muscles contract and then relax, his biceps bulging with the action. I have to gulp to keep my mouth from hanging open. His black jeans hang low on his hips as he throws the towel on the couch and bends down, pulling out a black t-shirt. I roll my eyes.

Suddenly he turns around and I take a step back into the shadows of the hallway. His eyes focus on the floor and he scans the room before spotting his white sneakers tossed beside the couch. He shoves his feet into them whilst running a hand through his damp hair.

I take a deep breath and step away from my hiding place. He immediately glances up, his eyes raking up and down my body shamelessly. A blush creeps into my cheeks and I look away, still angry with him. Before I do, I notice the sentence imprinted on his t-shirt - "I am the issue".

I grab the doorknob and open the door, stepping into the corridor. Martin jumps off the couch just as I move to close it. I flinch as his hand brushes mine and speed walk to the elevator, hearing him following behind. We step in and I push the ground floor button.

Martin stands opposite, and I feel his eyes on me without even looking at him. Instead, I focus my eyes on the mirror in the elevator. The first thing I notice is Martin's right hand. It's red, with small cuts where blood has dried and congealed over them.

"What happened to your hand?" I gasp quietly, involuntarily taking a step toward him and reaching for his hand.

Martin jerks away from me, scowling.