The Arts

FanFiction about Mazzi Maz. and more sex.
Violence as well. ;D


40. Training Senses

Maz’s P O V

On our way home, we saw a few tags on the walls; amazing ones might I add. This gave me a perfect idea.

I stopped walking, babe?

“What’s up?” she asked.

Will you go on a date with me?

She blushed, “Of course, I would love to”


“Yea” she looked down.

Let’s go home & change and then we’ll go out, but dress casual cause it’s a surprise. She nodded and I pulled her closer to me as we went home.


“Dad?” she asked aloud.

“Yes, dear?” he replied.

“Maz and I are going out for a while, if you don’t mind” she looked at him with her big beautiful eyes.

“I don’t know Marceline, I don’t want anything bad to happen to the two of you” he hesitated.

“Pleaseeeeee?” she pouted.

Don’t worry Dave, I’ll keep my promise. I smiled.

“*sigh*, alright, I suppose she can go out as long as she’s with you. You two be careful and there is no curfew but do not take advantage of that, understood?” he pointed.

“Thank you Dad!” she jumped up and hugged him.

Thank you Dave, she’s in good hands. I reassured him.

“I know but she’s my . . . my little girl. Take good care of her” he whispered to me. “You take good care of Maz; he’s too much of a keeper to lose” he told Mars.

“I’m gonna freshen up real quick” she skipped to the room. I nodded and had my book bag with me.

“So, where are you two going?” Dave asked, sitting down.

I’m gonna take her to look at some art. I grinned.

“There’s an art gallery around here?” he asked.

Oh, there’s an art gallery basically everywhere.

“Oh, you’re taking her to those places” he indicated.

Yea, but I’m not taking her into dark alleys or anything. I’m gonna take her to the busy streets of London and have a look.

“Well, when you put it that way then . . .  I guess-”

“I’m ready to go!” Mars popped a seat next to me.

Perfect, well Dave, we’ll see you later. Have a good night.

“Call if anything” he stood up and followed us to the door.

“Bye Dad, I’ll see you in a little bit” she kissed his cheek.

He waved goodbye and closed the door behind us.

“So where to first?” she rested her head on my upper arm as we walked down the steps.

Downtown. I wrapped my arm around her to keep her warm.

“What are we gonna do there?” she asked.

We are gonna go on our date. I smiled.

“You’re so descriptive” she added, sarcastically.

I kiss her cute, cold, little nose and made our way to the train station. She nuzzled into my lower chest/pecks in a cute, childish manner.

Are you cold babe?

She shook her head.

Are you hungry?

She shook her head.

Are you bored?

She shook her head.

Is there something wrong?

She nodded. “The train station . . .”

What’s wrong with it? Wanna take a cab or a bus?

Why is she acting like this all of a sudden? What’s wrong with the train- fuck, I forgot; Donna.

Oh crap, I’m sorry Marceline. C’mon, let’s go take a cab.

She nodded and took my hand. It was weird the way she clung onto me. She kept nuzzling into my chest and holding onto my jacket. It seems like she felt bad for what she did or she just doesn’t want to remember anything about it.

I know I messed up big time and I’m truly sorry; I understand if you just wanna go home.

“No Maz, I’m fine and you don’t have to apologize. It’s my fault that, that happened; not yours. Let’s just forget about it and go on with our date” she smiled.

We made our way downtown and walked by some breathtaking art. But seeing art isn’t what I intended for the date; making art is what I prefer doing.

Thankfully she didn’t question the reason why I brought my bag with me. I filled it with some spray cans & masks. What better way to create art than to be with the one you love? Exactly.  

Babe, you wanna do some graffiti?

“O-Oh” she said surprised, “Okay but we gotta get some cans first”

I lift the strap of my book bag repeatedly, I’m right ahead of ya’

She grinned and wrapped her arms around mine; walking down the avenue. We walked in comfortable silence ‘til she started bumping into everything and not responding to a single word I was saying . . .

Lexi’s P O V

I walked inside the gym and there were all these fuckers, smoking and juicing (steroids).

“Hey babe, you wanna wrestle?” some greaser asked.

You can’t fucking handle me, even on your best days bitch. I sneered.

You could hear a bunch of guys laughing at his attempts to flirt with me.

“Feisty are we? What are you here for, your boyfriend or a gang bang?” he and his boys laughed.

Neither you dumb fuck, I’m here to talk to a professional fighter.

“Right this way babe” he opened a door to a huge boxing ring with other people training.

Eww, don’t ever call me ‘babe’, got it? He chuckled and I walked passed him. I can feel that asshole’s eyes on my ass.

He closed the door behind me and I walked closer to the ring.

“C’mon punch, punch! Alright good, now kick!” a young guy yelled at some guy. He’s tall and kinda reminds me of someone but I can’t put my finger on it. There were many other people on the ring training but something about him stood out to me.

The guy doing the exercises could barely keep up with him; wimp.

“Alright, that’s enough for today. You’re doing a lot better but you must practice on your kicking” he patted the man on the shoulder and got out of the ring.

I stood there waiting for him to come my way but I wasn’t going to acknowledge him. On the corner of my eye, I saw him noticing me. “Hey, what is a beautiful girl like you doing in a grungy place like this?” he walked over to me.

I want to be trained to fight is all. I want to learn.

 “I don’t wanna get you all sweaty for fighting but I’d work you up a sweat for something else” he winked.

Look, I saw you training that guy over there. I like your style, train me. I said seriously.

“So you were checking me out?” he flexed.

Only the way you trained, not your looks. I derided.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll train you for free if you accept my efforts to get to know you better; deal?” he stuck his hand out.

I’m only interesting in fighting, not for a relationship. Just train me and I’ll pay you whatever price it is you want, it isn’t all that hard.

“Oh, but something else is hard” he wiggled his eyebrow.

Forget it, I made a mistake in coming here. I turned around but was stopped by him holding me back.

“Don’t leave. Look, I’ll train you but let me just get to know you a teeny bit, yea? You seem like a nice person to talk to and I wanna get to know you. Plus, this is my first time in London so I don’t know a lot of people here. C’mon, what to you say?” he looked at me with sad puppy eyes.

We train and that’s it, no more, no less.

“Alright, alright, I can live with that. As long as I see your beautiful face every day, I have no problem with that whatsoever” he smirked.

So where can I get changed?

“I was thinking my house but the locker rooms are straight ahead” he winked.

I rolled my eyes at him and took my sweet time walking to the locker rooms. It surprised me that these idiots have locker rooms for girls considering the fact that there aren’t any around. I walked in and changed into some black leggings and a training bra. Over it, I wore a tight red shirt and slipped on a pair of sneakers. I left my bag in one of the lockers and walked out to be trained by that flirting idiot.

“Oi, you’re very fit” he practically eye-fucked me.

Can we start training you idiot? I growled. He smiled and led the way into the ring.

“Alright first, we gotta stretch so we’re gonna bend over and touch your toes” he instructed.

I bent down and noticed he shot straight back up. “Okay, you’re doing well. Actually, very well might I add” he said checking me out.

I sprung up, Okay, I’m out of here.

“No, come back, please? Sorry I was checking you out but you’re very beautiful” he said.

God, it’s been how long since he said those words to me. Believe it or not; he did. The only fucked up thing was that he only said it because he was in the heat of the moment. When he was undressing me, he’d whisper sweet things to me and being the stupid bitch that I was; I fell for it. I fell for it and I fell for it hard. Never again will I be made a fool of, never. Sorry Maz, but I’m not your rag doll anymore.

Just train me! I shouted in frustration.

“I will just- sorry. Let’s just get to work” he sighed. Fucking, finally! I’ve been waiting to hear those fucking words from him since when?!

After fifteen minutes of stretching, he brought some punching pads and slipped his hands into them. He slapped them together and instructed me to kick. I mimicked his moves and kicked the pad very hard.

“Holy shit” he gasped, “you hit really hard”

Good, that should be a warning to you. Don’t try anything slick and you won’t get hit. I said, lifting my other leg to kick the other pad.

“Nothing I can’t handle though” he smiled. Wow, this guy is a piece of shit.

He set up the pads again, having them ready for me to kick. I ignored his comment and kept my mind focused on my training. I am determined to kill myself training. I will not give up . . . I will not give up . . . I will not give up!

Suddenly, he put his hands down and spoke. “That’s enough of kicking for now. Let’s do some sit-ups now” he stated.

He told me to lay down, flat on my back; as I did he held my feet and started counting the sit-ups I did.

“What are you thinking about?” he interrupted. I ignored him again and continued exercising.

“You can’t ignore me forever babe, I am your trainer after all” he taunted.

I can always find another one, I managed to say.

He chuckled, “I like you.” I ignored him still and focused on my counting.

“Alright, that’s enough sit-ups; let’s go to the punching bags” he led the way.


“Alright babe, that’s it for today’s training. I gotta admit, you are really good and you’re a fast learner; I like that” he said.

Before I let him continue, I rolled my eyes at him and was gonna walk away from him until he held me back.  

“Wait . . .”

We’re done right?

“Well yea but-”

So then there’s no point in me staying here, now let go. I growled.

“Why are you like this? Usually girls would-”

Right, usually girls would throw themselves at you or fight over you, correct? Usually you would get a girl to fall for you the second you start to flirt with them, am I right? And correct me if I’m wrong but, never in your life had you ever had to deal with a girl who didn’t bother to acknowledge your existence?

“Look all I’m trying to say is-”

Answer my questions.

“Yeah, I admit you’re right but you gotta give me a chance. I’m not really like that I’m a-”

‘Give you a chance’? You want me to give you, a flirty little bastard, a ‘chance’; a chance for what exactly, huh? A chance to get on my good side just so you can fuck me and leave me; I don’t think so. And oh sure you’re not ‘really like that’ I bet; BULLSHIT! You’re just like every guy out there. You want a piece of something that’ll ‘do for now’ and leave it behind when you find ‘something’ better. Well guess what?! I’m not a fucking resource you prick! I spat at him. His face looked shocked but turned-on in a way; I have no idea, this guy is just plain weird.

In a split second, his lips targeted mine and before I could move; it was too late, he had already kissed me. I pushed him off me, you fucking idiot!

“You certainly didn’t hesitate to kiss back you hypocrite” he smiled.

Don’t fucking do that, ever AGAIN! I sped walked to the locker rooms.

“Hey!” he ran to follow me. “I know you want me” he caught up to me.

No, I don’t want you. I don’t want anyone! And go ahead, try that little stunt you pulled just then; I swear to fucking-

Again, his lips met mine as he roughly pushed me through the locker room doors; making me fall on the metal bench, with him still on my lips. Okay, the first time he kissed me, I didn’t feel a thing but this time I felt something; no, not a spark but a memory.

I snapped out of my little thought and kneed him in the groin. What the fuck did I just say, huh?! I say to never to that to me again you prick! And with that I grabbed my bag and left him on the floor, whimpering and holding onto his pain.

As I pushed the doors open, hearing his voice echo through; I couldn’t help but smirk. This idiot really won’t give up; I can use him to my advantage but first, I gotta learn how to fight. On a side note, he really looks familiar but I just cannot say who.


The cool breeze hit my body like a wave and it felt good. I felt optimistic about being in charge of my life again. I felt optimistic about how I’ll handle myself from now on. And lastly, I felt optimistic about my plans to handle Marceline.

Maz’s P O V

. . . Marceline, are you okay?

She didn’t respond, she made freaky whimpering noises; like a child who’s being scared by something. She looked lost, afraid . . . senseless.

*bump* “Oi, what’s the matter with you; are you blind!” shouted a man at Marceline.

Fuck off, yea?! She’s obviously having a little trouble right now ya dickhead! The man shook his head and kept walking; fucking dumbass.

But there is definitely something wrong with Marceline, she walked straight ahead without acknowledging the man she bumped into.

Marceline! I shouted as I shook her. What’s wrong, why are you acting like this? She grabbed onto my forearms and it seemed she tried to talk. She tried to speak but it seemed like she didn’t know how.

“Maz? Maz!! I can’t see anything! I can’t hear anything, please help me Maz!” she cried. Never in my life have I ever seen something like this; I’m really scared.

I didn’t know what to do; I would talk to her but then realize she’s deaf at the moment. All I could do was hug her to let her know that I’m there.

Marceline, I know you can’t hear me but I’m gonna take you to the hospital okay?! I kissed the top of her head and both her hands hung onto one of mine.

I called a cab and waited ’til we got to a hospital. On the way there, I held onto her closely; letting her only working senses recognize that she is safe with me.


I ran to the front desk and shouted for a doctor, a nurse, anybody! In an instant, I had a doctor ask about the situation. As I told him, his eyes widened and called for a wheelchair right away. As they sat her down, she was being separated by me. They were gonna put her in a room and start the analysis but I wasn’t allowed to be with her.

I could see her getting even more scared about the situation. She had her arms out, shouting and crying. She still had trouble speaking. I tried holding her hand but they didn’t let me. I tried to explain to the doctors and nurses that she’s afraid and uncomfortable about everything without me but they still didn’t let me. I was only allowed to follow them to the room but on the way there I was to keep my distance. I couldn’t even hold her hand or hug her. They treated her as if she had some insane, horrible, contagious infection.

They stopped rolling her wheelchair and immediately laid her down on a stretcher in a room and hooked her up on machines. Needles going into the back of her hands and inner arms, breathing tubes inserted into her nostrils and nurses doing somewhat of a physical on her. Checking her eyes and ears but they shook their heads in frustration. I bet they knew what was wrong but they didn’t know why. They left the room with her unattended . . . with her beating herself up.

To be quite honest, the way she looked around scared me. She looked like a mindless zombie. She kept banging her head with her hands in attempt to try to make her ears ‘work again’. Her eyes watered up when she knew her sight and hearing didn’t function again. She would blink hard and widely open her eyes, hoping she’d gain her vision. She had Q-Tips with her and she’d constantly use them every minute to check for her hearing to come back to her again. She’d hit her head really hard with a white-knuckled fist. She’d shout very loud; you’d think someone was performing surgery on her with no anesthesia. The way she’d grasp her hospital sheets to hold in her cries, hoping for something . . . anything. She’d look around with her mouth slightly open and her hands waving in front of her face. Her free-hand touching her eyelids, making sure she had them open. Sadly, they were and sadly, she still couldn’t see. She’d bang on the bed of slam the back of her head to the rails of the bed. She was scared. She was a tortured soul. She was fading . . .

And what was even worse was that I couldn’t do anything about it.

The glass of her room was very thick but I could slightly hear her screaming my name but as much I tried to detain myself from breaking in there and holding her; I couldn’t. There was a male nurse holding me back and trying to comfort me in my time of need. But I would shout at him, telling him that someone needed to help her in her time of need; but he wouldn’t listen . . . no one would.

She kept screaming my name, I know she was. I could read her lips a bit and was able to hear it at times. I could see her veins pop out of her neck, temple and arms. Screaming, slamming her head to things, and grasping onto the railings of the bed or the sheets. Either way, screaming my name didn’t help, neither did my screaming. I would see her bash her head more and more, I witnessed her trying new things to test her off-senses. I saw her scratching and gripping the sheets; scratching and gripping her skin.

Marceline was scared. Marceline was a tortured soul. Marceline was fading . . .

I shouted at the nurse to help her out before she ends up killing herself or hurting herself even more but he didn’t. Instead, he called nurses and doctors to help with the situation. Moments later, a nurse walked into the room, causing Marceline to stop what she was doing and focus on the nurse. As the door was opened momentarily, I could hear Marceline’s heart monitor beat faster than the usual. I could feel the anger, the frustration, the fright, the sadness, the worry Marceline was going through at the moment. And it tore me up inside even more.

She didn’t see the nurse but she certainly felt her presence. Since Marceline lost two of her senses at the moment, the three working ones are enhanced. I saw her moving her lips but I couldn’t hear her voice for the nurse shut the door. The nurse had a long needle in her hand and filled it up with some liquids. I stopped fighting the male nurse who was holding me back and I just broke down right then and there and stared at the nurse’s hand.

She lightly took hold of and held Marceline’s hand. Marceline didn’t know what to feel; calm or frightened. The nurse slowly held her hand a tad bit tighter and inserted the long needle into Marceline’s upper arm. At the moment, Marceline didn’t fight her; it’s as if she knew what the nurse was doing to her.

Marceline was sedated . . .

Her body now slowly losing its energy, her eyes slowly closing and her breathing now regulating, the tenseness of her joints loosened up and the grip her fingers had on the sheets began to unfold.

The nurse set hooked her up to even more machines, tucked her in and left; just like that, as if nothing severe ever happened.

My legs didn’t support me anymore, I didn’t fight it either. I slipped down from the nurse’s arms and sat on the floor, staring at Marceline’s body. I know she was sedated but to me . . . it looked like she was put to sleep; dead.

I couldn’t let it sink it . . . I didn’t want to.

The male nurse trusted me and knew I wasn’t going to break in. I was too afraid to see her in the state that she was in. I would constantly check on her chest to make sure she was only sedated and not killed. Call me stupid but anyone would do the same thing if their loved one was injected by something that calmed them down. But you’d suspect if they were calmed down or calmed down. Either way, you’d wanna know if their heart was still beating.

The heart monitor wasn’t enough proof of her living. For all I know, she could’ve been brain dead and the machines were helping her breathe; without them she’d be lifeless . . . dead. But I didn’t want to think like that; to be honest, I didn’t want to think at all. Not even about Marceline.

I was scared to think about anything that had to do with her, it didn’t matter if it was positive or negative; I just didn’t want to. But sadly, a person can’t stop thinking, it’s impossible to do so. But the way I just plopped on the floor had me emotionless, senseless, brain-dead, and oblivious to things made it seem as if I too was a mindless zombie; toughtless. My eyes stuck to her and only her. The voices of people didn’t faze me. The voice in my head didn’t even faze me.

My Marceline . . . is fading. 

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