Maps Maroon 5 Lyrics

After joining the nation's top research lab as a sophomore, everyone assumes I've taken shortcuts to get there. Mom throws away the handmade gift I had spent days crafting and says with disdain, "I don't have a daughter who's this shameless." Andreas Fitzgerald, my fiance, doesn't hold back, either. He warns coldly, "Remember your place as Mrs. Fitzgerald." Later, when my younger sister, Elaine Wilde, destroys my left hand, they all pressure me to drop the matter. I wake up in the hospital, pain crawling up my arm, and I know exactly what I have to do. Without hesitation, I dial my mentor, George Landon's, number. "I'm ready to join the classified national rocket program."

When my stepbrother, William Carson, and I get caught up in an avalanche, the search and rescue team is quick to find us. But they only have one stretcher, meaning only one of us can get rescued first. My dad grabs my hand as he tells me, "Wilfred, William has a weak constitution. Please give the spot to him. You can wait for the team to come back for you." In my previous life, I believed my dad, so I gave the spot of survival away to William. But later on, the blizzard picked up again, which suspended the search and rescue team's efforts to save me. That was how I froze to death on the mountain. William ended up inheriting all of my assets. He also officially got together with my fiancee, Violet Hathaway, who was cheating on me with him the entire time. As my soul levitated over the funeral, I heard my dad telling the guests, "Wilfred has always been defiant since young. The fact that he traded his own life for William's is enough to make his death worthwhile." When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the moment my dad is holding my hand. This time, I just nod quietly with tears in my eyes. Once again, I watch as William is placed onto the stretcher. I'd like to see whose death is the worthwhile one.

After our company loses the eight-million-dollar deal, my girlfriend, Lindsey Corwell, gets mad at me for the first time ever. She goes as far as to heavily insult me in front of everyone in the company. Once we get home at night, she retains her professionalism. "There's no such thing as a romantic relationship between us when it comes to work. The fact that you screwed up still stands. This is your fault." Meanwhile, Lindsey's junior, Gerald Whitaker, sends me an apologetic text. "This is all my fault, Julian. I'm the one who screwed up the deal. Lindsey bought me a cupcake to comfort me. It's pretty delicious. Let me buy you a cupcake as well." The next morning, Lindsey chucks the breakfast I've made for her into the trash can without hesitation. "I told you many times that I don't eat breakfast!" At work, my colleague, Joshua Miller, suddenly approaches me and begins sharing gossip with me. "The newbie really is fearless, eh? He actually had the guts to start a conversation with Ms. Corwell and even bought her breakfast! Guess what happened after that? Not only did she eat it, but she also claimed that it was tasty!" Oh, so that's how it goes, huh? Whatever. Anyway, the woman who keeps texting me is still trying to get me to switch lovers. "If worse comes to worst, I don't mind being a side chick! C'mon, give me a try!" I purse my lips in return. "It's fine. You shall be my official girlfriend now."

I took my parents-in-law, Edmund and Macy Hale, out to a restaurant. When it was time to pay, we ran into my husband’s female assistant, Vera Rhodes. Seeing Mrs. Hale packing up the leftover bouillabaisse she had been drinking, Vera marched over and slapped the takeaway bag out of her hands. The soup splashed all over Mrs. Hale in an instant. "If you can’t afford to eat here, then don’t come," she sneered. "Look at you, reeking of poverty. How do people like you deserve to be Mr. Orion Hale’s in-laws? Don’t embarrass him." I asked the restaurant to prepare a fresh portion of fish soup to go. Before anyone could respond, Vera slapped me to the ground. "This is a members-only restaurant. You’re using Mr. Hale’s card, aren’t you?" she mocked. "Can’t you earn your own money? You need his money to support your hillbilly parents?" Mr. Hale was so enraged that he was rushed to the hospital. I called Orion and asked him to come sign the surgery consent form. He laughed coldly. "Vera already told me everything. Your dad even needs to trick me into paying medical bills now? Has your whole family gone insane from poverty? "If you’re going to die, then hurry up and die. Just don’t die in front of me. It’s bad luck."

Mom accidentally adds me into a group chat called "Happy Family". In the group chat, I saw Mom, Dad, and a stranger who's nicknamed "sweetheart". They are in the middle of organizing a birthday party for him. However, the thing is, tomorrow will be my birthday, which they have forgotten for the tenth time in a row. Mom says, "The venue must be dreamy. I want him to feel like an actual prince." Dad transfers a huge sum of money to "sweetheart". "Money is no problem! Just don't let Christopher find out about this. It'll screw things up for us!" I quietly take screenshots of everything, planning to find a chance to expose my parents' true colors and end everything with them once and for all. At that moment, my younger sister, who's always been great at her studies, sends me a screenshot via our private chat. It's a screenshot of the chat history between her and Mom. "Mom, have you made preparations for Christopher's surprise party yet? You promised me that this is the last time you'd lie to him!"

I was treating some friends to dinner at the private club my cousin owned. When we wrapped up, I waved over a server. "Just put it on Nick's tab." The server nodded, but a manager I'd never seen stepped in to block her. Wearing a smile that never reached her eyes, she said, "Sir, Bosco is a members-only establishment. We don't offer tabs." I felt a flicker of irritation. "I'm the owner's cousin. Just let him know." She let out a sharp, mocking laugh and slapped a bill onto the table. Eighty-eight thousand. Exclusive suite atmosphere maintenance fee, ten thousand. High‑end social network filtration fee, twenty thousand. Spontaneous entertainment ambience enhancement fee, fifteen thousand. And a mess of other miscellaneous charges. Since when did Nick's place dare to bleed customers dry like this? "What's wrong? Can't pay and now you're trying to name‑drop?" She looked me up and down with an arrogant tilt of her chin. "I've seen plenty of our boss's relatives. Not one of them is as broke, pretentious, and shameless as you." Right in front of her, I dialed Nick and put the call on speaker. "Ten minutes," I said. "Make sure she disappears from my sight. Otherwise, I'm revoking your authorization for this club."

I paid Curtis Robinett 200 thousand dollars a month to be a standby blood donor. My fiancée, Eden May, thought it was a waste of money. So she reassigned him to work part-time as her personal assistant instead. When Curtis accidentally submitted my marriage license appointment as a divorce filing for the 99th time, I kicked open Eden's office door. She didn't even look up. "We're in no rush to get married anyway," she said calmly. "Curtis is just careless. That's how he's always been." Later, in the emergency room, I called Eden while doctors rushed around me, my throat shredded from yelling. "Where's my emergency medical kit?" I rasped. "What did you do with it?" Curtis answered instead, his voice warm and smug. "You mean the expensive leather bag you kept in the cabinet? I swapped it out for a large party snack box. It holds everything just fine, and honestly, it looks a lot more cheerful. "Ms. May's brother and sister-in-law are both career soldiers. Your bag didn't really match that image, so I thought this would be more appropriate." My vision dimmed. My hands shook as I told Curtis to come donate blood. Eden laughed softly and cut in, "Stop pretending you're anemic just to get attention. If you're actually sick, deal with it. You're at the hospital; I think the doctors are fully capable of keeping you alive. Curtis is afraid of needles. He's not coming." Then, she hung up. She didn't appear until the surgical lights finally went dark. "Curtis had me bring you chocolate milk," she said. "It's good for recovery. It's not that he didn't want to help. He just faints at the sight of blood." She placed a settlement waiver on my bed. "I was the one who told him not to come. That 200-thousand-dollar monthly salary is his pay as my assistant. It has nothing to do with you. You didn't have to call the police for that. Sign this, and I'll go get the marriage license with you." I thought of what I had just seen in the operating room. Eden's brother, Harvey May, was bleeding out on the operating table, waiting for a lifesaving drug that never came. In the final moments of surgery, he could do nothing but lie there and die. I looked at her and said evenly, "You're the immediate family. It's not my place to sign that."

After I get off work from the hospital, I decide to exercise by taking my mountain bike out on a ride. However, that's when I find out that the seat of my mountain bike has been lowered. There's even a blue sticky note with a scribbled heart pasted on the bike handle. I call my wife, Sabrina Yellin. "Who took my bike on a ride?" After a few seconds of silence, Sabrina replies nonchalantly, "Kelly's boyfriend wanted to learn how to ride a mountain bike yesterday, so he practiced a few laps with your bike. What's wrong, though? Is the bike damaged in any way?" Kelly's boyfriend? But he had boasted about going on an overseas vacation for one whole month last week on his social media account. My gut feeling tells me that something's fishy about this whole thing. So, I just curl my lips into a smirk. "Nah. He can keep using it." After that, I push the mountain bike back to its original parking slot. Then, I find myself two needles so that I can insert them into the seat. Three days later, when I'm working the night shift at the hospital, a nurse rushes in hurriedly. "Dr. Hart, there's a male patient in the ER right now. He claims that his crotch was stabbed by needles when he was riding his bike earlier."

I'd loved my childhood friend, Colleen Decker, for ten years, until a car accident changed everything. She loses the ability to walk and never stands again. Her fiance, Ronald Coleman, and other self-proclaimed admirers disappear overnight. Even the Decker family turns their backs on her, cutting her off as the heiress. I'm the only one who stays by her side. I drop out of school and spend two years caring for her, doing everything I can to find the best specialists in the country. However, the moment she gets back on her feet—during the proposal I'd prepared—she announces in front of everyone that she's continuing her engagement to Ronald. When I confront her, Colleen grabs my hand, her voice soft and earnest. "Lucius, I'm not doing this because I want to. I'm marrying him to get back at him for walking away from me back then. You have to believe me. I only love you." But during a game of Truth or Dare, Ronald draws the King card. He points at me and says, "Lucius, choose any girl here and kiss her for one minute." I look to Colleen for help, but she turns her head away. "Don't look at me. I belong to Ronald now."

My mom is 71 years old. Thanks to her arthritis acting up, she's in so much pain that she can't descend the stairs at all. She tentatively calls me and asks if she can rent an apartment that comes with an elevator of its own. But my wife, Lucy Glaser, brings out the household ledger and points at the red numbers on the pages. "Last month, you bought yourself a tie, which is 300 dollars beyond our monthly budget. Yet now you're planning on adding another impulsive expense?" Only then do I realize that I don't even have the freedom to buy myself a tie despite earning an annual salary of tens of millions of dollars. My mom is still trying to explain herself in a humble tone over the phone. "Oh, please don't feel troubled about it, Caleb. I was just asking on a whim. I've already grown used to my old home anyway…" After I end the call, I feel rather stuffy in my chest. What's there for me to feel troubled about? After all, I'm a partner of a top-tier law firm who earns tens of millions of dollars every year. The one who keeps standing in my way is Lucy, who's only a mid-level lawyer yet insists on controlling my finances. She also calls herself the best candidate for the household asset allocation.