This was getting out of hand. She saw him everywhere. At work, at the studio, on TV, at the piano in the practise room. She promised herself she wouldn't fall this hard, especially after they broke up. It was hard enough as it was, lying through her teeth and saying that it was for the best. Fuck that. She knew it wasn't. She knew that she needed him a lot more than she liked to admit, but she cared too much about his career. She wasn't going to put his future in jeopardy because she selfishly wanted him to be with her. It affected everything when they were together. They had been friends for so long, she didn't know how to be anything else. She just knew that she wanted to.
Then, as quickly as he was there, he was gone. Gone on tour with their friends, while she stayed back and – once again – acted selfishly. She couldn't deal with herself. She couldn't live with the guilt that consumed every fibre of her being when she was conscious. He was the delivery guy, he was an old lady, he was a pizza guy, he was her dad, he was Nelson for God's sake. He never left, no matter how hard she pushed him.
After her shift was over, Ally raced home and had a hot shower. She needed to clear her mind. She needed any thoughts of him gone or else she would never finish the remaining songs on her demo. She's Ally Dawson. She never had writer's block. She always finished a prize-winning song within a reasonable time.
Then she met Austin.
Austin... Austin. All thoughts rerouted to an image of him sitting on the grand piano, strumming his favourite acoustic guitar to the music of Better Than This, his latest hit they composed together. His messy hair that always looked impossibly soft. His brown eyes that were a little lighter than hers. His mild smile with a radiant glow. He exuded happiness everywhere he went. It wasn't fair that she had to fall for him.
Austin.
It's been forty minutes and she's standing there, still, distracted. Staring at a flaw in the tiles of the wall. The hot water burns as it slips down her bare body. She misses him. Her heart aches. She fucking hates it. She angrily storms out of the shower, the excess water wetting everything she brushes past. She throws on a pair of loose-fitting sweats and a tank top before putting her hair in a sloppy bun. Her hair still drips a little, tickling her neck as gravity pulls it down. She crawls in her warm bed and wraps herself in her favourite duvet and opens the book she's reading at it's marked page, continuing her story and focusing on the protagonist's problems rather than her own for once.
Then he texts her.
From: Austin
Call me?
She hates how immediate her response is. She hates that the next thing she's doing is finding his number in her phone book before she stops and considers it. She hates that she bends for him at a moment's notice.
She fucking hates it.
The phone rings as she waits for an answer.
"Ally?"
"Hey, Austin," she replies.
"I'm glad you called," he admits. "I needed to talk to you. What's up?"
"What's up?" she deadpans, repeating him. "You asked me to call you to ask me how I was?" She was frustrated. She didn't want to think about him. At all. Maybe she'd hit her head in her sleep and she'd forget him. She'd forget he existed.
"Uh," he says quietly. "What's wrong? You seem upset." And then she thinks about how concerned he just sounded and guilt floods her veins because not five seconds ago she wished him out of her life, when he so obviously wants her in his. She rubs her arm softly while she contemplates her next words.
"I'm okay," she lies. "I'm tired. My demo isn't going very well. I'm stumped. I'm working overtime. And I miss you. Guys. I miss you guys," she covers smoothly.
"We miss you too, Ally," he tells her. She can hear the smile in his voice. She smiles a little too.
"So what did you need to talk to me about?" she wonders. She also wonders when this conversation can end. She wants to sleep and dream about a life where she didn't fail her MUNY interview. A life that wasn't turned upside down by two boys.
"I wanted to know if you'd be okay with coming to the Philadelphia show? I know you have your demo to do, but we miss you out here."
Suddenly she isn't in her bed anymore and she isn't speaking to Austin. She's in the front row at a sold out concert, rocking out to her own song, dressed in a sexy get-up while Austin sings The Way That You Do. She's smiling really widely and he winks at her every so often. She's really happy. She hasn't known happiness in so long.
Fifty-four days actually.
She's back in her bed, her foot going numb beneath her body. The phone is still at her ear. She hasn't answered him. She isn't sure how. She wanted more than anything to fly to where he was and have him hold her. But she also wanted to stay home. Maybe if she did she would eventually learn to be happy without him. She was so indecisive.
She fucking hated it.
"Ally?" Austin repeats, confused.
"Uh," she stammers. "I don't know. It's not a good idea. I don't know if the label would be okay with it."
"Aw," he says sadly. Her heart deflates like a balloon getting popped. "Maybe you could ask?"
"I don't know. I.. I'll see. Goodnight, Austin."
"But Ally, wait, I-"
She hangs up. Throws the phone. Screams in frustration. Wipes the streaming tears from her cheeks. Stares out her window at the evening sky. It was beautiful. The sky was an array of purples, oranges, blues and reds. It was endless. Captivating. If this was a movie, the sky would be grey. Rainy. Depressing. You know, pathetic fallacy and all. But no. It's pretty and beautiful and gorgeous. The stars were peeking out from the sky. It was the loveliest thing she's ever seen.
And she fucking hated it.
She throws the duvet – as much as she can because it's the heaviest thing ever – over her head and screams herself to sleep.
But her dreams aren't sacred either. She isn't safe. He's still there, his smile making her warm. She didn't want to hold on to him anymore. She really wanted to move on. But every time she even considered it she felt this undeniably sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't leave him.
She woke up rather lifelessly. She felt dead. She stared out at the window mindlessly. She checked her texts.
5 unread messages.
1 voicemail message.
3 missed calls.
All from Austin. Naturally.
First message: Ally? Are you mad at me?
Second: Ally please answer
Third: Ally
Fourth: Please, I'm sorry for whatever I did.
Fifth: Ally?
She blinked back tears as she checked the voice message.
"Ally? I hope you're not mad at me. You cut off fairly quickly. I really do miss you. Even if you can't come to a show don't ignore me please. I haven't seen you in a while. It's okay to be sad. Maybe you're not sad. You're a lot stronger than me. I'm sad you aren't here. Was it the note? Please just text me back."
She sniffles and wipes her face. She starts crying. Again. Not even a silent one this time. It was considerably noisy. Her dad tried not to look at her too much these days. He wasn't sure how to even go about comforting her. She always cried over Austin. She missed him so much.
She fucking hated it.
The note.
The stupid note that stupid Austin gave her. It made everything worse.
Dear Ally,
I hope you're not reading this. Because if you're reading this, that means you're not on tour with me. But if you're not reading this, that means someone else must be reading this, in which case, please stop reading this. Anyway. Ally, I can't imagine going on tour without you. I mean, none of this would have even happened if it wasn't for you!
I'm really sad that you're not here with me. (I'm also really hungry – I don't want to get this card sticky, so I'm waiting to eat the pancakes that are sitting right here). But I'm really sad because we didn't exactly say goodbye the right way. And I never got to congratulate you on getting signed by Robbie Ramone. I never told you exactly what I wanted to. And I'm not great at saying how I feel, but here goes... I really like you. I never stopped liking you. Even when we broke up (even though we only dated for like, a week) I thought about you all the time. Then I wrote that song about you and we wrote Timeless together. I don't know why we never got back together. But not matter what, I always had the same feeling. You're the smartest, funniest, most talented girl I've ever met. You're also the most beautiful.
Austin
P.S. – There is something else I really want to tell you, but I can't write it down. So when I see you again, remind me to show you (not that I'll forget).
P.P.S – Sorry if my grammar and punctuation wasn't perfect. And sorry if I spelled punctuation wrong. You're the writer, not me.
Her fingers grazed the scratched out words every time she read the note. She smiled and grimaced and got angry every time. She got so emotional when she did.
And she fucking hated it.
She found herself hating a lot of things. Everything reminded her of him and he made her mad. Sometimes she wonders how different the last few months would have been if they didn't break up. She'd like to think they'd still be together now while he's on tour. But at the same time, she doesn't like to think that because then she regrets everything she did.
She quickly responds to everything he sent.
To: Austin
It's not you, it's me.
She barely has time to process her words before he texts back.
From: Austin
Gee, where have I heard that before.
From: Austin
Right, every awfully written movie. Seriously, what's up. I'm worried about you.
She huffs in frustration.
To: Austin
I'm fine, Austin. Relax. I'm fine.
She hated that word. Fine. What did it mean exactly? Did it mean that she was emotionally average and stable? Because she wasn't. Did it mean that she wasn't hurting? Because she was. Did it mean that nothing was wrong? Because there was. She wasn't fine.
She fucking hated it.
From: Austin
Jesus, Ally. You know you can talk to me right?
To: Austin
For god's sake Austin, leave me alone. I'm fine! Hunky dory! Superb! Is that what you wanted to hear? What do you want from me?!
From: Austin
I want you tell me the truth.
To: Austin
Which is what, exactly?
From: Austin
I want you to tell me you miss me.
From: Austin
I miss you.
From: Austin
Why is it so hard for you to accept what you're feeling?
To: Austin
Austin, please. Stop.
From: Austin
Stop what!?
To: Austin
I'm okay Austin.
From: Austin
Really?
To: Austin
Yes.
From: Austin
Fine.
That word again. She closes her phone and readjusts her attention to a crack in the drywall. Fine. He couldn't use that word. He was better than fine – he was on tour! With their friends. He was living out his dream. He didn't have the right to be mad. He was more than fine. He was okay. She wasn't.
And she fucking hated it.
It's a few days since they last spoke. Their words still fresh in her mind. His persistence and her denial. It was hard to deal with. She wanted him home but she wanted him gone.
Work was rough. Customers seemed happier, while she was miserable. Nelson was getting better at the piano while she was getting seemingly worse. Cold Saturday nights were lonely and full of marathons of old shows. Her demo went nowhere. It was stuck. She was stuck.
"Welcome to Sonic Boom, how may assist you?" she says to an incoming customer without so much as a glance their way.
"Actually," he says. "I'm here for my acoustic guitar. I left it with a good friend while I was away."
She looks up slowly at the sound of his voice. It was like a combination of liquid honey and a rich coffee cream. She doesn't really process everything properly.
"I, uh, think we have just the one you're looking for upstairs," she says to him nervously. She takes a deep breath and swallows.
He looks down at her with soft eyes, filled with concern. "Hi," he says quietly.
"Hi," she whispers.
He walks slowly around the counter and they stand chest-to-chest. He interlocks his fingers with hers lightly. "Are you okay?" he asks.
She gathers the strength to say yes, but crumples. "No," she whimpers, hugging his waist.
"Didn't think so," Austin replies. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes.
Everything she felt since the beginning of the tour vanished like smoke and replaced itself with warmth, wholesomeness and togetherness. Because of him.
And she fucking loved it.