AN: Hey guys, I think I might just change this into a 3-shot instead, but I hope you guys like chapter 2 :O
Thanks so much for the reviews, they're really, really appreciated, you have no idea :)
It's been happening more often.
She'd somehow find herself locked in an enclosed space with him: practice room, elevator, photo booth, closet, whichever they could find first. They haven't told anyone, she's sure that if anyone were to know, they'd never hear the end of it. Whatever, either way, at the end of the day, she'd find herself straddled in his tight grip as she clings onto his beach blonde locks, their lips tangled in a desperate attempt for the emotional satisfaction they've missed all these years.
He's just expressing how grateful he is for her help.
They haven't defined it yet, so no, it hasn't been given a name.
Albeit risky, they don't want to give it up and they haven't talked about it yet. She thinks this uncharted ground is much more riveting anyway, and 'boring' old Ally Dawson has never felt more captivated. It was funny how one boy could make her feel so... interesting. Her back is propped up against the front of her shiny new piano in her mini city center apartment; the echos of clunking keys and mismatched notes fill the bland room (he's not kidding when he says he loves music)- but it's not the only thing. Their moans and whimpers tamper her lovely home, because she's never felt so dirty and tainted before.
Another thing she's come to notice, is how even with his eyes half-lidded, he knows exactly what he's doing. Maybe she should be thanking the whores and floozies he's been learning from instead (it's not jealousy, honest).
Before he kisses her, before this ritual starts; no words are exchanged.
It makes her feel used; but she really couldn't care less.
Right now, a meeting with the head of Drop Track records is important, she knows this, as does he, but somehow, they're not focused at all. A nervous frown is finding it's way onto her lips as she glances back and forth at the blonde behind her brunette locks, whilst a poker face is placed on his (he's looking at her though, she knows he is).
Evan Jameson is just another big name in the industry, but he's also his boss, and well technically, hers. So when he says to listen, it'd do you good to do so.
"-The biggest opportunity of a lifetime, the Miami Monster Mash, everyone will be there-" Jameson throws his arms up in the air in an energetic manner, which makes her jump slightly at how passionate he seems to be about this.
She nods because she knows she's supposed to.
"Austin Moon," he's smiling so hard, she thinks it must be painful, "you're going to be legendary."
A pregnant pause, furrowing her brow, she suddenly feels like there's something missing. However, it's not an issue with him, he's grinning from ear to ear. Yes, he's happy- even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes- she feels a gnawing pang in her chest, because this is everything he's ever wanted. Years of tears, sweat and blood, they've finally arrived. She wants this for him, she really does- but she doesn't.
It all doesn't seem as monumental as it should.
"Do we have to write a new set of songs?" Her voice questions shakily because of her conflicting emotions.
With a dismissive wave, Jameson shakes his head, "No, we have enough for the concert."
"Are you sure? Is it the right move-"
"Whats that supposed to mean Ally?" Austin speaks up, and she looks at him; is that hurt she sees in his eyes? No, nononono, she didn't mean it like that; to be honest, she doesn't know how she means it.
"No- Nothing! It's just that you've been busy... and stressed."
God, she sounded pathetic.
"Am I not ready or something?" She cringes as she hears the assertiveness in his voice, the hidden anger that bites at her with mustered up spite and resentment.
"I just don't think it's manageable-"
"Or do you not think I can handle it?"
She narrows her eyes at his tone, frankly, she's getting frustrated as well. Just because he's the fucking face of the media doesn't mean he gets to be treated anymore better than her; his best friend. The make out sessions were fun, she doesn't bother to deny it, but she isn't going to put this- thing (they still haven't defined it yet)- in front of his or her career.
"No," Alright, she thinks, since he's the Rockstar, "You know what? I do believe in you. A hundred percent"
The drink in her hand isn't tasting any better; and the grip on her cup isn't getting lighter. Nauseated; that's how she feels because she just cannot stand how shamelessly these women throw themselves at him. A dry, mirthless laugh escapes her lips as she sinks in the last of her chocolate swirl martini because she recalls being in the exact same position the delightful redhead donning a skimpy red dress is currently in.
"Refill."
Bright, polychromatic lights and shady men- she doesn't exactly like this scenario, neither is she very familiar with it. However, Austin, is obviously in his comfort zone. Ah, she worries for her teeth because if she doesn't stop gritting them, she's going to have to do some serious replacement work. He hasn't talked to her in over a week; she doesn't approach him because she's got more dignity than that to admit for something that she didn't do.
Gulp. One quick swig and she feels the bubbling anger burning away, just slightly, it's not enough to make her feel like hitting the daylights out of the boy any less. Pulsating veins, he's pissed and she knows it; she finds it ironic because it's him with the unfair assumption. Scoffing at the situation before her, a solemn frown graces her lips because Austin Moon has managed to single handed-ly turn Ally Dawson from a goody-goody two shoes, into a cussing, cynical, lonely loser. That wasn't a part of the agreement.
She finds herself glaring at the girl, she thinks her name starts with 'L', something like 'Laney', 'Lacey', 'Lorie'? Whatever. All she knows, is that she cannot stand watching some woman smother herself, scantily clad, grinding against him, because it's just so improper and utterly unprofessional-
Ugh, he's sticking his tongue down her throat now.
Ally's fists curl irritatingly enough, because she isn't supposed to feel bothered by this.
"Take a chill pill girl." A new voice breaks into her head and thought, and she's forced to drag herself out of the anti-social hole she's built for herself.
Looking up, she feels blessed to see her best friend drove all the way from her comfortable apartment uptown to accompany her.
"I'm fine, Trish" Echoing the words Austin had only said days before to her.
Rolling her eyes, she cannot imagine why Ally would ever think she could get away with lying with the Trish; hell, she invented denial, there is no way she wouldn't be able to see her best friend sunk down, buried ten feet under the Nile', "Please, the only reason you haven't actually physically gone over there to stab the gold digging slut is because you're halfway drunk and you know you can't take on... well, anyone."
A high-pitched screech- Trish supposes it could be a giggle- flows out of her normally bubbly brunette best friend's mouth as she takes tiny, tipsy steps forward, "What? I love La-La-Lor-Lan- Whatsherface."
"No you don't."
She hated it. She hated the fact that with just three words, the straight-up attitude her best friend held managed to spew out every inch of pain that engulfed her. It was funny how years, and years of heartache, bottled up and sealed with a fluttery pretty dress could just come tumbling down in mere seconds. Ally Dawson holds a broken expression, and she never wants to burden anyone else, for them to ever see it.
Sarcasm oozed in her voice as she replied, "Gee, how did you know?" She managed a weak smile though. For Trish.
"It's written on your face."
"Not that I've noticed." She shoots back indignantly
"What have you noticed Alls?"
A lot. She's noticed a lot.
Although that train of thought is caught, and she forgets to reply; looking like a deer in headlights, Trish can't help but to smile at her friend's totally lost expression, "Ah, there's the Ms. Dawson I know."
The smile widens and it's real; she can't believe it either. Though, that euphoric, brief moment of pure serendipity doesn't last very long because the second she looks to her right, she finds her favorite flaxen haired rockstar leaving the room in a drunken daze, along with that gorgeous, tactless, classless tramp.
"I don't know Trish," she begins in a hoarse whisper, "I don't know if can do it anymore."
"Do what?"
"Everything."
The next day. He comes crashing on her front door.
No time, he doesn't give her even a second to think.
"What-" She does get a chance to speak- even if only for a mere fraction of a second.
"Shutup," rushes out of his mouth, then he staggers forward in an act of domination.
Although, she's quick this time. So she pushes him backwards in defiance, like his touch burned and singed on contact with her porcelain skin. Staring into his eyes, she thinks she might've seen distress flicker but that could've just been the light playing cruel, cruel tricks on her. He tries once more to step a little closer but she takes a stride backwards.
"What are you doing here?" It comes out as a harsh hiss, "What about yesterday's pick up."
Stuffing his pockets uncertainly, she sees he's losing his cool, but he hasn't taken his relentless gaze off her, "She got boring."
Snorting in derision, she folds her arms; however, relief floods through her guiltily as he speaks, "So that's how it's going to work, when she's not fun anymore I step into the picture?"
"It's not like that." She's heard that one so, so many times already.
Brown sienna eyes, they both challenge each other and her blazing gaze shows no less of the passion she wants to desperately hurl at him, "What is it like then?" The only reason she asks is to humor herself, she's asked him this so many times, it's getting tiresome having to spend so much effort.
He doesn't know; again. So he doesn't answer; again. He let's his lips do the talking because he thinks he's done enough of that on tabloids, magazines, fan sites, blogs, television shows, and he just wants to find solace in something he can hold solidly, that won't disappear or stops mattering after a few hours. Something like Ally Dawson; she hasn't left his side but he thinks he might just be running low on her self-restraint. Right now he doesn't have to apologize, because he's used to getting what he wants. Although he feels her getting impatient, like his chances are starting to run out.
She's not going to just sit and wait there forever.
AN: Sup guys? As much as I enjoy writing this piece, it's not really what I'm used to; I tend to write more fluffy and innocent. This is fun but it's also quite nerve-racking because I've never written in this style before. Also- I admit, they are OC, and don't get me wrong, I LOVE Ally and Austin as bubbly, energetic kids who just love music. However, I wanted to try something different and see a more mature (older) and darker side of them and Austin being so wrapped up in this materialized image of fame like many current celebrities who go through this issue; whilst Ally is this broken girl who's getting sick of being picked up carelessly and then thrown away, taken for granted.
So I apologize if you think they're overly OC, you're not the only one, I SEE IT TOO :O