All Damn Day | Post Malone

Chapter 5

Austin

"Come on man, you're really not coming out with us?" Tyla sounds put out by the notion, and it's enough to make him feel a little bit guilty about staying behind. But he knows Tyla will be knee deep in strippers and booze within the first half hour of being there and he won't even be able to pick Austin out of a lineup, and that's enough to make most of that guilt ebb away.

"Nah, I have to be up early." It's not technically a lie, but it's also not technically the truth, and he doesn't like that he has to make that distinction but he can't let anyone know the real reason he's staying behind.

She's been on his mind all day.

He'd originally planned to go to the club and come back earlier than the others so he could possibly get some rest— he hated being tired for photoshoots—but after the event that occurred earlier in the day, he'd decided to forego the club altogether.

He knew she'd be home, too—he couldn't recall ever seeing her at an outing with the rest of the team—and being alone with her was very necessary for the conversation he wanted to have, not to mention for the activity that would most likely follow that conversation, if all went to plan.

It wasn't that he was hard up—he could go to the club right now and get a dozen women to come home with him, if he wanted—but he wanted to help her, for some reasons he knew and other reasons he didn't fully understand.

"Careful, you're gonna lose your baller status," Tyla informs him, and Austin wants to tell him that he stopped really caring about his baller status a long time ago. He isn't quite sure anyone would understand that, though, considering his brand is mostly built around it and image is everything in this town, so he holds his tongue and keeps up appearances as best he can, just like he's been doing for the past six months.

"As if I'd ever let that happen," he grins, chuckling when Tyla laughs. He kind of wishes Tyla would hear how forced the sound is, just to know that his best friend actually knew him, but he guesses it's easier that he doesn't.

Everyone bids him goodbye an hour later, faces he knew and faces he didn't convening in the living room before piling into buses and taking off towards the L.A. nightlife. It's early for them to be leaving, but it's a long way to the center of Los Angeles, and he knows they'll all be faded by the time they get there—they weren't the type to waste any time.

He's left alone in the quiet house then, just him and the voices from the TV he has on, and he can't remember the last time he was well and truly alone.

He doesn't like it very much.

It gives him too much of a chance to rest, too long to let the mask slip completely off his face, and he almost seeks out a mirror before realizing he's too afraid of what he'll see.

Ugggh. He hates it when he gets like this. It's been happening too often lately, the things that kept him happy no longer keeping him so, and it's a feeling he knows will drown him if he lets himself sink into it for too long. He needs something new, something for him to look at so he doesn't have to look at himself, and he figured that pretty blue eyes in a sweet face with golden skin is one of the better things he could lay his eyes on.

Beyond that, he actually wants to help her. He remembers what his first time was like, and while it had been glorious for him, his girlfriend had had a less than stellar experience, and he'd felt bad about that ever since. He'd tried his best to make it good for her, but his eagerness hadn't allowed him to take the time to make it good for her, his inexperience keeping him from knowing just how to do that in the first place. Maybe helping Sophie would ease some of that lingering guilt. He knew he was good—the many women he'd been with had informed him of just how good he was—and he felt someone like Sophie deserved a good first time. There was something so innocent about her, so pure, and she deserved to feel as good as he knew he could make her feel.