"Is there a piano at your house?" he asks her while they're at Sonic Boom. Austin's known her for four years, and dated her for one, yet he's never seen her home. He doesn't even know the address. Every single time he asks her if he can come over, her answer is the same.
You know how my dad is about company. No, he doesn't know, because he's never been the company.
He's also doesn't know if he's ever seen her face so emotionless. "We have a keyboard." Ally's tone is short.
"Is it in your room?"
"Yes," she breathes, in something close to anger. "It's in my room. Anything else you'd like to know?" Austin has never seen her so upset, and maybe if he cared a little less, he'd drop the subject.
"Yeah. What color are the walls in your room? Also how come I've never seen your room?"
"Grey. And...you don't need to see it. Besides, my dad-"
"I asked your dad about it, Ally. He has no problem with company." He never really asked, but he can tell that the whole thing was one big excuse anyways, because suddenly, Ally doesn't look angry. She looks scared.
"Fine," she says sharply. "Let's go."
He hadn't thought it'd be that easy.
~
Ally's hands grip the steering wheel so hard her knuckles are beginning to lose their color. In the passenger seat, Austin watches her as she tries not to cry.
"Ally, you don't have to show me anything if you really don't want to. I just wanted to know why you never..." he trails off. She says nothing and continues driving.
She drives all the way to the outskirts of Miami, and pulls up to the curb of a quiet road with broken pavement.
"This one, right?" he inquires, pointing to the multi-stories apartment complex to their right. He pretends not to notice the peeling paint or the dirty windows.
"It's on the third floor," Ally murmurs. Her voice is soft, and nowhere near angry or short or sharp now. "The elevator- well, it doesn't always work very well, so it's safer to just use the stairs." She's avoiding his eyes. As they make their way into the dimly lit building and up the carpeted staircase, he takes her hand.
"This is good," he states gently. "I need the exercise." She gives his hand a tiny squeeze. A tiny thanks for pretending this is alright.
307. That's the number on the door. Ally jams her key into the lock, and shakes it around a little.
"It gets stuck sometimes," she explains apologetically.
As soon as the door is unlocked, it swings opened. Austin blinks once, taking it all in.
"I know it's not great," Ally mumbles, and he can tell she's embarrassed. "The walls are an ugly color, the floor creaks with every step, the windows are so small..." As she continues to list everything she finds wrong with the place, she's guiding him to her room.
Her bed takes up more than half the little space. The keyboard sits pushed up against the wall, with a plastic stool beside it. But her window is clean, and she's even hung miniature purple curtains on it. The keyboard faces an entire wall covered in taped-up photographs, of her family, Trish, Dez, and them. He can hardly see any grey there.
"It's a small place," she's still rambling. "But with what we can afford- I mean, not that we're poor or anything, my dad just likes to invest most of our money in the store and-screw it." She cuts herself off with a cold laugh. "I don't know who I was trying to convince just then, but it obviously didn't work either way."
She slips her hand out of his and falls back on her bed dejectedly. "This place is shit," she says loudly to the cracked ceiling, and Austin realizes he's never heard her swear before. "My dad pays me in greasy under cooked french fries every week, and we live in a block of cement and death."
He's understanding why she's never talked about this place before.
"You were about to cry on the way here," he remembers. She finally looks up at him.
"I still am. I sorta wanted to hide this from you forever, because-" her voice breaks and she has to swallow hard. She begins talking to the ceiling again. "Your house is so nice. Its huge, and bright, and all the furniture is new and everything is perfect."
Austin is afraid that if he tries to argue, he won't be able to counter everything. He flops down next to her.
"If it makes you feel any better, my parents paid me with a pillowcase when I agreed to be in their stupid commercial."
Ally laughs, except it turns into a sob, and she turns her back to Austin. He watches her body shake with her sobs, and gently pulls her closer
"It sucks," she says bitterly between breaths. "I hate living here. I don't think I have a single happy memory here."
Austin imagines Ally walking up the stairs, and unlocking the door to her misery, every single evening. He imagines her sitting on her bed staring at all of the photographs, and smiling a tiny smile. He pictures her hanging up the curtains, and convincing herself that things aren't so bad.
"Hey," he murmurs into her hair. "Once you become famous, you'll be able to buy your dad his own, like, mansion or something." He can tell Ally's having trouble picturing it. She shifts so she's facing him. He wishes her face wasn't so tear-stained. "They don't let you paint the walls here, do they?" She shakes her head.
"I've asked so many times."
Austin kisses her nose lightly. "We'll just have to take a lot more pictures then, won't we?"
