Complicated (Alex Gaskarth)

Fall To Pieces

Elizabeth admits her feelings to Alex, but well, it doesn't exactly go as she planned.

This feels even more nerve-racking than being brought backstage by a frontman of a band I didn't know.

That is, being seated at my desk in my work uniform, my hair unruly from having scratched my scalp, waiting for Alex to respond to my request for an emergency Zoom meeting.

Because it's a meeting that won't concern our usual topic of conversation, which, per as our agreement six months ago is of anxiety-reducing tips but will rather regard a more personal matter.

That is, my feelings for Alex that I realized a while back, when he started asking about my bookish tendencies, went beyond those of just simple friendship.

No, we may have started as shotgun anxiety buddies who met in a moment of distress, but, at this point, I think we're above that.

I'm past that point.

I don't know if he feels the same, but I can only hope he does.

Because if my revelation goes wrong, my anxiety might not be able to recover from the fall.

I might not be able to recover from the fall.

______

When he appears on my screen later, wearing a bandana, hoodie and sporting a beard, I feel nervous, yet determined.

A stark contrast to his current predicament, which is obviously worried, judging by his concerned tone and eyes, as well as his incessant babbling.

"Elizabeth, are you okay? You said this was an emergency so I called as fast I could. Are you worried about your sister because I told you that things were going to heal in t—."

Having absolutely no time for his onslaught of words, for am I just going for it, I cut him off with my revelation.

"I like you, Alex."

"Well, thank you, Elizabeth. I like you too." He responds with a charming smile and coy reply that is typical of him, then furrows his eyebrows in confusion, "But I don't see why you needed to emergency call me to tell me t—."

Instantly understanding that my implication clearly passed him by, I cut him off again, this time with another revelation.

The revelation.

"I like, like you, Alex."

"Oh." he intones, facial expression becoming blank.

Which, in its wake has me thinking the worse, that my feelings that I worked so hard to confess, are not met.

So, I do what I do best in any dramatic situation, why none other than cause a scene and give it the best I got. Even if I what I go won't be reciprocated by the man I clearly fell for.

"It's just," I begin, not caring that I'll say next might not be comprehensible, "This past holiday season, everybody in my family had a partner to celebrate with and I realized I wanted that too, but not just for the holidays, but to celebrate with every day, you know, and all I could think about was that I wanted that with you because like my parents pointed out, they've never seen me so happier than when I talk to British Boy—"

"You call me British Boy?" he suddenly interrupts my tirade, with his head turned to his left.

That action alone has me thinking that he has only been selectively listening to what I've gotten off my chest, but I don't have a choice to go on, now, do I?

"My brother does." I admit in a low breath, then feel anxiety rise again, "Why, is that wrong?"

"No, no, it's not." He confirms with a wide grin and sparkling eyes, "Especially that British Boy likes likes you back."

My heart races in relief at his words for they are exactly what I want to hear after that poorly executed confession, but oh so typically anxious me, I doubt them still.

"You do?"

"I want to know who you are, Liz."

Yet, for all the soft eyes and genuine smiles and most importantly, reciprocation of our feelings for one another that he gives me with his own revelation, another doubt—damn you anxiety—creeps up on me.

What to even do with this thing between us.

"But I don't even know where we would start!" I exclaim.

"How about with how you feel?" he suggests, then proceeds to laugh at himself, even going as far as clicking his tongue.

As his words echo in my head, I stare at him in anger and humiliation. How dare he find himself funny in this situation!

How I feel? How I feel? Didn't I just make my feelings clear? Didn't I just exhaust myself with yes, a poorly executed confession, but a real confession nonetheless! It's more than what he said, with that being only an eigh-

"You've always been, how do we say it in French, dramatique, haven't you been, Elizabeth?"

Interrupting my thought process, Alex's comment has me further staring at him in anger. Sure, we've established that I have anxiety, it's literally the reason we met, but why is he bringing it up now? Why, when he knows that I'm just a little extra vulnerable with today's events?

"But it's just one of the many things I want to get to know better about you, Elizabeth."

My face flushes at his words, even more so, how he says the words in a soft-spoken tone and sends a dark, but genuine gaze my way. Because without saying too much, it represents exactly how I feel about him too.

So, even if it seems a bit grandiose to commit to right away, it's true.

So, I say it.

The line that might break or make our relationship.

But, hopefully, make.

"I want to get to know everything about you too, Lex."