A Love Like War

I'd memorized the lyrics quickly. They were rhyme-y and flowed off the tongue easily. But I was having serious trouble with the melody.

I couldn't hit the high notes in the second half of the bridge. I don't know what it was, but I just couldn't get into the song enough.

Alex was still recording, which was relieving because he couldn't hear me screwing up and be able to judge my singing more than he already had.

I was still trying to figure out if the girl the song was about had committed suicide or just left him. Though Alex didn't seem much like a depressing song writer, so I was leaning more toward the latter. I wondered if the song was written about an actual relationship or actual feelings for a real girl, but then I realized I'd been there through all of his relationships and none of them had lasted more than two weeks. So yeah, scratch that though.

And out of my mind,
keeping an eye on the world,
So many thousands of feet off the ground,
I'm over you now,
I'm at home in the clouds,
Towering over your head...

I belted the lyrics out one more time. When I finished I began to scold myself again for screwing up when I realized . . . I hadn't screwed up. I hit the notes. Perfectly. I sang the whole thing again and again and when I'd sung it perfectly a few times in a row, I sat back and grinned confidently.

"What are you looking so happy about?"

I looked up at the voice that broke the silence in the room. (The other band members had left shortly after I showed up).

"I sang it well."

"So?"

"It's a hard song to sing. It's an accomplishment to hit those notes."

"I hit them all the time." Alex was still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Joe had his headphones on and was adding the final touches to Alex's vocals.

"Really? Do it right now," I challenged.

He started singing the bridge of the song, walking slowly over to the couch I was sprawled out on. His eyes bored into mine for a moment before they slipped closed; he was lost in the music. It was kind of a beautiful thing to watch, to be honest. Alex in general was kind of beautiful.

He finished the part and said, "Okay, now you go."

I sang. I was nervous. My voice shook. I missed one note. My face flushed crimson.

"Not bad," Alex said, his voice level. "You missed the note though."

"I know. That was a first." I ran a hand through my hair nervously and drew my knees up to my chest, partially out of self-consciousness, and partially to invite Alex to sit down. He did, and I was slightly relieved that he didn't hate me that much.

"You have to sing from your gut, not your chest. You won't be able to belt high notes if you're singing from your chest," Alex said, motioning to his stomach and chest as he spoke. Wait, was he . . . helping me?

"Try again," he urged. I sat up straight and sang again, trying to manipulate where I sang from. It wasn't easy, but somehow I did it and hit the note perfectly.

"Nice!" Alex said, and I grinned triumphantly. "Wanna try both parts together?" he asked, reaching for an acoustic guitar that was leaned up against the couch.

"Uh . . . Sure," I replied, still confused as to why he was suddenly being so nice to me. But hey, if he was being nice, I would be, too.

He began strumming out the tune and I watched him. I watched the veins in his left wrist pop out when he had to play a harder chord. I watched his long, thing fingers brush the strings, which emitted a beautiful sound, like rain. I watched him tap his toes slowly, giving rhythm to the song. I watched his head bob slightly whenever he his a power chord, his eyes closed and his lips almost forming a smile. He really was beautiful. I hated to admit it, but I couldn't really deny it. Alex Gaskarth was beautiful.

When he sang, goosebumps began to rise on my arms and legs. If I had my way, I'd just lie down and listen to him sing for hours. But I had to interrupt his beautiful voice with my awkward one in just a minute, so that couldn't happen.

When I started to sing, I noticed something. Though he kept playing guitar perfectly, Alex looked up at me with an unidentifiable expression on his face. He looked calm, but he also seemed to be thinking very hard. He was staring at me, but not intimidatingly, like usual. He was just observing, watching me, like I'd been watching him. And I was okay with it.

When I finished my part, he sang the last few lines, and the song came to a close. He looked back up at me and a sort of smirk played on his lips.

"We're pretty fucking awesome together," He said, then added, "Singing, I mean . . ."