Musical One-Shots and Headcanons! (REQUESTS OPEN!)

Hamliza- Not Enough (College AU)

The phone rang once, then twice. My stomach churned. What is she doing?!  "Alex, Eliza is crying and I don't know what to do." I silently beg her to stay quiet. She doesn't listen. "She's acting strange..." Maria looks at me and continues to speak. "Just please talk to her. You're the only person I think she'd talk to." Why do people get to talk about you like you're not there?

Once Maria hangs up, I look at her with anger in my eyes. "You know you crossed your boundaries." My hands began to shake, and I covered my face. My breaths became quicker, and I was in the second round of tears.

"This is normal for you? Eliza, listen to me. You can't keep--keep--whatever this is--to yourself!"

"I most certainly can! Now either shut up or get out or you know what? I'd prefer you do both."

"Fine."

Maria left me to be alone, finally. I know she wants to help. I feel bad for what I said to her, but what was I meant to do? I'm losing my grip.

I get yet another knock on my door. This time, I can't take it. Stupid Eliza. You actually think someone wants to see you.

Look at yourself. You should be exercising! Do something productive for once.

Imagine someone walking in here and seeing your disgusting self.

Do you want to be left alone? Who wants to miss this freak show.

I rock myself back and forth to self-soothe. I hear the knock again. Leave! Leave! Leave! Just leave! I grab the door open, not needing that pounding sound to worsen the headache I already have.

"Oh Alex, what are you doing here?" My voice was high like a teakettle.

"Maria told me what was going on. Are you ok?"

"You know how she can be... I-I'm fine." I didn't play it off well. I think I'm gonna fall apart. Everything is too much. My anxiety, the voices, everything is too much! I can't tell him that. I'm supposed to be Eliza Schuyler, little miss perfect.

He looks down at me, and I dread his next statement, which is probably well-placed enough to make me come to terms with my suffering. Instead, he just says, "That one teacher who hates opening her window, Mrs. Whitman? She opened it as wide as she could today. And here you are with a sweater on. Aren't you hot underneath?" I shuffle away from him awkwardly.

"No, no," I stammer rapidly, "I'm perfectly fine."

"You sure?" Finally, I pull it off slowly, hesitantly, revealing angry red lines covering my arms, reminders of my failure. "Oh, Eliza," he starts with a kind of sweetness and concern that sounds so real, I'm half-convinced someone could want me. "Why would you do this to yourself?"

Because I'm appalling and repulsive and unwanted and not enough. But I can't say that. No one wants me. And of course, if he knew how damaged I am, he won't either.

"Please, just let me in," he whispers, his hand on my shoulder. At this point, my only response is to completely break down, going limp and melting into his arms. He strokes my hair gently. "You clearly aren't as fine as I thought, and I want to help you. I really do." Finally, he adds, "It's like that old song, isn't it?  'I will tell you I love you, but the muffs on your ears will cater to your fears'? I already know and love you, and that will never stop."

"Quit with the platitudes," I growl. "None of your aphorisms will be enough to fix me."

"And I'm not trying, Eliza. I just want you to be happy. You deserve it."

It can't...no...there must be something wrong. "Tell me one good thing about me. I bet you can't find any. I'm a failure. I'm unstable. Worst of all, I'm fat!"

"You're caring, beautiful, and the smartest person I know. You're looking at imperfections that aren't there."

"Aren't there, Alex? Stop lying!" I'm outright bawling like a baby. How pathetic.

"Why would I lie?" he asks, stroking my back as I gasp for air.

"Because why would my mind deceive me?"

He goes silent. Contemplative. Perhaps a bit too contemplative. He spends a second too long scouring his mind for reasons I'm wonderful. That's because he has none. "See? You don't have an answer. I'm the pathetic crybaby everyone hates looking at!"

"No, you aren't...I have so many answers, and I was just trying to remember the best ones...If I only had words to mend you..." he replies, blinking plaintively.

The silence that follows is interminable, tension building in me for far too long. I struggle to contain myself. Finally, I snap. "Ha! None of your wondrous eloquence can mend something this far beyond repair. You have nothing." He shuffles away, face contorted in pain, eyes welling up. I shouldn't have said that. His words are his greatest source of pride. Why did I let myself fail again?

"Just go before I cause greater damage," I say, sounding impassive.

"I won't do that to you," he says almost sincerely, returning to his place beside me.

"Why not? I've failed everyone so many times and I can't afford to do it again!"

"Just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough." I honestly never expected to see myself like this. Nothing is enough for me anymore. I climb up the steps of my bunk bed. I hate being on top, where I'm convinced that nearly the whole world, or at least Maria and Laurens and Alex, the latter two of whom share our wall, can hear me crying myself to sleep. I continue to cry until I physically cannot anymore. All the while, he's still there, waiting, as if I were worth waiting for.

I slowly walk down the steps. "There, there. Are you done crying, bluebird?" I sit down next to him.

"Bluebird?" I ask, smiling despite myself.

"I'll help you fly again," Alex promises, tracing the scars on my arms. I look into his eyes, satisfied that he's telling the truth.

Maybe I don't have to fight alone. I have someone who genuinely cares, and for once, I can allow my insecurities to melt away.