Never did I expect to fall in love with Alex Walker, but I did.

On the first day of tour, if someone told me I'd end up falling in love with popstar Alex Walker, just like every other girl on the planet, I would've laughed in their face. I didn't think the guy would even give me the time of day back then. Boy was I wrong.

The thing is, I didn't fall in love with mega heartthrob Alex Walker like every other girl. No. I fell in love with just Alex. What people don't get to see behind the scenes. All the quirks, imperfections, and real life shit. The reserved, rare moments I get to see and feel are just for me.

Loving Alex is so, so easy, but so dangerous.

Loving Alex is making sure he sticks to schedules and gets to places on time. Loving Alex is staying up until the early hours of the morning watching Friends because he can't fall asleep, the adrenaline still rushing through his veins after a show. Loving Alex is letting him curl up in your lap after a long day and running your fingers through his hair to relax him. Loving Alex is making sure he drinks plenty of water and prioritizes his health with his hectic schedule. Loving Alex means giving up my anxious habit of playing with my fingers when he's anxious too so he can hold my hand and run the pad of his thumb over my tattoo. Loving Alex is making sure his favorite cereal is stocked on the bus, because Lord knows the boy won't eat much else for breakfast. Loving Alex is sneaking out late at night to get him out of being trapped in a bus, hotel, or arena twenty four seven. Loving Alex is giving him a hug and wishing him luck before every show because he still gets nervous, even after doing thousands of shows. Loving Alex is a big, complicated, beautiful mess sometimes, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Loving Alex is also letting him go.

I watch as his long lashes flutter against his cheeks in a dream filled sleep, his face inches from mine on the pillow. He looks so peaceful, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

I try to soak in every small detail I can for memory. Things magazines and interviews can't provide. Like the faint scar just under his jaw he told me he got from running around on the playground as a kid. Or the adorable way his nose scrunches in his sleep sometimes.

I didn't sleep at all last night, the anticipation of leaving and the need to admire him in full one last time keeping me up. This is the last time I'll see him in person, but I know his image will haunt me every day on TV and in magazines, and I'm not ready for it. I'm not ready to move on, but I know I have to.

Alex has the whole world in front of him, but I don't. I have nothing, still trying to work my way from the ground up. To make a name for myself and achieve success. To prove my mother wrong.

It's funny how just one man can stand between me and my dream. Threatening to crush it if I don't do what he says. That's why I have to let Alex go. For myself, and for him, too. I can't risk my whole future for one boy that'll break up with me in the end anyway. I've already been down this road and know relationships on the road don't last. Plus, he can have any girl he wants and will get bored of me sooner or later. It's better to just end it now than string our relationship along and be a distraction to him.

The sun isn't even in the sky yet when I faintly hear someone knocking on a door down the hall. I roll over to check the clock to see its 4:00 a.m., and I know its Chris at my door to make sure I leave for the airport to catch my 6:30 a.m. flight back to Nashville.

I feel tears prick in my eyes when I look back at Alex one last time. His hair is an absolute mess, curlier than ever from the rain last night and sticking every which way from me running my fingers through it. His lips are chapped, but I find myself dying to kiss them regardless. I want to delicately trace every detail of his face with my fingertips, but I don't dare in fear of waking him up. He looks so peaceful, but I find myself wanting to scream to wake him up and beg for him to help me, to let me stay.

But I can't.

I want us to work out. I want to be here when he wakes up and act like everything is fine. I want to wake him up with kisses and see those beautiful blue eyes glimmer in the morning light, him pulling me closer to his warm body with that signature grin on his face.

But I can't.

I can't risk it all.

Carefully, I slip out from under his arm that's draped over my middle and roll out of the bed. The cold air makes goosebumps form on my skin as I search for my clothes strewn around the room.

My dress from last night is still damp so I opt for stealing some of Alex clothes in his suitcase. I know having his clothes is only going to torture me later on, but I have no choice. All of my clothes are back in my room.

After changing, I sit at the desk in the room and grab a pen and piece of paper from a notepad that has the hotels logo on it. With a shaky hand, I write down the three words I want him to remember. Staring down at the note, I feel guilt bubble in my stomach. This is cruel, giving him some sort of false hope or motive to come find me. I grab the note and crumble it up, throwing it into a nearby trashcan before leaving the room.

Walking out into the hallway with my wet clothes, purse, and shoes in hand, I don't dare look back at Alex before softly clicking the door shut, fearing I may give in. When I turn around, Chris is standing outside my hotel door looking at me from head to toe in utter disgust.

I put my head down and brush past him to grab my things in my room. He stands in the doorway the whole time, watching me like a hawk.

When I'm done packing up my clothes from last night and grab a few of the flowers Alex bought me yesterday, I put on some shoes and haul my luggage out into the hallway. I follow Chris down the hall in awkward silence to the elevator.

"Here's your new phone with a new number," Chris announces when we reach the elevator, pulling a phone similar to mine out of his back pocket.

"What?"

"I can't chance you and Alex getting into contact with each other," he says, like I don't know Alex's phone number by heart.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to contact him," I grumble. "You made it clear what'll happen if I do."

"Still, you need to give me your phone," he says, holding out his hand palm up, expectantly.

"I'm not giving you my phone," I argue, refusing to hand over all my photos, contacts, and everything else I can't get back. "I'll change my number if you really don't believe me, but I'm not giving you my phone."

Rage flares through his eyes and he lunges for my phone in my hand. "Give me your phone!"

I'm able to retract my hand back fast enough so he can't grab it. "What the hell?" I yell, completely shocked and appalled by his sudden actions. "Why do you want my phone so bad?"

Then it dawns on me.

He wants my phone so he can communicate with Alex, making him believe it's on my behalf. He's going to feed Alex lies, and I'll be damned if that happens. It's one thing to make me leave without a word, but to let him have access to feed Alex lies after I'm gone is not going to happen. I'm not going to let him put words in my mouth and end up hurting Alex more than necessary. I'd much rather have Alex think I dropped off the face of the earth than think I don't love him or care about him anymore.

"You want my phone to tell him whatever you want, don't you? You're going to feed him lies to make him believe whatever you want. You're going to control him and persuade him to believe whatever you want, just like you always do. Not this time, Chris. He's not your puppet, and neither am I."

Gripping my phone tightly in my hand, I draw my arm back and throw my phone as hard as I can against the wall. The phone falls to the floor, screen shattered, and I quickly run over to it and slam the heel of my foot into the device to make sure it's broken.

Turning around, Chris's face is beet red in anger, and when his eyes lock on mine, I see nothing but pure rage behind them.

"You bitch!" he seethes, briskly walking over to me and tightly gripping my upper arm to drag me to the elevator.

When the doors open, he harshly shoves me to my luggage and I grab it, stumbling into the elevator. Turning around, Chris is still in front of the elevator doors, chest puffing and deflating with every angered breath, eyes full of hatred.

I stare back with just as much intensity, not giving him the satisfaction of showing my real emotions.

When the elevator doors finally close, I let my tough façade dissolve and let out a sob at the back of my throat. I slide down the cool meatal wall of the elevator and hug my knees to my chest as the tears flow.