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"Hi, handsome", she stage whispers, dragging my head towards her face to reveal a set of twinkling eyes. As I feel an answering twinkle in my own, I bend my head and kiss her softly on the cheeks.

"Hey beautiful", I reply tenderly, placing another one on her forehead. I

really have missed her.

"How are you"? I ask, holding her at an arm's length, subjecting her to a mock inspection. We had just emailed each other last week, and I know all there was to know about her, including her last break up. Our friendship is one of the few steady things in my life, and we have always shared a surprisingly strong and easy sense of comradeship. Drew is the only non-platonic friend I am still '
friends'
with, other than____ well,
no one really.

"Well", she replies, and I detect a thread of hesitant concern in her eyes, which she confirms a second later, as she scrunches her eyebrows in a pensive frown and adds "Shouldn't I be asking you this question?"

I know what she means, and I was expecting it. What I do not know is how to evade the question, or to even answer it. How am I? The sweet sweet lord above knows, that all my attempts of keeping my thoughts away from her, on anything other than her, have proved so far unsuccessful. Despite the strenuous exertion on myself, my senses are hyper aware of Beth. Every movement, every sound, every breath she takes, is noticed by me. Lord help me, I was even attuned to every anxious twist of her fingers. It makes me wonder whether our minds are miraculously aligned by some sort of invisible thread. I have no plausible explanation of this somewhat physical bond between us. And so far none of my thoughts have been Beth free.

I have spent the entire evening ignoring her. Or trying to ignore her.

Because trying is all I'm capable of. And try as I may, my eyes move of their own accord. They follow her everywhere. I cannot not notice how utterly beautiful she looks tonight. She's wearing brown, my favorite color on her, with her hair let loose, and curling around her face, a face that is destined to haunt me forever.

A face that looks stricken, I realize with a startle, as I take in her rigid countenance, her fisted hands and pale white knuckles, and a look of barren misery on her face.

She's staring right back at me; her gaze riveted on my hands that hold Drew's. She looks up at me then, as if sensing my gaze, and tries to school her expressions. And fails miserably. Quickly averting her gaze, she hides her profile with her hair, but it isn't fast enough to hide the big fat single drop of tear that rolls down her cheek. I would've thought it'll make me happy to see she wasn't unaffected me. As it happens though, all it does is break my heart, all over again

********************

I saw him standing on the terrace. Alone. I knew not what brought me here to him. For once, I didn't stop to figure it out. It was pointless to deny the force that bound us together, or to explain it away with simple attraction. I was tired of pretending indifference, when my entire being screamed with longing for him. It was midnight, and I had to wish him. 'I was simply going to wish him', I internally debated, even as my steps brought him closer and closer.

"Nice weather", he spoke without turning, and I halted abruptly, paralyzed with fear, petrified of love.

"Happy valentines", he whispered, finally turning and taking a step towards me. Then another, and another, until his foot touched mine. I continued watching said foot, must've appeared fascinated with it. It earned me a soft chuckle, as he lifted my chin with his index finger.

"Won't you wish me back", he teased, grinning, as I stood dazed and wanting.

No answer

"That's just rude Beth, where are your manners?"

No answer.

" Guess, I'll just have to remind you then", he concluded and touched my dumbstruck lips with his finger, the one he'd lifted my chin with.

Sigh....

He looked at my eyes, giving them a thorough perusal, as if gauging their depths, asking for permission, before framing my face with his warm palms, bending his own, and,

and

and then he touched his lips with mine, closing them altogether. Small butterfly kisses, soft moth wing kisses, slow closed mouthed kisses. Wonderful beautiful kisses. I could spend my life kissing him, and not be satiated.

After a minute or two of kissing me senseless, he brought out that gorgeous tongue of his, and circled my lips in a slow tortuous move, eliciting a gasp out of me, as they parted of their own accord with a mind of their own.

He took advantage of that gasp, and proceeded to stagger me with long open mouthed kisses, changing and rechanging the angle of the kiss, till he

was satisfied, and I was a weightless mass of stupefied mess.

Again and again he kissed me, without halting, without stopping for air, holding me tight. I whimpered against him, would've collapsed on the floor had he not held me in his arms this tight. I moaned incoherently, loud enough to wake the dead, and he stopped, pushing back with a start. I moaned again, this time with the loss of warmth, and he replied with a half groan-half chuckle.

"Sweet sweet Beth", he spoke softly, running a nervous hand through his hair. The gesture stopped me from fainting of sheer mortification at my own__ well__ wantonness.

Guess, someone else lost control too.

He confirmed my happy thoughts a second later, when he added,

"I didn't intend to take it this far. But I.... I just lost control".

I nodded like the dimwit I was, and he grinned at me.

"Happy valentines Beth", he offered with that playful grin and a wink, reminding me of my forgetful manners.

I answered with my own and replied "happy valentines."

Elizabeth Chronicles- February 2009

This diary is the property of Elizabeth Whitfield

5. Old habits die hard

"Aunt Claire's looking for you", the devil announces from the doorway.

I have wiled away the entire morning in the Tanner haunt, a dingy little hideaway my parents had designed for us by the garage, when we were kids. Over the years, it has become our favorite hangout, a place of sanctuary for any of us who wishes to stay alone for some time. In my agitation, I had forgotten to turn up the do not disturb 'Pooh' on the door. Serves me right.

"Tell her she has no reason to, I'll be along in a while", I reply crossly, plucking the guitar strings with extra force.

"What were you playing"? She persists in that sweet lyrical voice of hers. Needless to say, it grates on my nerves.

"Elizabeth", I finally turn to look at her, concealing my fangs with a wry smile and scowl pleasantly, "Go away".

Okay, so maybe not so pleasantly.

Obviously she does the exact opposite, and carefully picks her way amidst the clusterfuck that is the floor, before seating her delectable derriere against the opposite wall, away from me.

I do what I can do best under the circumstances. Pretend to ignore her.

She makes it easy and keeps her quiet. We sit in an oddly companionable silence for the next several minutes, while I tune my guitar and chance secretive glances her way every sixty seconds. After several more minutes though, the quiet begins to strain my patience, more so, as she appears unscathed by my cold shoulder treatment.

Hoist by my own petard.

"What does it take to send you away", I finally snap, wanting nothing more than to circle that beautiful neck with my bare hands. Her nearness is jamming my brain circuits, while her scent clouds my senses, making me feel oddly vulnerable.

"I merely asked what you were playing", she chirps again, and I check the hard-pressed urge to throttle her, albeit with great restraint.

"And I gave you an answer", I snarl like a true Neanderthal. What am I to do, after all? It's not my fault she brings out the caveman in me.

"You were playing 'go away'? I don't know of any tune by that name".

Seriously, this conversation is by far the most absurd conversation I've had so far. And I can feel it's about to take a turn for the worse.

"It's all the answer you're going to get. Stop wasting my time, and leave me alone". I've gone passed slightly irked to thoroughly pissed, and am now busy yelling at her full force, Nick style. I watch her beautiful face fall and my anger deflates like a hot air balloon.

"Why are you yanking away your hair? Are you crazy?" she questions a minute later with ill guised glee.

Once again, I envision wrapping my hands around both her wrists, and circling her throat with the other with enough ardor, to wipe off that amusement. Or better yet, rapping her head against the wall. Since I cannot do either, I settle at imagery before I end up doing something I'll later regret.

Like wringing that neck. Or kissing her.

"Leave me alone Elizabeth", I reiterate in a more controlled voice.

"The Steven's arrived a half hour ago. Kate's been asking for you", she explains tight lipped, looking agitated.

Well, that explains it! Ryder Stevens, the older son of Mr. Rudyard Stevens, the mayor of Cider Valley, was my classmate back in school, and a friend of sorts. Now an architect, Ryder is keen on opening his own firm, brimming with some very creative designs to renovate a few historical ramshackles in the valley. I'd want to see how'd he'd manage that, since old or not, the valley is a stickler for tradition.

The Tanner's are on friendly terms with the Stevens, and had come up with the idea of letting Ryder Stevens design the latest version of the Tanner's store a few years ago. It was to be a three storeyed building, complete with a super market, cloth emporium, numerous food courts, and a minimart, with an additional surprise element of a theme park. Ryder had jumped at the idea, and since Kate, who possessed the next set of business genes in the family, was handling the trade end of the deal, it was a two-fold benefit.

Ryder and Kate were ebullient, two kids in a candy store.

"She wants to introduce him to you", she offers, when I make no move to well.....
move
.

"Whatever for? Ryder and I are practically nappy buddies."

I'm sure I'd worn them at some point of time.

"She wants to introduce him to you, I mean, as her boyfriend, I think". This was the second part of the entertainment, and the main reason for the hideout. I am not in the mood to socialize with couples.

"Dammit", I mutter, and she immediately perks up.

"I think it's customary. Maybe she wants your approval", she continues good-naturedly.

My eyes begin to twitch. I simply cannot imagine a universe, real or alternate, where Kate would
want
my approval; now my disapproval, you ask? That is more likely to cheer her up. Not that I disapproved. My sister's boyfriends are a subject I don't care to dwell upon.

"Is that so?" I question sweetly, then add a savory afterthought, "I wouldn't know".

I
wasn't lucky enough to get introduced as
her
boyfriend officially.

Apparently both of us are on the same page, as I watch her bite that lip of hers in silent retrospection.

Damn her lips.

Damn her.

"I'll just sit here for a few minutes, if you don't mind", she finally whispers and turns her face away, but not before I catch her biting that lip with enough force to draw blood. Huh. Just as I'm about to call her out to put a stop to her lip massacre, I accidentally drop my guitar, and the loud thud it sounded must've startled her, as she jumps with alarm, eyes fixed on the floor.

Honestly, something was wrong here. This behavior of hers is beginning to worry me.

"What's wrong Elizabeth?" I ask, gently this time, without mockery or censure. Something was troubling her, other than me that is. It didn't sit well with me. But she just shakes her head, and lands up on the floor once again. I follow her example, and continue to regard her with part concern, part resignation. She looks up at me suddenly, perhaps sensing my unwavering scrutiny, and I see something like mild embarrassment slip into her eyes. And just like that, I know.

Taylor Stevens is the problem. The younger Stevens had a thing for Elizabeth, much to his regret and my righteous indignation. His active pursuit of her several years ago, had cost him his lower incisor and a split lip one memorable summer, when he had displayed his overtures towards her right in front of me. He'd claimed to have overcome his 'affections' for her on several occasions since then. But I have my doubts.

"Just tell him to butt off, Elizabeth", I assure her, moving unconsciously towards her in comfort.

I can tell she seems surprised by my intuition. It is weird really, how easily I can read her. Even after all this time.

"He asked me out, sort of", she whispers, and a swift wave of anger deftly washes away the mild case of tolerance I had developed towards him.

He doesn't appreciate his teeth, after all. Or his face, for that matter. I'll just have to bash it again, to stand as a reminder he wouldn't forget any time soon.