Chapter 4: Cravings

For some odd reason, Liz was very eager to see Jesse again. But how? She didn't give him her number. She felt like an idiot. Of course, she did have a boyfriend, but Jesse was something different. Jesse was a friend, except more. Jesse listened to every word she said; he so understanding. Charlie was different. Most of the time, Charlie would just go to the park and play football with his friends to pass the time. The only time Liz got to see him was if they had scheduled a date. That was it. Sure he went to her school, and Liz was friends with Charlie's friends, but they barely got to be alone. To be together. Liz had long lost her love for Charlie, and she wouldn't be surprise if Charlie felt the same.

And now Liz had this amazing feeling in her, an ultimate crazing to feel Jess' soft smooth lips again, to taste that nice, minty flavor of his mouth. Jess may have been a lunatic enough to need therapy from her grandmother, but she could work this that. Maybe her Grandma Winnie had truly cured him. He was so sweet, and the way he looked at her made her feel so good about herself. She didn't have to feel nervous, she could just be herself. It was strange, she had only known Jesse for only about half an hour, but it felt like they had known each other their whole lives. And now she was staring out her bedroom window, hoping that some miracle will cause Jesse to mysteriously appear right on her porch steps. Think of how surprised she was, when Jesse Tuck indeed did appear.

It was not long after Liz had thought that last thought, and she was so shocked to Jesse, she immediately jumped up and ran for the door. She flung it open, and grabbed Jesse, forcing their lips together, hungrily kissing him.

"Whoa, whoa," Jesse said, trying to get Liz to stop. "Liz, please, stop!"

Liz disappointedly stopped, but stared up into Jesse's eyes expectantly. Her craving for Jesse was getting so much stronger, she was feeling so impassioned, so amorous, so—horny. "Let's go somewhere." Liz finally said.

"Where?"

Liz looked back at her door. The maids had long closed the door. "I don't know, but I just want to get out of here. I just want to be with you."

Then again, Liz kissed Jesse. "Come on, Jess. Let's go!"

Jesse nodded. Liz reached out for his hand, and he held it. Suddenly, Jesse wasn't feeling so in love with Liz anymore. Not when Liz was so...eager. He wondered if this was why most of the women in those classic movies played hard-to-get. This was wrong. It was supposed to be the man who was so desirous. He wondered if Liz was drunk, because this was certainly not how Winnie Foster would've acted.

Jesse and Liz walked on until they reached the river. The old river. Jesse remembered how he and Winnie had first swum together. Winnie had been so scared of the water, so Jesse had to cling onto her. In fear, Winnie cried for Jesse to not let go. "I'll never let you go, Winnie Foster," he had said, "I'll never let you go."

Thinking about Winnie made him even less attracted to Liz. "Wanna go skinny-dipping?" Liz asked in an arousing tone.

That was it, this girl had lost it! "No," Jesse replied coldly. He stared into the river, imaging him and Winnie together. No matter how Liz had Winnie's eyes, how she had that same smile, it didn't matter anymore to Jesse. He clearly had no feelings for this Elizabeth Prescott.

Liz suddenly noticed that Jess was not into her anymore. "What's the matter, Jesse?" she asked, concerned.

"Look, Liz...I don't know how to explain this to you, but...when I first met you, you seemed so...familiar. I really liked you—"

"I liked you too, Jesse."

"Yeah, but...Liz, it's just...it's not you, it's me. I don't think we're on the same page. I don't think I like you as much as you like me..."

Liz stared deep into Jesse's eyes, then nodded. "I guess we can still be friends," she said softly.

"Yeah, we can be friends."

Liz felt like she was about to cry, but she didn't want to show anymore longing for him. She would go home, head straight to her beautiful pink canopy bed, and will cry on her pillow. Because no matter how rich and how well-bred Elizabeth Prescott was, she was still like any other girl. She would cry over a boy.