Don't Make Me Say 'I Love You'

Chapter I - The Beginning

"Last few frames, Lizzy," Mike called out, fiddling with his camera.

The tall brunette in the middle of the floor looked relieved.

"Thank God," she sighed. "My feet are killing me." She glanced at the killer black heels ruefully. "Really now, was there any need-"

"C'mon now Liz, work it!" Mike yelled his camera spinning into action.

The brunette scowled petulantly, then a brilliant smile flashed across her face as she swirled around, her dark eyes dancing and daring. The assistant photographer swallowed and shifted uneasily, transfixed by the prettiness of the girl.

"And…. done!" Mike yelled. "Good job!" he rushed over and grasped her by the hand. "Love what you did with that! Listen, they agency's got a job coming up that I think will suit you, completely – don't worry, it's high fashion – of course, we'd have to go to Barcelona for the shoot of course, but –"

"Mike," Lizzy interrupted, grimacing. "If you don't let me take these bloody death weapons off my feet, I will stand on your foot, and cripple it."

Mike took a few steps back warily. Normally he'd simply tell the tired models not to be ridiculous, but if there was one model who would ever inflict bodily harm onto a photographer…

"Sure," Mike said easily, scratching his head sheepishly. "I'll see you Saturday at my office."

Lizzy saluted him. "Thanks Mike," she grinned as she high fived him and limped off to the changing room.

Lizzy Bennette's, Elizabeth by birth, personality could be described by a stranger in three words. Strong, challenging and stubborn. However, despite these flaws, if she were to be described as a whole in one word, you could only describe her as beautiful.

True, her flaws were numerous and, if truth be told, unattractive; her temper was too quick, her tongue too sharp, her mind too stubborn. She carried with her complex air of allure and defiance, which was as intimidating as it was interesting. But deep down, beneath the hard, haughty and glamorous shell, she was a loyal, hardworking little soul. Her style was simple – while she found friendships difficult to cultivate, once they were forged, she would defend them to the bitter end. She could be understanding, generous and forgiving – and she loved to laugh, even if it was at her own expense. And most conveniently, she had an ability to charm just about anyone, if she so wished.

Of course, it helped that she was almost devastatingly beautiful. The modelling sphere had quickly grown to adore her for her masses of thick, shiny brown hair that waved gently to the middle of her back, her creamy skin, pale and clear, the only blemish upon it being a beauty spot on her back and a translucent pink scar on the inside of her left arm. Her pink rosebud lips echoed the English courtesan sensuality from centuries ago, voluptuous and delightful in their playfulness. But it could be agreed upon that the most absorbing aspect of her appearance, by some length, were her eyes. Wide-set, hooded and framed by long, dusky lashes that gave her a sultry look, they could sparkle teasingly with decisive laughter, mock displeasure, or darken with desire.

Naturally, then she was also any photographers dream.

Michael Howard had been a dismally unrecognised photographer when stumbled across this raw beauty only a few months ago. He had encountered a dark set of angry eyes as the spilt his Latte down a women's shirt on the street… and gave her the address of his studio for an audition. Ever since that fateful day, he had been on the roller coaster ride of catapulting her to recognition, which was inconveniently hindered by his muse's perverse reluctance to enter the celebrity world. Unconsciously, he scowled and massaged his nose where it had been assaulted by a heavy dictionary flying through the air the last time he'd suggested they relocate to New York, where there was more exposure.

"You've got to be kidding me," she had scorned derisively.. "I'm not leaving my sister, my studies and London to go on some crazed goose-chase after my five minutes of fame. That's not me, Mike. And the faster you come to terms with that, the better. 'Cause I'm not going anywhere."

Why was she still determined on finishing university? he thought miserably. A degree in English Literature was hardly going to enable her to become prettier. But he suppressed his irritation. Since then, he'd been careful not broach the subject again. His nose still tingled in warning whenever he saw her frown.

"Good work, everyone. Sorry if I was a bitch," Lizzy laughed, hugging the team. They clapped her on the back sportingly.

"I don't mind no bitchiness as long as you're gonna make us famous, eh Bennette?" Jay, the hairdresser winked at her.

Lizzy just scoffed "Pride before fall, Jay. Careful now." She accentuated her words with a friendly smirk.

"Well, then, I'll just have to get famous other ways. Maybe now I'll get to unveil that video from the camera I rigged up in your changing room. I hear YouTube's great for publicity?"

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Maybe then Mike will give up on sending me to America."

"No, I'm sure the Americans have nothing against tall, hot, British chicks," Jay assured her. "You can get a boob job every weekend and party with Paris Hilton."

"Are you suggesting something about my chest?" Lizzy fired.

"Well, as a man-"

"Forget it," she cut in hurriedly, "I'd rather not know."

He laughed. "Take care, Liz."

"See you," she grinned as she stepped out the studio.

About an hour later, Jane Bennette was shocked out of her indulgent fill of Gossip Girl, when the front door crashed open, and a dishevelled and severely disgruntled Elizabeth stormed into the apartment.

"Hey!" Jane hurried to her sister. "You alright?"

Lizzy shook her head and stomped angrily towards the fridge, muttering furiously and swearing under her breath. She opened the freezer with unnecessary force. "Oh, yes. Everything's just spiffing

"Collins catch you on the way up the stairs again?" Jane asked knowingly, more than a little amused. Her sister looked at her darkly.

"Jane, why is it you always get the nice respectable, if not a little stupid, guys?" Lizzy asked, crossing her arms across her chest. "Is there something about me that attracts dickheads only?"

Jane laughed and ushered her disgruntled sister into the living room sensibly. "Maybe dickheads like the pretty ones," she suggested simply.

"N-o, that is not the correct answer! Far from it. Christ, Jane, I really need to buy you a better mirror." She gave a disbelieving chuckle and tucked her legs beneath her. "See, the things is, guys – the decent ones I mean – fall for my stunning, blonde, generous, sweet and clever twin." She smiled. "I've got to work harder and be nicer and not swear so much to get what you get." She kissed Jane on the cheek, before leaning over to steal a handful of Doritos. "Sorry for taking my frustration out on you. If I show any more symptoms of misdirected rage, feel free to shut me up. You're too good, Jane. You deserve what you get."

"As you do too," Jane said, gripping her sister's hand hard, her light blue eyes imploring. "Don't forget that." She paused. "Lizzy, don't-"

"Don't, Jane." Lizzy said quietly. "Not now. Not ever."

She turned away stiffly for a moment, before breaking out with a nearly convincing smile, the vivacious façade pieced back together. "How about some wine?" she cried jovially, hopping up with the sleekness of a cat. "Let's have a celebration for my doing my first major magazine spread. Mike better be fucking pleased. I sacrificed my feet for him."

Jane let Lizzy down half a bottle, complain loudly about Collins some more, then collapse on the sofa, breathing heavily. She held her twin's hand. They were always so different, light and dark, but complimenting each other perfectly. But like their appearances, their characters, their fates were different – not that Lizzy believed in such a thing, of course. She was the type who did the exact opposite of what the daily horoscope suggested, just to prove a rather useless point. But as Jane looked concernedly at the dark, bruise like marks under her sister's eyes, the collarbones that jutted out alarmingly from beneath her pale skin, she could not help but think that Lizzy's fate was rather dangerous, but had the potential for something great, something remarkable. Leaning down, she whispered into Lizzy's unconscious ear.

"You deserve so much more than you get. Don't blame yourself," she rubbed soothing circles on her sister's palm. Her voice broke as she said, "I wish you'd let me help you forgive yourself."

Jane sighed as she gently tucked a rug around the sleeping Lizzy, and tiptoed to her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Rewritten on 25/07/2013