Another Excerpt.

Granted, the harmonious stuff of any novel I'm working on, or those involving the main characters of the novel, are the ones I like to write better than the conflict.

Not that I don't like conflict - I think they form a necessary part of any novel, but the flow of those sections don't come as easily as the pleasant, non-conflict sections.

So... without further ado, this is another section I've written very early on in the creation of Lizzy & Michael saga, even though this appears very late in book III. It is one of the sections I am very proud of 'producing' because I had written this when the inspiration in my mind was at the strongest, when everything in my head was cleared, when I could devote my whole being to this section.


She finds the light to her open plan living room in her apartment has been dimmed, a mug of hot chocolate waiting on the coffee table, freshly made that the steam is still wafting through, the TV turned on with the sound mute and Michael is sitting on one end of the couch, holding his own mug.
She hands him one of the fluffy pillows, going straight to the back of his head as she sits down on the other end of the couch, propping the pillow on her lap before reaching for her cup, blowing the hot liquid inside softly before slurping the content carefully, relieved that it hasn’t burnt her tongue.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” she begins, showing her genuine gratitude to him; a trademark that is Elizabeth Hartley, part of her strict Asian upbringing, to always show respect and gratitude, never taking anything for granted.
“I would have come sooner, Liz.” She turns her attention away from him, watching the TV absent-mindedly as Michael turns up the volume little by little, listening half-heartedly to David Letterman interviewing someone from Ohio about his ability to hum through his nose.
“Liz, he doesn’t deserve it,” Michael comforts her as he sees two glistening clear jewels drop from her eyes, rolling down her cheek, one after another. She turns around and wipes the tears away, smiling sheepishly at him. Gingerly, she leans forward and pushes the mug away from the edge of the table, puffs up the pillow and slides herself further down the couch until her head hits the soft cushion. She watches Michael getting up, grabbing both her feet and stretching her legs to the spot he’s been sitting on, reaching for the wool-knitted blanket that has been carelessly slung across the back of the sofa, wrapping it delicately around her. Lowering himself on the floor, he rests one arm on her back, stroking her spine gently whilst she stretches a hand and captures his other free hand, cupping it in both hers, bringing it close to her chest.
“I thought… he might have been… we might have been…”
“I know, Liz… I know.” Michael has heard, more than once, her high hopes of settling down with Jason Chang; all met with a mask of indifference and a forced smile on his lips. His hand travels from her back to her cheek, stroking it tenderly as she blinks away the fresh tears welling up in her eyes.
He watches her slowly getting drowsy, her eyelids drooping heavily until she finally closes her eyes, his hand still tightly wrapped around both of hers, the other mechanically stroking her back. He tries to remember how many times he has seen her like this, asleep on the couch, from the day she was recovering at her parents’ house after the swimming pool incident to the night following the Downtown robbery. It moves him now as it always has been; a delicate, fragile thing he has always wanted to protect; a gesture that was always rejected by her, persistent to spare him from all the discrimination she has received on herself and also out of fear should their relationship fail and end up ruining their friendship.
“Goddamn it, Liz…” he sighs exasperatedly, though his voice also holds a tinge of tenderness, “why don’t you ever give me a chance?”