Chad De Guzman is a 17-year-old Filipino guy living in the Philippines with his mother. He's the captain of a volleyball team in his school, and is a traveler. Though he's funny, quirky, go-with-the-flow guy, he's pretty emotional when it comes to h...
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When Isaiah closes the door, I immediately bury my face into the pillow. I can't believe that just happened. Isaiah just kissed my neck and my jaw. I wanted to push him out, but the feeling of his lips against my skin was euphoric – it was gentle, soft. I have never experienced something like that before, and I have no idea if what happened just now is a good thing or a bad thing.
I take a deep breath, shaking my head as if trying to get the image out of my head. Whenever I think of it, my face gets hot. And is it possible to scream at night? Because I want to do that right now, but I don't want my mom and Bill come barging in here and ask me a bunch of questions I wouldn't be able to answer.
"Why did he have to do that?" I ask myself, mouth into the pillow, so my words are a bit muffled. I groan, rolling around the bed, staring at the ceiling. "That's so weird."
My heart hasn't calmed down yet, and I don't think it will for the remaining hours of the day. I take another deep breath, shut my eyes, and relax myself. Thinking about it wouldn't help me much, and I need to sleep. I don't even know how I'm going to face him on the next days because the image of him being on my neck would be constantly present inside my head.
The next day, I can't look Isaiah on the face. He has his eyes on me, and it makes me anxious to feel his stare. I wasn't able to sleep properly last night because my head kept replaying the neck kiss – and honestly, it's not stopping. The image plays vividly inside my head non-stop – his lips on my neck, his hand on my hips, and the gentle breaths he did when he was near me.
"Bill and I are going away this weekend," my mom says as she turns off the stove, then fixes her hair as it's all over her face. My head snaps to her direction. "I'm not really sure where we're going, but we're going on a road trip as you kids put it. You have the house for yourselves."
"And please, no girls." Bill says as he looks directly at his son. Isaiah rolls his eyes, a bit irritated at that statement. "I mean it, Isaiah. I don't want you getting someone pregnant. You're too young, and I'm too young to be a grandpa."
"Jesus, dad. When have I ever brought a girl here?" Isaiah retorts.
"No parties, either." Bill adds in, and this time he switches his gaze to me. As if I party. No, I don't. The last thing I want is for me is to get drunk again and do crazy stuff. That can't happen. "I know you aren't a party-goer, son. And I assume you don't like parties either, Chad. I have trust on both of you. I think we're leaving on a Friday night, and we're just going to leave money. Sarah said you know how to cook, Chad. Please take care of Isaiah. Don't let him cook. The stove would explode."
"Thank you, dad." Isaiah says exasperatedly, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes one more time. If he does that a lot, I'm pretty sure one day his eyes would come out of its socket. "I see you have a lot of faith in me."
