Chad…I can't breathe.

But that didn't mean I minded. My science books might claim humans required oxygen for survival, but Sonny Monroe thought otherwise.

In my mind, I begged Chad to stop; though every other part of my body screamed a protest. I craved his gentle touch on my cheek; so much, in fact that I laid there for at least ten minutes, pretending to be asleep just so he could keep trying to wake me.

Chad…you're suffocating me. Please, stop.

My numb, tingling skin delighted in the caress; even if my brain had somehow lost communication with my lungs to warn me I should breathe. Chad's touch was so soft and carefully placed: A warm finger skating across my forehead. A quiet hand rustling my hair until it was messy, then sorting through it, lock by lock, as if it fascinated him. And then he'd place each strand back in its proper place. He'd trace my jawbone, my ears, my nose, then down to my lips. My lips were what he couldn't seem to fathom most. He'd navigate his way around the perimeter, then venture in to the part. Sometimes, the pad of his finger just sat there, comfortable and lacking motive to move anywhere else. But eventually, it did, and the process of Chad's "wake-up call" would begin all over again.

I didn't want to get up. But I knew that inevitable moment had arrived: opening my eyes.

When I finally got the strength to, the first thing I saw were his eyes. Beautifully blue and unusually shocked. As if by waking up, I'd done something wrong.

Then I realized I had. And immediately proceeding the realization, the humiliation knocked me in the chest with such a quick, violent force.

A hot-iron burn twisted like wild fire from his index finger, place on the bed of my lips. It was one of those moment you wish you could bury so deep inside yourself, and hide form all of your problems in the outside world.

But I couldn't. We both froze in this position, staring at each other in pure shock; searching for a solution to this awkwardness in each other's eyes.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't take the images in my mind back, because they'd already been completed.

I imagined his shirt off.

But that's not the worst of it.

Once his shirt was off in my head, soon came his…wait for it…socks!

Ha ha…I'm just kidding. After the socks it gets much worse. And by "worse," I mean irresistibly sexy. Next came his pants. Then his boxers. And instead of his fingers on my lips, it was his own lips.

And then I imagined his fingers swirling delicately to my waist…contemplating, then following through on maneuvering my shirt over my head. Like a doll, he undressed me, piece by piece, until I was completely exposed.

We were both completely exposed, only to enter into a world that was entirely of each other; each other at our most vulnerable.

But that world was not real.

In the real world, he still merely made contact with my lips with a single finger.

My cheeks had grown so hot, the hurt. But for some peculiar reason, I craved the pain. In fact, I craved more.

A hard line formed at the crease of his lips, as if the words he were about to say were forced. "Good morning, Sonny," he said softly.

No, not good morning. Worst morning of my entire life. It's the morning we have to go back to the studios, shove this perfect day to the back of our minds and pretend none of it ever happened. I have to go back and pretend I never, ever loved you. But, the way Chad had said 'good morning' to me it was as if he could almost make me believe him.

I opened my lips, just barley, to great him back, but I was incapable of speaking. All I could think about, was how perfectly his mouth had played my name, and how imperfectly wonderful his finger tasted.

Sonny…Sonny…Sonny… Sonny… Sonny… Sonny… Sonny… Sonny… Sonny… Sonny… Sonny…Son-ney…Sonnneeeeyy…

I played it back, until I was drunk with the sound of his voice. Thought the intoxication was thrilling, I still couldn't seem to get enough.

"Sorry," Chad said eventually, pulling his finger away from my agape lips. "I was just…memorizing."

"I see."

"Yeah…uh, do you…uh…wanna…uh…get some um, uh…breakfast?"

He couldn't look at me when he asked. But the thing is, I couldn't look away from him. His eyes were still drooping from sleep, and his hair swept in a frenzy of disarray on top of his head. It was adorable. Like, 5-year-old.

"Sure," I said, sitting up and groaning slightly when I realized my whole body was sore from sleeping on the ground. "Just let me get changed first."

He still didn't look at me. His blue eyes fought against the silent pleading of my brown ones. He was lifeless. No matter how much I wanted to break him from his trance, and I knew it was my fault. I shouldn't have opened my eyes. I should've just laid there, letting him play in my hair. Letting the world fade to non-existence. Just stay there…forever and ever.

I hadn't realized until I'd started to unbutton, that Chad still hadn't left the tent. "Hello! You might want to leave. Unless you want to memorize something else…"

"I'm going," he said.

And he was gone.

"What is that?"

"It's your shirt," I answered, blushing. "It's all I could find to change into after you left the tent. You don't like it?"

Chad stared ahead into the glare on the wet pavement, and made a noise that I interpreted as indifferent. Then he said, "It's horribly cute."

I crossed one leg over the other, and rested my arm on the door, pretending not to hear him. He'd said it quietly enough that my pretend ignorance could have been believable.

"Where are we going?" I wondered.

"Where do you wanna go?"

"I asked you."

"I don't care. Where do you want to go?"

I looked at him playfully, watching him drive while wearing one of my tight, pink tops that he'd found in my spare clothing in the trunk of the jeep. I bit my lip against a smirk, realizing I was wearing his shirt, and he was wearing mine. Weird.

I wondered if I should tell him I wasn't hungry.

"Well, Chad Dylan. I'm the girl, so I win the arguments," I declared with a grin. "So you"—I poked him in the side, and he leaned away, holding back laughter behind a smirk—"have to take me where you want to go."

"All right, Miss Monroe. You asked for it."

The jeep slowed, and turned slowly to Parallel Park on the left side of the road. Chad didn't even take the key out of the ignition, or even unbuckle. He sat there, staring blankly into space. I would've asked him what's wrong, but he'd already began speaking by the time I'd opened my mouth.

"When I was seven," he began, eyes still fixated on an invisible being, "I killed a dog."

I stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell he was telling me.

Chad breathed in a lung full of air, and sighed before continuing. "It was an accident, of course, but it was the neighbor's. His name was Buddy. I loved that dog to death, and I'd play with it every chance I got. I didn't know…" he paused. So long that I looked up at him, and saw his wet eyes. I looked away. It didn't feel normal seeing Chad cry. I couldn't take it. It was against nature.

"I didn't know chocolate would be bad for him. I remember being so excited because I'd won a chocolate bar at school. I wanted to share it with Buddy. Next day, he was gone. I never told anyone it was me. Not even later."

I didn't know what to say; how to comfort him. All I thought of was, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know," he said.

It was quiet for a long time. Not even the leather of the seats creaked. I hated it. I wanted to say something, but anything I thought of sounded so off.

"Come on, Sonny," Chad said eventually. "Wasn't there anything in your life that left you scarred?"
My hands shook in my lap, as I thought of my dad's death. My head told me I shouldn't trust Chad with such a fragile part of me, but my heart told me otherwise.

"My, uh…dad died when I was only five or six. Six," I corrected myself. I closed my eyes against the present, remembering only pictures of the past. "I was so mean to him," I whispered. "I remember yelling at him the day he died for taking a toy away from me. I think I even kicked him. It's not like it hurt him, but it hurts me to know that's the last memory he has of his little girl."

"He's in a better place. I know he is."

"Thanks."

"And parents aren't like that. Trust me, he remembers all the good things about you. Not the one time you screwed up."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Chad unbuckled his seat belt, finally, and leaned across the seat.

I must've looked utterly puzzled, because I stared at him like a dumbfounded idiot. "What?" I asked, my heart crashing through my chest at his sudden attention.

"Don't talk," he said, leaning toward me. "Cause so help me God, Sonny. If you talk…"

He didn't get to finish. He'd already kissed me. His lips were so gentle, entagled in mine. I tasted his breath, as it rushed briefly into my mouth, though it was morning breath. Accidentally, I made a small noise, which caught his attention.

"Sonny, are—are you crying?" he asked once he'd pulled away.

"No," I lied.

"Are you ready to eat?"

"Yeah," I lied again.

As I climbed from the car, I wiped away the tear he would never see, before slamming the door behind me.

I was thinking about when this would be over. That was my first and last kiss with Chad Dylan Cooper.