FICTION. KATHANG ISIP.
Dakak, 10 PM
"Meng, I need you. Now. Please." Alden begged over the phone. His voice sounded hot and bothered.
"You need me?" she saucily replied.
"Yes, I need you here. Please."
"OK. Ten minutes." Maine bolted from her bed and quickly shed her pajamas. This is it, she thought excitedly. No cameras, no crews, no staff. Finally, they would get to have a hot, private date in Alden's bungalow across hers. She rummaged through the clothes she brought on their Dakak trip and pondered the most important question of the night: Which bra to wear? She sucked in a deep breath. It wouldn't go that far, she thought. He's a good Catholic boy, all. She put on a small white body hugging dress and sandals, then peered outside her cottage. Alden's bungalow was a short walk from hers, connected by a small trail. There were no other guests around. The management had closed down the resort just for them. When the coast was clear, she grabbed her phone and a copy of Alden's key he had given her earlier. If that wasn't a clue, she thought, nothing was.
She tried to contain her excitement as she dashed towards Alden's door, all the while looking around like a paranoid schizophrenic. After all, no one should know that a Kid's Choice Awardee was going to visit the bungalow of Alden Richards alone. It would spell disaster if she got caught, and management would never let her hear the end of it. However, they had not enough time alone the whole day, and she was determined to enjoy a decent evening with him tonight. As decent as they could make it, anyway.
She opened his door and peered into the darkened room. She looked around, expecting some sort of surprise or candlelit table. There was nothing except Alden lying across the kingsized bed, wearing only boxers. She gasped. He certainly wasn't going to waste any time tonight, she thought. Good Catholic boys and their repressions. Put them on a beach with privacy, and see them let lose, she thought. She walked over to his bed and sat beside his sleeping figure. He moaned and turned.
"Hi," she whispered.
He only grunted. She arched an eyebrow.
"I'm here."
He opened one eye. "Meng," he mumbled. "Ang init."
Maine nodded and bit her lip. "Yes, ang init talaga," she whispered seductively as she bent down to kiss his cheek. He reached out to touch her arm. She jerked in surprise. His palm was blazing hot.
"Sh*t, Alden, ang init mo nga." She placed her hand against his forehead. He was burning with a fever. "Wait, have you taken anything? Paracetamol? Antibiotics? Anong nangyayari sa iyo?" Maine asked, her panic showing. "Tawagan ko si Mama Ten, saglit lang."
She reached for her phone and dialed Mama Ten's numbers. No connection. She tried Pat's phone. No answer either. "Labo ng signal," Alden mumbled. "Ikaw lang matawagan ko, sorry. That's why I needed you here."
Maine turned on his desk lamp and removed his blanket, feeling his skin. It had become almost too hot to touch. Then it made sense. The jet skiing earlier, the carnival visit, and the tours all under the heat of the summer sun. "Alden, I think you're dehydrated. Sana hindi heatstroke. You have to drink water. I'll call the front desk. We need to go to the hospital."
Alden gripped her hand as she was about to reach the phone. "No," he pleaded weakly. "I'll be OK. Tubig lang," he asked as he covered himself with the blanket again. "Let me call Mama Ten's room nalang," she offered. Once again, Alden refused. "No, no. Just you. Am OK. Pagod din silang Mama Ten. Let them sleep. You're here. I'm fine," he mumbled.
Maine was lost. She would have wanted to know how high his fever was, but there was no thermometer anywhere. Stubborn, stubborn boy. So much for a great night. There was no time to wallow. She stood up to get a face towel to wipe off the sweat on his brow and chest. She then opened a liter of bottled water and poured a glass. He drank it slowly, wincing in pain as the ice cold water went down his throat. Maine nervously watched his chest rise and fall, telling herself that she would have to stay the night in case his fever got worse. She held his hand but he had become so weak that his fingers slipped from hers if she let her grip go slack.
'Thanks, Meng," he said, his eyes still closed. She watched him as he dozed off. Sometimes, he fell so still that it scared her into pressing her fingertips on his pulse points just to be sure he was still alive. Maine looked at the ceiling in frustration. Alden was sick and he absoloutely refused to concern anyone else. Despite Maine's exhaustion from the long day , she still found it in herself to be furious at him.
