"What were you doing?"
Sharmaine cannot give a proper answer due to her nervousness. Her teeth were clenched; her mouth was unable to form the words she desired. Plainly, she just stared at him unsure as to why she can't give a proper answer.
"Answer me," he commanded.
She stuttered. Her heart pounded crazily. "I was just going to change your clothes."
"Really?" His brow was arched upwards; he was not one bit convinced by her words.
"Really! What else were you thinking?" she shouted as she threw a t-shirt on his face. "Go on, you wear it!" she added, turning her head sideways as he changed his clothes.
"You can look now. Geez, being embarrassed for nothing. We're both dudes you know," he teased.
"I-I am not embarrassed," she uttered as she pushed Denzel down, "Lie down now, you're sick. You need rest."
Denzel pulled Sharmaine's arm making her lips almost land down to his. Sharmaine immediately yanked her body, her heart pounding rapidly.
"W-What are you doing?!"
Denzel smirked. "You don't really have to be flustered."
"W-Whatever, I'm making you something to eat, so behave."
"Do you have the right to command me?"
"Just stay put, behave, and rest," she said before leaving the room.
She made her way to the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised that the fridge was stocked up with ingredients she could use to make porridge. Sharmaine put her hands together and stretched them outwards.
"Prepare yourself, Denzel Suarez, I'll make the best porridge you have ever tasted."
—
Denzel stared at the ceiling, puzzled about what he heard from Sharmaine. "I wonder what'll it be like dating a person like him, huh?" he murmured, "Is he. . ."
A knock interrupted his thoughts, and the door opened as Sharmaine entered holding a tray. On top was a bowl of hot porridge; its aroma was sifting through his nostrils. She paced through the bedroom and placed the tray on the bedside table.
"There's your meal, go and eat it."
Denzel stared at her. "Aren't you going to feed me?"
"No, why?" Confusion covered Sharmaine's face.
"Because I am a patient?"
She sighed. "But you can eat—"
"I am a patient."
"Fine." Sharmaine said in a grumpy manner.
She used one hand to feed Denzel while she used the other as a cover so that the porridge won't drip over the sheets.
"How does it taste?" she asked.
"It's good, I'm surprised you can cook well," he replied.
Sharmaine felt proud and decided to brag her cooking skills. "Psh, I can cook better that anyone."
He smirked. "We'll see about that."
As Sharmaine fed Denzel, minutes passed by like seconds. The day was merely starting, but for Sharmaine, it felt like it was already ending. He looks tired, Denzel thought as he stared at his assistant's eyes closing and opening again.
"Shawn, why don't you sleep? We have work tomorrow and—"
"We? work? Oh no mister, there's no way I can let you go to work with a fever."
"I will go to work tomorrow and you are sleeping now. Understood?"
Sharmaine sighed. "I will not sleep until you promise me you will stay here."
"Then, don't sleep because I am not promising anything."
Sharmaine grabbed Denzel's shoulders, her eyes filled with seriousness. "Please, trust me on this. I am your assistant after all."
Hearing those words from Sharmaine felt strange in a good way. No one was this eager and caring to him before, for the other assistants were just after the money and the fame. Denzel was thrilled that someone was now willing to help him. Finally, he thought, a man worthy of his trust.
"Very well then," he confidently said, "Please fulfill my duties tomorrow. I suppose, I can trust you?"
"Yes! I won't let you down." Sharmaine felt her blood rushing quickly around her system as she fed the last spoonful of porridge to Denzel. Carefully, she wiped his arms, neck and face again.
"Lie down," she said, placing a wet towel on his head, "Your temperature is decreasing. Thank the good heavens!"
Sharmaine stood up and grabbed the tray with the empty bowl. She was just about to leave Denzel's room when suddenly, Denzel called out Sharmaine's cover up name.
"Hmm? What is it?"
Denzel was at a loss for words. Why did he call out Sharmaine again? A good minute passed and Sharmaine is still standing against Denzel's door. The silence was still there.
"Make me your porridge again," he blurted out.
Sharmaine smiled and giggled. "So that's what you want to say. Anything else?"
"N-No"
"Well then, I'll bring this down. Sleep well."
And before Denzel knew it, the door was already closed and the lights were off. The moonlight gleamed across the dark room, providing a faint amount of light. He felt sleepy, heavy and hot. The only thing keeping him cool was the wet towel on his forehead.
"I wonder what'll happen tomorrow," he thought as his eyes get heavier and heavier. He just fell asleep before he knew it.
—
Downstairs, the sound of the water splashing in the sink were the only ones heard. Sharmaine washed the dishes and cleaned the counters, for they were messy after she made the porridge. There was no exhaustion she could feel; it was all plain excitement. Taking over the boss' duties was like a given honor and responsibility for her.
"I won't let him down!"
Once she was finished, she went upstairs to Denzel's room. She saw a futon at the back inside a wardrobe and laid it on the floor. She grabbed pillows and a blanket from the drawers beside Denzel's bed. As she laid down, she wondered about her future.
She was pretending to be a man after all, and she knows that no secrets won't be revealed sooner or later. Thinking about that got her anxious, she brushed it off and decided to sleep so that she could be well-rested for tomorrow's work.