Sharmaine went home that day feeling down and guilty; sudden questions and speculations came flooding her mind—did she show disinterest that Ms. Claire felt the need to stop the whole 'date'? What got Sharmaine even more confused was the fact that it bothered her even though she was against on the date in the first place.
She took out her suit and found herself drenched in sweat. The bandages were wet as well as her polo and the suit, which let out her natural body odor. She tossed the clothes in the laundry basket and took a shower to get ready for work. When she went out, she felt the need to look at herself in the mirror; she noticed that her hair was growing longer and she was starting to look like a woman slowly.
"Shall I even go to work? Technically, it's my day-off," she muttered.
The house felt lonely today. There were just two occupants after all—her and Denzel. If they needed more help, Denzel would call in for maids, but for the most part, Sharmaine does all the work—laundry, food and cleaning in her spare time.
She got dressed in a casual outfit and headed downstairs. The kitchen felt so nice. It was squeaky clean, perfect for Sharmaine, who planned to prepare dinner. Even the refrigerator was still stocked with a bunch of food, which she found amazing.
She gently took out some ingredients and started preparing for dinner. In a matter of minutes, the kitchen smelled like soup and butter. The aroma went everywhere—even reaching the second floor!
"Feels like a déjà vu," she muttered.
—
A few moments later, Sharmaine heard the door open and close. She saw Denzel headed straight up the stairs—not even looking at Sharmaine. Dinner was already finished, piping hot and ready to serve. All that's needed was to prepare a tray and go up to Denzel's study or room, where he would usually eat dinner.
Denzel stomped up the stairs and arrived at the front of his room. He noticed that Sharmaine's room was open, so he decided to peek inside. To his surprise, she had left everything at the same place. Nothing had even changed.
He gazed his attention to the floor, where a long roll of bandage laid. To his curiousness, he went inside the room and picked up the bandage. It was wet and smelled exactly like Sharmaine.
"Why is there a bandage here? Did he get hurt?"
Upon further examination, he saw no splotches of blood, but rather only sweat. His thumb ran through the cotton and suddenly remembered a very familiar sensation wherein he felt the same texture when he touched someone. He decided to roll up the long bandage, even though it felt disgusting, and kept it in his suit pocket.
"Denzel?"
Denzel turned around, startled in the inside. He saw Sharmaine holding a tray with food on top. "You made that?"
Sharmaine nodded. "I'll put it in your room?"
"The study would be fine." Sharmaine left and placed by Denzel's dinner on his study table. She had realized that when she called Denzel, he seemed startled and uneasy; the most important part was that he was strolling around her precious room.
"What was he doing in there anyway?"