Sharmaine stared at the platter of food she had just put on Denzel's study table. From what Sharmaine recalled, it seemed like he had found something that could threaten her identity, making Sharmaine feel more uneasy and scared.
What if he found her bandage stash? Or what if she played around her unlocked phone?
"What was he doing in there anyway?" she muttered, trying not so sound suspicious.
The study was dim and quiet. Shelves filled with books surrounded the place as the chandelier on the ceiling provided a small amount of light; the room also only consisted of brown and vintage furniture which made the place pleasing to the eyes—a perfect place to relax one's mind.
"What are you standing there for?" a manly voice said, making Sharmaine jolt and turn around.
Sharmaine sighed at the sight of Denzel leaning on the door frame. "Oh, nothing, I was just wondering why you were in my room."
"It has nothing to do with you," he said, walking around her to get to his seat.
Sharmaine stared at his cold expression, sighed yet again, and left the room calmly before rushing to hers. She opened the door and found her room exactly the way it was since she had left a moment ago. Nothing was really out of the ordinary, which made her feel ashamed when she had thought that Denzel searched for something.
She sighed in relief. "Good thing I don't own any womanly clothes."
She looked upon the laundry bin and suddenly remembered Claire's attitude. She was crying earlier, and Sharmaine did not even have the time to comfort her. She thought that she may have done something wrong; she wanted to call her, but she forgot to take her phone number.
If she were to borrow Denzel's cell, would he agree? Before she could even decide, her body had already made its way in front of the study room. She swallowed before knocking once and twice.
"Please enter."
Sharmaine lightly turned the door knob. "Um, Denzel, may I ask a favor from you?"
"What is it?" he said whilst he gave a heavy sigh and a sharp glare.
"May I have—no, call Ms. Park?"
Denzel's brow arched up. "Why?"
"I just need to ask her something."
There was nothing suspicious about what Sharmaine had said. It's just that Denzel's mind was too irrational; his ability to make an objective decision was clouded by his judgement as she stood in front of him.
"Get out."
His words confused Sharmaine. "Huh?"
"I said 'get out'!" His voice roared through the air until Sharmaine left the room. She leaned on the study door panting. Her heart pounded, and her body and soul shivered in fear. It was nothing like she saw before. He was not like that before.
"Who the heck was that? Was that Denzel? The true Denzel?" She rinsed her face at the sink in her bathroom, the splashing and dropping of water made her shirt wet. Meanwhile, in Denzel's study, he focused himself onto what he was doing—tried to focus at least. a flashback kept coming back and it bothered him a lot.
Denzel leaned back onto his seat and took out the roll of still wet bandage. "Shawn Mendoza, who the hell are you?"