Page 25 of Invisible Bars
“You were upstairs. Youwatched.That makes you a variable.”
My hands clenched at my sides. I wanted to cry, scream, or beg—but none of it would matter. Because in his world, what I saw wasn’t a mistake; it was aproblem that demanded erasing,and I was standing on the wrong side of the moment.
Gatez stepped closer—slow, deliberate—until there was barely a breath of space between us.
His voice dropped, low enough that only I could hear it.
“Now you tell me,” he murmured, “are you gonna be a problem?”
I swallowed hard, too scared to lie, too smart to speak.
Gatez’s gaze was steady, piercing through me like a surgeon’s scalpel, and the calmness on his face belied a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
My fingers twitched at my sides—small movements, subtle enough to go unnoticed, but sharp and electric like a jolt of pain. I clenched my fists tightly, trying to suppress the panicthat clawed its way up my spine like a feral animal desperate for escape. But inside, I was unraveling.
I wasn’t merely a witness or a girl with a condition anymore; I was a liability, a wild card in a dangerous game, a question that needed an answer, and a variable in a world where unpredictability was dealt with swiftly and without remorse. I understood with every fiber of my being: men like Gatez didn’t leave loose ends; they tied them up—clean, quiet, and permanent.
“N-No!” I finally said, my voice trembling. “I didn’tmeanto see anything! I—I just woke up! I wanted tea!Peppermint! I heard voices, and—I was—I was going back upstairs! I swear! I didn’t want to get involved!”
I tried my best to stay calm, but everything in me was shaking—my hands, my breath, my mind.
“I—I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, eyes wide, throat tightening like it was closing in on itself. “I didn’t even know what I was looking at! I just—I heard Blu’s voice and thought maybe he was… I don’t know—talking to someone about the kitchen or some?—”
An outburst forced its way through, like it didn’t care I was begging for my life.
“Shit—kitchen knives, banana peel!S-sorry,” I apologized again, almost choking on the word. “I have Tourette’s,” I divulged. “I—I can’t control what I say! It makes people uncomfortable!Egg salad for Satan’s picnic!I don’t like being around crowds or strangers! I keep to myself! I barely talk! I don’t gossip!Banana bread booty cheeks at a funeral, shut up, Sharon!So you don’t have to worry about me saying anything to anyone! I promise!”
Gatez didn’t speak; he just stared. And every second of that silence stretched and twisted like a noose tightening around my chest. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, loud and uneven, drowning out everything but the sickening weight of notknowing what he’d decide. I felt like I was vibrating under my skin, like if I stayed still any longer, I’d break apart right there on the stairs.
I didn’t know if I’d convinced him or even if there was a way to convince someone like him. But I knew one thing for sure—if Gatez didn’t believe me right then, I probably wouldn’t get a second chance to make him.
“Yousureyou’re not going to the police?” he questioned at last. “A press? Facebook?”
The mention of Facebook almost made it worse. It was like he knew exactly how people worked—how fast a secret could travel in the wrong hands.
I shook my head fast, frantic. “No-No!”
“You sure?” he pressed, a little firmer now. “Do I need to take your phone? Your car? Your laptop?”
My breath caught. “Nnn-No! None of that! I—I swear, I promise!” I cried, the words crashing out of me like a dam had burst. “I won’t say anything! I didn’t see anything—I didn’t hear anything! I just—Crispy titty croutons!”
Gatez blinked once, like he was trying to process the phrase but refrained from commenting on it.
My voice cracked, rising into something desperate, raw. “I j-just want to go back upstairs! Somewhere q-quiet and not die! I just want to forget!”
I whimpered at the end of the sentence; the sound was small, broken, and humiliating, but I meant it. I wasn’t trying to be brave; I was trying to make it back to the safety of four walls, a locked door, and peppermint tea with my life intact.
That was it. That was all.
Gatez stared at me in complete silence, and that was worse than shouting. He looked at me like he could see through every word—like he was measuring whether I was a risk wortheliminating. Gatez didn’t need to raise his voice or lift his hand. I was already unraveling and terrified.
And he knew it.
“I didn’t come here to killyou.But we are having this conversation to make sure you don’t become a problem… so don’t. You can go,” he allowed, his tone flat and final.
“H-Huh? You—you’re letting me go?” My voice cracked under the weight of disbelief.
My chin quivered, and I rocked slightly on my heels—an anxious rhythm only my body understood.
