Page 261 of Invisible Bars
“You probably figured it out at the dinner—or maybe they told you. I have Tourette’s. That’s why I was blurting r-random stuff. The outbursts. The twitches. The head jerk. All of it.” I paused, then added with a faint smirk, “Although… some of what I said that night was true.”
To my surprise, she laughed softly.
I did too—for a second.
But I settled again just as quickly.
“It’s not something I can hide, and I’m not trying to anymore,”I said, my voice trembling slightly. “All I ask is please…d-don’tstare awkwardly.”
My nose wrinkled in a comical display, twitching twice—like I was stifling a sneeze that refused to manifest.
“Eyes on fire! Eyes on fire!”I spat, the urgency of my words punctuated by a sharp exhalation. I added softly, almost awhisper, “Don’t make me feel like I’m some exhibit. I get enough of that already. I’m not fragile, but I n-notice everything.”
Chiamaka, with an air of thoughtfulness, nodded slowly. Then she turned to me, her voice unexpectedly tender.
“I’ve actually been doing some extensive research. On Tourette’s, OCD, and tics—all of it.I didn’t want to come into this blind. So I think I understand a little more than you might think.”
Her words took me by surprise, leaving me momentarily speechless. I paused, taking a moment to study her earnest expression before giving a single nod in gratitude.
“Thank you,” I expressed... And I meant it. “I came here to talk to you,” I added calmly.
A fly buzzed too close to my ear, and I flinched. My fingers grasped my earlobe, and my neck whipped to the right, as if I were trying to shake off an unseen annoyance.
“Buzz off, winged demon!” I shouted, swatting at the air in frustration, my breath escaping in a huff as I tried to regain my composure.
Chiamaka smirked, but to her credit, held back a laugh and didn’t stare at me with judgment.
“I hate flies,” I muttered under my breath before steering the conversation back on track. “An-anyway. Like I said… I came here for you. Not them. So please don’t try to convince me to talk to them. That’s not happening. Not today… not tomorrow.”
My voice wasn’t angry; just firm and cool, but not cruel.
Chiamaka held up both hands, palms out. "I wasn’t going to," she replied, her accent soft but confident. “They were wrong; I know that. My name is Chiamaka, by the way—as you may have already known before I was introduced at the dinner. But everyone calls me either Chia or Amaka."
"I knew before then. Pretty name, but I’ll sti-stick with Amaka. I… I already call someone Chi. So close enough,” I responded.
She nodded slowly. “I, um... I’ve been following you for years," she confessed, looking straight ahead instead of at me. "I wanted to reach out so many times, but... I was afraid of your reaction."
I tapped my fingers against my arm in a repetitive motion.
"I get that. I probably would’ve ignored you… or blocked you,” I said blatantly.
“Understandable. In all honesty, I didn’t know the real story about you until last year; not the one Baba told. Not the lie… but the truth. I overheard Mama crying one night, saying she regretted what they did to you.”
“H-how do you feel about everything?”
She looked at me, her eyes glistening. “I hated them when I first found out for lying. For acting like you were some shame they had to erase. But mostly… I hated myself for not asking questions sooner.”
“D-don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”
I looked away, lips pressing into a tight line. A wave swelled behind my ribs—grief, nerves, or something older than both. My fingers twitched, then moved to smooth the hem of my shirt over and over.
Then it hit.
“I didn’t ask to be this way! I didn’t—d-didn’t sign up for this factory default setting! Who left the door open?!” The last words came sharp, ragged, and loud—like they’d clawed their way out.
I gasped, chest heaving lightly as the storm of it passed.
Chiamaka waited, her eyes calm, respectful—like she understood that silence was safer than sympathy until the moment passed.
