Page 37 of Invisible Bars
Chi was about to put a strawberry in his mouth, but he paused to think on it.
“Now that you say that… I don’t think so.”
“Exactly, which makes this situation a little more complicated.”
He placed the strawberry in his mouth.
“Complicated or not, yo’ ass done caught feelings in one weekend. That’s a new record for yo’ cold-hearted ass. Just admit it, bro. She’s making you alil’soft. Tell the truth and shame the devil.”
I didn’t deny it… I couldn’t. Not when every time I closed my eyes, I saw her trembling hands and tears.
Chi kept ranting. “You over here skipping work, pacing the floors like a single mama with a wayward son, and Googling Tourette’s like you’re trying to get a PhD in her brain. At this rate, you gon’ start twitching too just to match her vibe.”
“Shut up. And don’t you have somewhere to be, nigga?”
“I do. But one more thing. I’m waiting for the day you show up with a mug that says, ‘World’s Best Hostage Husband’.” Chi chuckled then got serious. “For real, though, what you gon’ do?’”
I sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I’mnotgonna hurt her. I just… can’t let her go until I know for sure she ain’t gonna hurt me… or herself.”
Chi stood up and when he made it to the door, he paused and looked back with that same damn grin.
“Well, look… you know I gotta talk my shit, but if you do end up marrying Glitchy with the unpredictable vocabulary, I’m all in. I’m talkin’, matching suits, customized cufflinks, the wholenine.AndI’m bringing them big ass speakers I took from Blu to the wedding. Might as well let Blu’s system live on since he don’t.”
I cracked the smallest hint of a smirk.
“Get out,” I told him.
Chi pointed at me on his way out. “That’s all I needed to see. That lil’ lip twitch? Yeah, you gone. Boy in love and don’t even know it. But I’ma grab me a plate then dip. Hit me up later, lover boy.”
I shook my head, watching him leave, then focused back on the monitor, mentally planning what I would say to Naji.
It wasn’t about silencing her anymore; it was about protecting her… Even from herself.
Chapter Eight
NAJI
For three nights, I remained on the floor—buried in fear, wrapped in silence, and cloaked in the same stale hoodie, T-shirt, leggings, and undergarments. I hadn’t eaten and I barely slept. My fingers clung to the same blanket like it could somehow shield me from the truth, though deep down I knew it couldn’t. The illusion was all I had. I waited, for what I wasn’t sure—maybe for someone to come in and drag me out, or the moment I’d finally break.
With my back against the wall, I lifted my arms and took a cautious sniff. Instantly, my nose wrinkled. The stench of musk, anxiety, and three days of silence clung to me like a second skin—thick, sour, and unapologetic.
For the first two days, I didn’t notice any odor—probably because I usually kept a strict hygiene routine and ate clean, balanced meals at least six days a week.
That kind of discipline helps keep body odor to a minimum.
But the funk was creeping in. And even though I could feel it crawling all over me, I still couldn’t bring myself to shower. The thought of being completely naked in a space I didn’t control sent my heart racing.
What if there were cameras in there? Hidden behind the mirror, tucked into the corners, watching? No. I wasn’t taking that chance.
I had taken my anxiety pills—if nothing else—but the anxiety never left. Even when Ididmanage to drift off for a few minutes, I’d jolt back awake, heart hammering, mind racing. I was either dreaming about escape or death—there was no in between.
When thirst crept in, I didn't touch the bottled waters that sat on the dresser. Instead, I drank from the bathroom faucet. The water wasn’t dirty, which didn’t take me for a total shock—that was a rich man’s house. Based on how spotless the bathroom was and the sleek, high-end faucet that looked like it belonged in a luxury spa, I was almost certain it had some five-star filtration system built in. It tasted clean… too clean, maybe.
The chef, Ms. Shirley, who offered me water and food,seemedkind. She had that gentle and patient voice. But I wasn’t going to be a fool. I’d seen enough kidnapping movies to know how easily someone could pretend to be the “nice one”—the kind of person who’ll bow their head to pray with you, then slip poison in your soup and Visine in your water before the amen’s done.”
I wasn't about to be one of those fools who got comfortable and ended up in a ditch.
Not me.
