Page 68 of Invisible Bars
I eyed him warily.“Why are you being so...concernedall of a sudden?”
“Because I can’t expect you to feel safe if I’m part of what’s making you feel on edge and setting your tics off,” he answered with a quiet steadiness.
For a moment, we just sat there as two broken pieces, trying not to scrape each other too hard.
“I’ll have you know you still had no… no right to turn my phone off!” My arm jerked slightly, and my head snapped in a quick motion I couldn’t control.
Imanio didn’t raise his voice; instead, he sat up straighter, his posture exuding calm confidence while his gaze remained keen and penetrating, as if he were dissecting my every thought.
“Why is your phone so important to you?” he asked.
“Why is yours?” I shot back.
The words escaped my lips with surprising ease, the tension between us crackling like electricity.
Imanio blinked, momentarily caught off guard, his expression shifting to something unreadable.
If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed he was surprised—surprised that I was holding my ground and matching his intensity instead of faltering under his scrutiny.
“You must got a lil' boyfriend or something?” he asked, tone casual, though it almost sounded like... jealousy.
“N-No. I don’t have a boyfriend. I—” I cut myself off.
My hands fidgeted at my sides, fingers curling inward instinctively, like they were trying to hide from the conversation.
“Why w-would that even matter?”
“Because,” he replied, voice darker now, “if you’re calling or texting some nigga while living inmycrib, drinkingmytea, sleeping inmybed, then yeah, it matters.”
“S-Sounds a bit jealous. And what… what about you?” My voice pitched up against my will. “I’m sure you have a g-girlfriend. If so, you shouldn’t be asking for my hand in marriage!”
Imanio tilted his head slightly, the muscle in his jaw shifting slow.
“IfI had a girlfriend,” he explained, enunciating every word like he was laying down the law, “you’d know. You’d hear her moaning through the walls… late at night. You’d smell her perfume on my shirts. I wouldn’t be missing work to track down your panic attacks or watching the damn cameras every two hours just to make sure you’re still breathing. I wouldn’t be here with you right now, arguing about phones like we’re something real.”
I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, scream, or slap him. My heart was pulling in too many directions—and none of themmade sense. I had to change the subject before I let myself spiral over the image of him with another woman.
Why that even bothered me? I couldn’t explain… not even to myself.
“And y-your bed, you say?” I snapped, voice rising. “Y-You said that like I’m some stray you rescued off the s-street! Like, I was homeless before I came here! I’m… I’m only here b-because I was told I had to be! You think I’m curled up under your sheets writing diary entries a-about how thoughtful your hostage plan is?!”
Imanio exhaled—slow, sharp, like he was chewing down something he wanted to spit.
“You really wanna do this right now?” he asked, leaning back in his chair like we were some long-term couple and that was just another Wednesday argument—like the back-and-forth, the biting tone, the accusations were all routine and he was getting tired of it.
“I’m… not doing anything except trying to keep what l-little sanity I have left! And yeah, maybe I don’t have a boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to contactsomeone! I… I need to call my Uber driver,” I added, voice peaking nervously.
Imanio’s stare was soft, but not kind.
“Naji,” he said, calmer than I expected. “I told you already… you can’t leave.”
“No!” The word shot out of me like it had been waiting on the edge of my tongue all day.
A tic punched out in my left hand as my shoulders bounced again.
“Tater tots in a tuxedo!”
The outburst came sharp and loud, nonsense but forceful, tearing straight through the moment like a slap to the silence.
