Page 9 of Invisible Bars
Respectfully… I ignored her.
I stripped off the jacket—too tight, too fake, too damn heavy—and chucked it into the back seat like it was part of the problem. Then I hit start.
Engine humming. AC blowing. Noise gone.
Giselle kept knocking, but I was already gone in my head.
When I got home, I dressed in all black—hoodie, jeans, sneakers. In under thirty minutes, I switched from Real EstatePrince to Underworld Reaper. My entire energy had shifted. I was now in Gatez mode.
No more luxury listing; just last warnings.
Gatez emerged the moment I mentally clocked out from being Imanio, the polished real estate mogul, who I had to be for business—strictly professional, suited up, articulate… well, when I felt like it.
Gatez didn’t do apologies, explanations, or pleasantries. He also didn’t talk feelings, didn’t take meetings, play nice to make people comfortable, believe in mercy, and damn sure didn’t give zero fucks about being liked—just respected. He moved like smoke—quiet, suffocating, and impossible to trace until it was already too late.
Honestly, that’s who I wanted the world to see. Maybe not the full-blown savage version, but something closer to the truth—not as polished as Imanio…. not as raw as Gatez… just a man who didn’t have to pretend to be softer than he was.
Many people didn’t know who Gatez was, and I preferred it that way. Yeah, there were rumors here and there, but the streets knew better than to question a man like me. If people feared Imanio, they refused to even whisper about Gatez around me.
Aside from Chi, my father and sister, anyone else who knew me by that name either had serious business with me or a debt that was long past due.
Gatez wasn’t just a ghost in the system; he was the consequence. He didn’t knock; he appeared. And he didn’t collect favors; he collected fear.And then, if necessary… the body.
Chapter Two
NAJI
“Home, sweet home,” my Uber driver, Daphnee, said as we pulled up to Blu Notes.
My grandmother’s car had given up on me two years earlier; the engine coughed its last breath on a rainy afternoon that still replayed in my head. I’d thought about replacing it, but the truth was, Manhattan wasn’t a city built for driving anyway. Traffic crawled slower than pedestrians and parking was a battle almost never won. So I let it go and learned how to live like the city wanted me to: on foot, by train, or in the back seat of someone else’s ride.
Thankfully, I only had to rely on walking and the train for a little over a month. That was until I met Daphnee. For the past two years, she had been more than just a driver; she’d become a vital lifeline in my daily life. The bond wasn’t formed by chance; it was a deliberate choice on her part. She once confided in me that her niece had Tourette Syndrome, and through that experience, she had witnessed firsthand the cruelty and discomfort that can arise in a world indifferent to those who are different. She understood how new faces and unfamiliar energy could be overwhelming and anxiety-inducing for someone like me. So, she made it her mission to be my constant—picking meup every morning for work and dropping me off every evening, Monday through Friday, without fail.
Each day, I felt the impact of her commitment. It was by far the kindest thing anyone had done for me in years. However, on the rare days when she took off, I would acutely feel her absence—not just the lack of her car’s familiar presence, but the void left by her unwavering care. Daphnee never stared with judgment or asked probing questions; she simply understood my struggles without needing to verbalize them.
I gave a small nod, lips twitching, before my shoulder jerked once.
“T-Thank you again,” I expressed softly.
Daphnee waved me off like she always did.
“Naji, girl, I’ve been riding you around like Ms. Daisy for two years now. I think we’ve both figured out by now that I don’t mind… not one bit. And long as I got four wheels and gas in the tank, I’ll get you to and from work or wherever you need to go; no questions asked. I got you.”
Over time, Daphnee became attuned to my patterns—what calmed my racing mind and what triggered my anxiety. I noticed that with her, I felt a sense of safety; her presence no longer felt like a threat. As the weeks turned into months, I found that my anxiety diminished, and my tics became less pronounced, sometimes barely noticeable at all when she was around. In her company, I had discovered a rare kind of peace, and with it, the ability to breathe a little easier in a world that often felt far too overwhelming.
I nodded, my heart tugging a little.
I reached for the door handle, my fingers twitching once before I got a grip.
“Okay. I’m gonna head inside now,” I said, blinking hard and doing a small shoulder shrug.
She nodded. “Alright. But if you needanything, you text me. I’m always a text or phone call away.”
I gave a quick nod, followed by an involuntary throat clear.
“W-Will do. Thank you… always.”
Daphnee smiled gently. “Keep your head up, Miss Naji, and have a great weekend.”
