Page 123 of Invisible Bars
The tics had slowed—still there, but less forceful. My body was exhausted… my mind, worse.
I barely noticed the shadow that fell over me until I looked up.
Mr. Lansing.
He was one of the senior partners at the agency—clean-cut, cold-pressed, and always calculating. He wasn’t the face of the brand, but he was the one who made the calls behind the scenes. Budgets, reputations, contracts—he handled the machine that kept people like me either booked… or erased.
Mr. Lansing was rarely unkind… but that didn’t make him kind either. He was all business—polite on the surface, ruthless underneath.
The kind of man who smiles while telling you you’re no longer valuable.
“Naji.”
I stood slowly. “Y-Yes, sir?”
His face didn’t shift. No smile. No warmth.
“That display on the runway was… unprofessional. Disruptive. Embarrassing, to be frank.”
My stomach dropped.
“I understand your condition,” he added quickly, like a disclaimer. “We’ve tried to be accommodating. But today proved it’s simply… beyond that. It distracts from the brand… from the image we work so hard to maintain.”
I couldn’t speak.
“So,” he continued, with that same smooth, practiced cruelty, “unfortunately, we’ll no longer be working with you moving forward.”
The words stung. But the way he said them—so dismissive, so casual—cut deeper than anything else.
“You’re—you're firing me?!” I snapped, my voice rising uncontrollably.
My arms flung outward as another tic rolled through me, that one harsh and sudden.
“You… you mean to tell me I get dragged on stage k-k-knowing I didn’t have my damn meds—knowing I was s-s-sabotaged—and you’re firing me?!”
He blinked once, unmoved.
I could feel the outburst coming like a wave I couldn’t stop. I hated when it mixed with my anger—because people always assumed it was just attitude.
“You stiff-faced fat fuck! Y-You wouldn't l-last five seconds in my skin, but you get to sit there in your o-oversized suit talking about i-image?”
My body jolted again, and I let out a harsh noise—half growl, half sob.
“And that,” he said, smooth as ever, “is exactly the kind of behavior that reinforces this decision.”
I stared at him, trembling.
Not from fear or rage… but from pain and the betrayal of a system that had never once felt safe.
Mr. Lansing buttoned his blazer like the conversation was done and firing someone was just a checkbox to tick off.
“HR will be in touch,” he said blandly. “They’ll handle the paperwork, your release forms, and the final payout of any remaining balances owed. You’ll also receive a confidentiality clause, which we expect you to honor regarding today’s… incident.”
His eyes flicked to me briefly. Not with empathy… just control. Like I was a mess, he was already erasing.
“All agency equipment, badges, and wardrobe items must be returned by the end of the week.”
Then he turned and walked away leaving me standing there, in my heels, gown, and pain.
