Page 202 of Invisible Bars
“Damn,” he murmured, “you look like peace on purpose.”
I smiled, a little blush rising to my cheeks. “You clean up well yourself,hubby.I almost didn’t r-recognize you without the violence and s-sarcasm.”
Imanio chuckled low, the sound vibrating in my chest in a way I’d grown to crave.
“How you feeling? Did the bath help any?” he asked.
“Better. Still a little… tender.” I glanced at him. “Your fault, obviously.”
He smirked. “Keep blaming me. But recovery requires food, so eat.”
We were seated side by side on the sofa near the sunroom windows, a tray table in front of me with my breakfast. I looked down at the spread—sautéed spinach with scrambled egg whites, grilled turkey bacon, sliced avocado, a fresh fruit medley, and a glass of fresh orange juice.
Before I could pick up my fork, the doorbell rang.
My spine stiffened, and my hand jerked violently against the edge of the tray.
“Zebra zipline!” I blurted, breath hitching, my body tensing without warning.
I clenched the cushion under my thigh, trying to breathe through it, trying to focus.
Imanio placed a steady hand on my knee.
“Breathe. It’s just Saroya. She’s good people.”
I nodded fast, then again… slower.
“I-I know. I’m just?—”
“Nervous,” he finished for me. “I get it. But I promise, she’s not here to judge you. She’s just here to help me clean up the internet mess. You don’t gotta be perfect, just be you.”
“Right,” I whispered. “Just me.”
But the tic still buzzed under my skin like electricity looking for somewhere to escape. Because being me wasn’t always the easiest thing to carry in front of strangers.
As Imanio stood to go answer the door, I took a deep breath.
“P-please let this woman be normal. No long stares. No fake sympathy. No tight-lipped smiles that scream pity,”I prayed just before a loud outburst slipped,“Birthday cake with no candles!”
I pressed my palms to my cheeks, holding them there as I rocked slightly in place. The pressure grounded me—it always did. The sunroom still smelled like peace, but the world was stepping in, and I had to meet it head-on.
Saroya walked in with the poise of a woman who didn’t beg for respect; she expected it.
“Good morning,” she greeted, setting her Michael Kors tote on the side table. “This space is stunning. I see why you hide her here.”
“Trap-door princess!” I shouted, hand twitching slightly.
I cleared my throat, trying to collect myself, heart stuttering as I wondered if that had offended her.
Saroya just glanced my way and smiled—genuinely.
“I meant that in a good way. You’re gorgeous,” she clarified.
My shoulders eased a little, but I still kept my fingers curled tight in my lap just in case the next tic decided to get rowdy.
“Th-thank you. You too, bitch!”
Saroya chuckled lightly and took a seat across from us.
