Page 234 of Invisible Bars
Aaliyah’s smile thinned like butter scraped across too much bread.
“Of course! Enjoy, ladies,” she chirped, then turned and walked away with her tail tucked neatly between her lime-green regrets.
As soon as Aaliyah was out of earshot, Dessign muttered under her breath, “Thefuckin’audacity.”
I shook my head, still stunned. “She r-really slid up here like nothing happened.”
Dessign stabbed her shrimp with a little too much passion.
“Shetriedit! Wearing lime and lies like it’s a damn dress code.”
We both chuckled, the tension melting off us.
“Sooooo… are you ready for the next big dinner?” Dessign asked, raising a brow as she sipped from her straw.
She was talking about Giselle’s “makeup” dinner—the second one, the"let’s try this again"one.
I wasn’t.
“Not hardly,” I replied, stabbing at my salad. “I l-looked at the first one as a trial run… and that one wenthorribly. So no… I’m not exactly counting down the days. I feel like she’s got something up her sleeve… Imanio said the same.”
Dessign rolled her eyes. “Knowing your mama-in-law? She definitely does. But again, if she tries some stupid shit, we got your back. Youalreadyknow that.”
I smiled. “I know.”
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Well, you just did,” I teased.
“Okay!Let me find out I’m rubbing off on you!” Dessign said, pointing her fork at me with a playful smirk.
We laughed in unison again, leaning back into the comfort we’d built between us. Then her tone shifted slightly—still warm, but curious.
“Alright, let’s get serious,” she said, brushing a crumb off her shirt. “But if given the opportunity—and Iknowpeople have started reaching out since you’ve been back in the spotlight—would you ever model again?”
I froze.
That was the one question I dreaded anyone ever asking me again—the one I danced around, even in my own thoughts.
I rubbed the back of my neck anxiously, my eyes finding refuge in the condensation on my glass, the flicker of the citronella candle on the table, the flame of the patio heater—anywhere but her gaze.
“Uh…”
A tic jerked my shoulder, and before I could hold it back, an outburst slipped out:
“Tap-dancing trauma! Nope, nope, nope!”
I cringed slightly but didn’t apologize—not that time or anymore with her.
I just breathed through it.
Then I finally answered, voice low and honest. “Honestly? No.”
Dessign didn’t interrupt; she just nodded, encouraging me to keep going.
“That day…” I started, then exhaled like the memory still lived on my skin. “That daybrokesomething in me. My body betrayed me in front of cameras, d-designers, managers, and so many people who never saw me as human in the first place.”
My throat made a soft, involuntary humming sound—barely audible, but there… like a hiccup of emotion I couldn’t suppress. I pressed my hand lightly to my chest, not to stop it, but to remind myself I was still in control.
