Page 270 of Invisible Bars
@straight2dabiz:“You pregnant or not?”
“Hey, everyone,” she whispered. “I… I need to come clean. I lied… about everything. I’m not pregnant. I wanted attention, and I thought that would make him notice me again. I’m so sorry.”
The chat exploded in disbelief.
@gossip_gawdess:“Wait! WHAT?”
@spilledalatte:“Not her lying!”
@hoodnews_daily:“Lying on a man like Imanio Kors is crazy…”
@queenofthecomments:“Sis just signed her own downfall.”
Aaliyah’s hands were shaking as she struggled to steady the phone, her entire body shaking. The camera swayed awkwardly, capturing the sight of her crumpled red robe and disheveled hair cascading around her shoulders.
“I should’ve never played with his name. He didn’t even love me.”
Aaliyah momentarily glanced off-screen, her eyes landing on me lurking in the shadows of her dimly lit room. With a subtle, silent gesture, I urged her to continue.
“I don’t deserve peace after what I did. I don’t deserve forgiveness,” she continued, her voice thick with sorrow.
Aaliyah’s hand drifted to the small pile of pills resting ominously beside her on the sofa.
I didn’t stop her; I just watched—stone still, like a ghost in the doorway.
“Don’t make me do this,” Aaliyah pleaded softly, more to herself than to the thousands of viewers watching her unravel. “Please…”
“Do it,” I seethed.
The audience couldn’t hear me, but she could. Deep down, she knew that wasn’t a choice.
Aaliyah glanced back at the screen.
“I’m sorry, Naji… I really am,” she murmured.
Then, one by one, she began swallowing the pills; each movement a desperate act of surrender.
The comments erupted into a chaotic frenzy.
@911whereyouat:“SOMEONE CALL THE COPS!!”
@nursebae24:“IS SHE DYING??”
@toxictea_tv:“DID SHE JUST TAKE PILLS ON LIVE???”
@screenrec_king:“Yo! Somebody screen record this NOW!”
@rollingmyeyes23:“Not her doing this for attention. Smh.”
@hoodwatchdog:“She’s tweaking fr. That was NOT melatonin!”
@cry4helppls:“This ain’t funny no more. Somebody check on her.”
@messychronicles:“Is that a suicide attempt or a stunt?!”
Minutes passed, and I could see Aaliyah’s breath growing more labored, each one sharper than the last. Her eyes began to glaze over, losing their spark as panic surged around her. Her body jolted uncontrollably, and with a sudden cough, she struggled to find her voice—yet no sound came out. Then, in an instant, she slid sideways, collapsing off the sofa mid-sob, her distress spilling freely into the atmosphere.
I stood by the door, holding it open, and cast one last glance at her. A cocky smirk crossed my lips—the same arrogant expression I wore whenever I reveled in my own lack of concern for others.
