Page 51 of Invisible Bars
“Can we… just n-not talk about that right now?” I asked quietly, voice almost brittle.
When I finally looked up, Imanio was staring at me.
He studied me for a moment, then gave a short nod—sharp and understanding.
“Aight.”
Just like that, he backed off. And somehow, that simple gesture of him not pressing made me trust him just a little more than I had a minute before… but only alittle.
As I continued eating, a strange heaviness came over me. My eyes grew heavier with each sip of tea, my muscles started to relax, and my mind fogged gently, like I was being wrapped in warm cotton.
I fanned myself slowly. "Is it... warm in here?"
“I feel fine,” Imanio replied without looking my way.
I yawned, trying to fight it. "I think I n-n-need to... lie down for a bit. You… you didn’t poison me, did you?” I asked warily.
A tic made my left shoulder jump. “Poison the peasants, not the princess!”
Imanio stood slowly, pushed his chair back, and approached me.
Without a word, he leaned down and scooped me up—bridal style—like I weighed less than his watch.
“No. But I did have Ms. Shirley put something in your tea… just a light sleep aid,” he confessed, his voice close to my ear. “Well, maybe notlight. I told her to add a lil’ more than the recommended dose. But you’ll be good. You need to rest,” he added, adjusting me in his arms.
“Y-You drugged me?!” I shrilled incredulously.
“I helped you… big difference. You’ll thank me later today… or tomorrow when you wake up.”
“Release the demon, you decorative criminal!”
I squirmed, trying to push away from his chest, but it was like trying to fight a damn wall made of heat and muscle.
“Stop moving before I drop you,” he warned, completely unfazed.
“You mean before youthrowme into the void! Oh my God, I’m being trafficked to sleep!”
Imanio’s grip didn’t loosen. “You’re not being trafficked; you’re being carried… to your room… to rest. Calm down.”
“Rest in peace?! No thanks!” My head jerked, and I let out a loud, startled whistle before muttering, “Sleepytime snipers, I knew it!”
“Relax,” he repeated, pressing me a little closer to him with one arm while pushing the dining room door open with the other. “It wasAmbien,not cyanide.”
“You’re Ambien with abs and murder charges,” I grumbled, my face heating with frustration, tics flaring all over.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he muttered, carrying me effortlessly to the room. “Most women would pay for a man like me to carry them to bed or even step foot in my house.”
“Not with sleep drugs in their system or h-h-having to be kidnapped to do so!”
“Noted.”
“Y-You probably used that same sleep tea on your other victims!”
“Myvictimsdon’t get buffet style breakfast, peppermint tea, or fluffy pillows.”
“You smug kidnapping mattress mogul,”I huffed.
By the time he laid me gently on the bed, I was too drowsy to keep arguing. Most of what was spilling out of my mouth weren’t even my actual words… just scattered thoughts, maybe—yes.
