Invisible Bars

by Alecia J

but one thing she’s not is fake. Giselle, you came out the same dirt some of us still trying to wash off and heal from. So stop with the act like you don’t know what it feels like to split one meal between three people, heat the house with the oven door open, stand in food stamp lines, use candles when the lights got cut off, listen to yo’ stomach growl while saying “I already ate” so your kids could eat first, sell personal stuff just to cover rent, or boil water on the stove just to take a bath. I could go on.”

“That’s the thing… people think peace is soft, but peace is a damn discipline. Keeping your calm in a world that won’t shut up? That’s power, baby girl. That’s yours.”

“Use it how you need it. In no way is this me telling you that you gotta get the hell up outta here. But I also know you don’t plan on staying here forever.” “Would you l-let me stay forever?” Blu laughed, soft and low, probably thinking I was just being playful… but I wasn’t.

“I mean, if you really want to, of course,” he responded quickly, as if trying to retract his words. “But Naji, why would you want to? You’re so beautiful… men practically throw themselves at your feet. And I know that deep down, you dream of that perfect wedding—all the things little girls fantasize about as they grow up. And kids… you want children, don’t you?”

I do. I would cherish all of that one day—a loving family, a type of love that lasts forever, someone to share laughter with on joyous days, and to hold hands with during the difficult times, I almost admitted openly.

“Listen to me, Naji, life is… too short,” he continued. “People say that all the time, treating it like empty words, but I mean it. Life moves quickly, almost in the blink of an eye. One minute, you’re excitedly making plans for next summer, dreaming of lazy beach days and unforgettable adventures, and the next… you’re just hoping to survive the week. You think you have time, but time doesn’t ask for your schedule or what you dreamed of doing; it just keeps on rolling along, indifferent to your wishes.”

“I’ve seen too many people wait, Naji. They wait for the right moment to propose the question. They wait for a little more money saved up before traveling the world. They wait for a perfect sign from the universe before pursuing their passions. Then, one day, they blink, and suddenly, it’s too late. They never express what they truly wanted to say. They never embark on that life-changing trip. They never steal a kiss from someone who could have meant everything. They never chase after that dream job because they were always waiting for peace, waiting for permission, or waiting for a later that might never arrive.”

“But later doesn’t always come,” he went on. “All you get is now. And if you’re lucky—real lucky—you’ll get somebody to share that now with. Somebody who makes you forget the noise, the weight, the war going on around you. Somebody that makes five minutes feel like a lifetime. That’s rare, and when it shows up, you don’t ask why and you don’t push it away… you honor it.”

“Bro, you probably got that girl out here burning sage, trying to manifest Peter back. Meanwhile, Peter don’t even got a birth certificate, a social security number, or a forwarding address. Nigga don’t exist on paper but live rent-free in her head.”

“Peter don’t text back. Peter don’t argue. Peter don’t make promises. Peter don’t explain. Peter leaves before sunrise and tips like heartbreak is part of the service charge,”

“Don’t take it personal, shawty,” Chi said. “He doesn’t like anyone; well, with the exception of me, his sister, his grandma, and his pops. His mama is still up for debate; that verdict ain’t in yet. I’m convinced this nigga came out the womb mad. He probably smacked the doctor for slapping his ass to make him start crying. Now thinking about it, I think his mama said his first words was, ‘Don’t touch me’.”

That nigga read me like a book he done reread a thousand times and still kept bookmarked. Chi wasn’t just a friend; he was my brother. My “tell me where and how deep to bury the body” type of loyalty. He kept me grounded, kept me laughing, and kept me from making a few dumb-ass decisions. But he never judged me and damn sure never switched up.

Even when I was at my lowest—or when everybody else was either scared of me or treating me like I was one bad mood away from catching a case, Chi would always pull up calm as hell, look me dead in the eye, and say, “Did you eat today, nigga? Or do you need some pussy, a prayer, or to go murk somebody? Just let me know what kind of healing we on today so I can gas the car and dress accordingly. I support all of them equally.” That’s real love. So when my mama started spitting that shit about me “hanging around the wrong people,” that shit went through one ear and out the other. Hell, I’d cut ties with her before I turned my back on him.

Unbeknownst to them, the panic made it worse. The more Chi talked and the more they stared, the more my body revolted. “Shit! Goddammit, microwave brains! Peach cobbler! Why is everyone made of lizards?!” I screamed, my arms twitching like my body was trying to throw a tantrum without my permission.

“I have Tourette’s,” I divulged. “I—I can’t control what I say! It makes people uncomfortable! Egg salad for Satan’s picnic! I don’t like being around crowds or strangers! I keep to myself! I barely talk! I don’t gossip! Banana bread booty cheeks at a funeral, shut up, Sharon! So you don’t have to worry about me saying anything to anyone! I promise!”

“You don’t strike me as the type to run your mouth. Hell, you don’t even strike me as the type to be in a place like this. That’s the only reason you’re still breathing. So go back upstairs, breathe, and pretend this night never happened. And if you ever think about speaking on it—ever—think of this moment as a favor; one I will not extend twice. Now go… and don’t come back down until you think we’re gone. We have some cleaning up to do.”

She had Tourette’s—said it herself, barely got the words out while panicking. I’d heard of the condition in passing—never cared enough to learn more. But seeing it up close? On someone like her? It pissed me off. I wasn’t pissed at her, but at the world. At how someone like her had to live in it, twitching through fear and tiptoeing through triggers. And now she’d seen something she shouldn’t have; witnessed a bullet turn a man into a memory. That shit would eat at her or worse… break her. Either way, I’d be the one holding the pieces. She cried like she thought I was the kind of man who’d kill her next. I was. But something about the way she whimpered and begged like she was already half-dead… it cracked something in me.

“Exactly!” Chi threw his hands up. “Movies, nigga! This ain’t Netflix—this is real life! There weren’t any credits rolling while she was screaming! All I’m saying is… I don’t like it! She got good peripheral vision; probably saw everything! Probably got a diary! Probably listens to podcasts! Probably got a TikTok following! That’s how snitching starts, man!”

"My place,” he stated like it was law—unchallenged, unmoved, and not up for negotiation. “Which, by the way, is nice and big as hell,” Chi added. “Gated, secluded area, no neighbors, which means no nosy Karens peeking through blinds, Amazon packages don’t get stolen… just people. And if he decides to shoot somebody at 3 a.m., ain’t nobody dialing 911. It’s also clean, like even the dust know better than to settle there. The best part? You’ll have a chef on call, and the snacks go craaaaaaaazy—I’m talkin’ Oreos, the bougie kind, that had to catch a flight to get here.”

“You gon’ be good…” he continued, “… long as you don’t call him by his government name in public… at night, ask too many questions, breath too loud when he’s thinking, or chew too loud around him… that might be your last meal. And please don’t start levitating and fuck around and hurl a TV remote at this crazy nigga… or anything for that matter. Most importantly, don’t touch the thermostat. He’ll kill faster over AC settings than he will over money.”

“Y’all looking real cozy back there,” he grinned, glancing in the mirror. “Might as well hold hands and pick out wedding colors. I can pull up Dess’s Pinterest board ready if y’all need inspo.” Dess must be his girlfriend? I wondered. “Drive,” Gatez ordered. Chi shrugged. “Aight. But if I catch y’all cuddling, I’m taking pictures. Glitchy and The Grim Reaper. It’s a vibe.”

I’d left behind the one thing that mattered most—the teddy bear. The one with Nana Li’s voice still tucked inside, a soft recording that had soothed me through more panic attacks than I could count. I have to go back and get it. The thought hollowed out my chest, but I didn’t dare say a word. How could I tell the men who kidnapped me that I needed to turn around for a teddy bear?

I sighed deeply and curled into my seat. I lost my grandmother once, now I lost her again. And this time, I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back.

“I might end up marrying her. That’s one of my brilliant ideas,” I revealed. Chi immediately started choking… for real—choking, coughing and gripping his chest like the ghost of the grape was trying to kill him. I didn’t rush to his aid. I just tilted my head slightly and asked, calm as hell, “Yo… you aight?” “Yeah, no thanks to yo’ emotionally unavailable ass!” Chi wheezed dramatically, still fanning his chest. “You could’ve hit me on the back or something, nigga! Hell, at least pretend to look concerned! Blink twice, gasp, shed a single thug tear—something!” I shrugged. “You sounded like you needed Jesus more than medical help.” “I needed both! And a Heimlich hug, dammit!” he barked. “So you was just gon’ let a nigga die over a witness proposal? That’s what we doing now?” “Nah… I would've stepped in if you turned purple. You was still breathing, so I figured you had a few more coughs left in you.”

“Well, look… you know I gotta talk my shit, but if you do end up marrying Glitchy with the unpredictable vocabulary, I’m all in. I’m talkin’, matching suits, customized cufflinks, the whole nine. And I’m bringing them big ass speakers I took from Blu to the wedding. Might as well let Blu’s system live on since he don’t.” I cracked the smallest hint of a smirk. “Get out,” I told him. Chi pointed at me on his way out. “That’s all I needed to see. That lil’ lip twitch? Yeah, you gone. Boy in love and don’t even know it. But I’ma grab me a plate then dip. Hit me up later, lover boy.”

I looked up, startled by the sound of my name. How does he know my name? Then again, I was popular at one point in my life. “I don’t know what beef you got with water and soap, but I promise you, it’s not that deep. So y’all need to get reunited today. I’m not gon’ lie—I expected it to smell way worse in here. Still, before you even think about stepping one foot out this room, you need to wash yo’ ass… like thoroughly.” Well, tell me how you really feel. I thought. “No offense,” he added, though it was definitely offensive, “But it looks like hygiene been on pause since we brought you here. Fix that.” “Scrub ya mama’s back with a Brillo pad!”

“It’s peppermint tea, sweetie.” She smiled kindly and then glanced at Imanio. I turned to him, surprised. He didn’t meet my gaze. “You d-drink peppermint tea?” I asked softly. “I don’t drink tea at all,” he answered, still avoiding looking at me. “I had Ms. Shirley grab some during her grocery run after you mentioned it… that night.” He remembered.

When I’d mentioned that I was heading down to get some tea before being yanked out of my routine—and my freedom. I couldn’t believe he’d remembered that random detail. “I… I love it,” I said. “It’s my favorite.” “Well, since you couldn’t get any then, I figured I owed you a cup,” he said it like it was no big deal.

Imanio’s brow ticked up. “What do you mean, why they’re nice to you? Do you want them to be mean to you?” “Most s-strangers are,” I muttered, lowering my head like I was trying to sink beneath the table. “Well, I don’t hire mean people; I’m the only one allowed to be that.” Imanio took a sip from his mug before adding, “But I won’t be that to you… unless you make me.” His tone dropped just a bit—stern but not cruel. More… promising. “Not in a way where I’m belittling you or making fun of you,” he cleared, leaning back in his chair slightly. “In other ways.”

“Say you understand,” he said, eyes locked on mine with terrifying clarity. “I—I understand,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “If I disappear, it was the toaster. Don’t ask why, just avenge me!”

“Nah.” Imanio shook his head like he was correcting a child. “Say it like you mean it.” The slight forward tilt of his frame sent a silent signal—my muscles tightened instinctively, bracing for whatever came next. “Say, I swear on my life I won’t repeat what you’re about to tell me.”

“My left sock knows too much! S-Sorry!” He still didn’t move… just waited. My tongue felt like cotton, and my brain scrambled… but I forced the words out. “I swear on my life…” I choked, voice barely there. “I won’t repeat what you’re about to tell me.”

“Taught me a long time ago: difference doesn’t mean broken; it just means you got a rhythm most folks too loud or too scared to hear.”

Don’t ever shrink yourself to make other folks comfortable,” she said, her voice like a soft sermon. “God made you loud for a reason; loud in spirit and loud in truth. And baby, even your silence got volume.”

“People gon’ misunderstand you whether you whisper or shout. So you might as well show up full—unapologetic, unmuted, and unashamed. That ticking, that twitching, that trembling voice of yours? That ain’t weakness, baby; that’s your power dressed in a different robe.”

“I had it turned off,” Imanio informed casually, like he was telling me the sky was blue. “Y-You did what?!” I hissed. My hands curled tight around the armrests, knuckles aching. My head jerked once, then again. “Hostage tea party! Chains in silk!”

“Aside from my meds… I like to read, watch comfort shows; the ones I’ve seen a hundred times with no jump scares and little drama. I also… watch cartoons. D-Don’t judge me,” I said quickly, eyes flicking away. “It’s… calming and h-helps quiet my head when everything else feels loud.” He raised both hands, voice even. “No judgment here. I’m just listening and trying to get an understanding.” “I also look at old modeling magazines. I… I don’t even read them half the time. I just f-flip through the pictures and let my brain settle. And music… slow, vibey stuff. Old-school Brandy, Sade… or just soundscapes, like ocean water,” I explained.

The fine, rich man who kidnapped me. The man who never raised his voice but somehow made silence feel like a sentence. The man who made sure I went without my necessities, one minute, then reminded me who was in control the next. The one I couldn’t figure out—because just when I started to hate him, he’d do something that made my heart pause.

“Don’t try to fix me.” That made his brow tighten a bit. “I’m not... broken.” My voice didn’t rise, but my tic did. “Glitchy, not gone. Don’t reboot me.” His gaze softened. “Got it.” He nodded.

“I’ll have no choice but to give them this,” he added, tone thick with mock amusement. “My white father might call it a cock, but I’m loyal to my mama’s roots, so let’s keep it a buck—it’s a dick. Nine and a half inches of fuck-your-rules, ruined sleep, silent cries into the mattress, calling-my-name-in-her-sleep madness, back-arched flashbacks and prayers she ain’t never said before type of dick.”

I should’ve been relieved. That was the deal, right? No mess, no feelings, no strings; just safety and strategy. A tic snuck out, quick—“Cold heart, tight locks. Don’t melt. Don’t melt.”

Not that day… not when my mind was still halfway back at the estate. The real kicker was when Naji said, "Just please keep your heart and I’ll keep mine.” That shit… hit different. It didn’t just sound like a boundary; it sounded like a wall—like she saw no goodness in me, and no hope, future or even a flicker in us. And I don’t know why, but that shit stuck with me. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t used to that. I was used to women clinging, chasing and folding themselves into whatever shape they thought I wanted. I was used to being wanted—loudly. But Naji? She didn’t ask me for anything. Not my attention. Not my protection. Not my heart. She told me to keep it. So yeah… that’s why my response came out cold and harsh, like I didn’t care. But I did.

not with everything I had going on behind the scenes. Knowing Naji, the minute she saw a viral clip of me standing next to that woman on a red carpet… she’d flip. I could already hear the stuttered outburst: “Oh, so y-you trying… trying to hire Ms. P-pose-n-Provoke now?” I chuckled at the thought.

This is really happening. I’m really about to marry the man who kidnapped me—sort of. Imanio was also the same man who tucked me in when my body shut down from anxiety, who brought me food when I refused to eat, retrieved my teddy bear like some vigilante Build-A-Bear agent with a violent streak and a soft spot, and who hadn’t asked me to marry him but basically told me I was going to.

No rice thrown. No crowd clapping. No kiss to seal it. I’m a wife now. Worse—his. Mrs. Imanio Kors.

As we walked out, I muttered another tic, "Married by threat, stayed for the chaos." “Better get used to chaos. You damn sure married it.”

Life is short. And for the first time, I started wondering what it would look like… to have a real one with Naji. A real marriage. Hell, maybe even a real future.

Her lazy footsteps. The mutter of her tics. The way she cleared her throat with a tiny grunt, like she was annoyed—but trying to be polite about it. Naji didn’t even realize how sexy she was when she was mad. She didn’t know that storming off that day only made me want to drag her back or that her silence—those sharp little stares—lit a fire in me that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with ownership. I wanted to snatch her pretty ass up by the waist, haul her over my shoulder, toss her into my bed like she belonged there, and let her throw all that nervous energy into begging instead.

I wanted to pin her body to my mattress and fuck her until she forgot why she was mad, until her tics were moans, and until every sharp edge melted under me and she finally understood what she did to me. Yeah. Because this? This wasn’t just frustration; this was torture wrapped in a vanilla-scented girl who didn’t even know she was dangerous. And I was one wrong move away from proving it. I wasn’t the type of nigga who got a thrill out of beating my dick. Never had to. If I wanted pussy, it took one text—two if I felt like being polite. Options? Man, I had 'em like liquor in a kingpin’s cabinet. Bad. Willing. Damn near eager.

“Now, you asked where I was. I was upstairs in Imanio’s room trying on his robe and pretending to fire people. That man got a whole throne in there. I damn near hired myself just to quit dramatically. I also ate half his snack drawer. If I disappear, it’s ’cause he found the wrappers. And I know you’re probably wondering how I got access to his room—don’t worry about that. Let’s just say locks ain’t ever stopped me, and curiosity is stronger than common sense.