Page 16 of Invisible Bars

“Name don’t matter… dick legendary. I could go with Peter, Paul, or John—either way, they still gon’ pray after.”

“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,” I joked. “She shouldn’t have caught feelings for Peter.” I shrugged, insensitively. “But block her.”

Chi whistled. “Nigga, you got a PhD in savage when it comes to these women. You ain’t just savage, you thevaledictorianof not giving a damn.”

I looked at him sideways. “And yo’ ass had an extra credit in creeping, a scholarship in savagery, a minor in heartbreak, a bachelor’s in toxicology and a whole master’s in lying before you got engaged.”

Chi was the jokester amongst us, always ready with a clown or a jab. That was his lane. But he knew my comebacks could be hell—and funny as shit too—ifI was in the mood to joke around. Which wasn’t often. Most days I didn’t have the patience to laugh, let alone entertain somebody else’s. But every now and then, I’d let him cook, then snatch the pot just to remind him who really seasoned it.

Chi held his hand over his heart. “Bro, don’t bring up my past; I’ma changed man. I’ve been baptized in love. I walk in light and loyalty now.”

“Yeah…now.Yo’ ass used to walk in back doors and leave out fire escapes.”

He chuckled. “And was discreet as hell with that shit too.”

“But I told ol’ girl what it was, from the jump like I do all their asses,” I said, getting back on topic.

“Nah, according to her text, you told her, ‘Get dressed, your ride’s outside,’ while you was already on the phone ordering room service for yo’self.”

I smirked, unapologetic. “These women know what it is. I’m not their husband, therapist, and I’m damn sure not their fairytale. I’m the disclaimer at the start of the movie—they just don’t read the fine print.”

“And yet,” Chi said, amused, “they all keep catching feelings like it’s contagious. You ever notice how the women you only smash once act like you put ’em down on the lease and gave ’em a spare key. I’m speaking in past tense… before me and Dess got together.”

I didn’t respond. I was watching a nigga across the way get cooked in pool like he was trying to collect money for his child support that month. If I was sociable and had an ounce of patience for people, I’d show him how to stop embarrassing his bloodline.

Chi wiped his fingers and continued. “I’m just saying, one round and suddenly she got your last name saved in her phone as ‘Bae With Benefits.’”

Just then, trouble in 5-inch heels strolled over.

Aaliyah. Bronze skin, waist-length hair, tight emerald dress, and all the entitlement of someone who believed us fucking a few times equaled a relationship.

“Pretty Boy,” she purred, smile wide. “Didn’t think I’d see you out in about tonight.”

Aaliyah called me ‘Pretty Boy’ because I was mixed. I hated when people called me that shit, and it wasn’t because I had alittle Caucasian swimming in my blood. It’s just, there wasn’t a damn thingboyishabout me.

Not how I moved.

Not how I handled business.

And definitely not how I fucked.

Chi leaned back and popped a fry in his mouth.

“Oh shit… she brought the loud ass perfume with a nickname, and maybe an attitude in a minute. We got a situation, ladies and gentlemen.”

I finally turned to Aaliyah; my face calm but disrespectfully loaded.

“Look, stop with that pretty boy shit. Don’t confuse soft features with soft energy. See, pretty boys stroke slow and whispersweet nothingsin the dark. I grip throats, talk shit, and leave a bitch questioning her last three life decisions. I don’t fuck like a “pretty boy”; I fuck like a grown-ass man who knows exactly how long he can make a female forget about whoever came before me. Act like you know. Now walk away. Itwasn’tgood to see you.”

Her expression was a mix of offensiveness and being turned on.

“Really, Imanio?”

“Chill on the name.”

Aaliyah—unlike all the other girls I fucked with—stayed in the same city as me and she’d known me since high school; that was how she knew my real name.