Page 272 of Invisible Bars

“Did y-you just say… someone’s here toevaluate me?” My voice rose with every syllable. “Huh?! Oh! Put me in a straitjacket, why don’t you?! You brought fucking strangers to have me locked up?!”

The floodgates opened.

I started to shake—my arms jostled, my breath quickened, and I felt overwhelmed. Words spilled out in a rush.

“Don’t trust her, don’t trust her! Shut up, Giselle! Sorry—sorry—I’m okay.I’m okay! I’m not okay!”

Giselle took a cautious step back, her eyes wide with concern.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! This—this episode—this is dangerous! You could end up hurting yourself, or worse, you could endanger my son!”

Her voice shifted to a sickly sweet tone, dripping with faux concern, which made my skin crawl in response.

“You, my dear. Your... condition. The tics. The vocal outbursts. I’m not suggesting that you’re a threat, but you truly need structure in your life. This is just me trying to lend a hand."

My shoulder jerked violently, and my head snapped to the side as if I were a marionette whose strings had been yanked. My lip trembled, struggling with both my mind and my spirit, an internal battle brewing within me.

“Put her back in the devil’s cart! What in the world is happening here?!”

Dr. Freeman, with an air of misplaced authority, took a cautious step forward, clutching his clipboard as though it might provide a shield against the emotional storm unfolding.

“Mrs. Kors,” he spoke in that flat, clinical tone that seemed rehearsed and insincere, “we just need a few minutes?—”

“Do not say my n-name like you know me! You barged into my home—uninvited—with a nurse and a d-d-damn notebook! Are y-you trying to confine me against my will?!”

In that moment, my knees buckled beneath me, and I sank to the floor, overwhelmed. My chest heaved as tics fired off like erratic firecrackers in a confined metal room. I began to rock, gripping the lush fibers of the rug beneath me, searching for something solid to latch onto, something that could hold me together.

“God save the therapist! Don’t put me in a cage! Jesus wept... and so did I. I’m good now. I think.”

Dr. Freeman flinched; his expression revealed the instinctual desire to flee from the chaos unfolding in front of him.

And just then, my unexpected knight in shining armor appeared. The hallway behind me shifted, and I sensed his presence before I could even see him materialize.

Imanio’s footsteps echoed like thunder—unhurried and commanding.

He didn’t speak at first… just scanned the scene once.

My breath hitched as the relentless tics began to slow in response to his arrival.

“Don’t take me! Please! Please!” I whimpered, tears cascading down my cheeks as I rocked more intensely

Imanio didn't bombard me with questions or hesitation. Instead, he simply dropped to his knees beside me, his hands warm and grounding on either side of my cheeks.

“They’re not taking you anywhere,” he murmured softly, his forehead nearly touching mine. “Nobody's touching you. I promise.”

A sudden jerk coursed through my shoulders, and my eyes widened in a mix of surprise and relief. “My man’s a lion in Louis Vuitton!”

A flicker of a smile crossed his lips, adding a glimmer of light to the heavy atmosphere.

“Damn right,” he affirmed confidently.

In a swift transition, Imanio’s expression hardened. He stood up slowly and walked up to Giselle.

“S-Son. I… I didn’t expect you to be here today,” Giselle stuttered, hands nervously clutching her pearls. “I thought you had a meeting out of town.”

“I did…” he replied slowly, his voice low and rough. “But I guess God had other plans. He made me sick as hell just so I could behere.”

Imanio stepped closer. His eyes swept over the two strangers.