Chapter 8 #2
My fingers twitched again, and suddenly I became hyperaware of how serious the situation was.
“This ain’t about feelings or fairy tales,” he continued, pulling back.
“It’s about making sure nobody questions me—or you—when the questions start coming.
That’s the deal. You may call it kidnapping; I call it protection.
Either way…” His eyes lazily roamed down my body and back up.
“You’re here. And now you have a decision to make. Clock’s ticking, baby girl.”
My body was still trembling, but not from fear that time. Something about the finality in his voice—the ruthless clarity of it—made my stomach twist; not in horror… but in something that made me shift in place, like my skin didn’t fit right anymore.
I clenched my thighs together behind the blanket I held in front of me and looked away quickly.
Tics or not, my body had always betrayed me in stressful situations. But that… it felt different. And that scared me even more.
“Breakfast will be served soon, and your presence is required.”
I wanted to argue more, but I was too exhausted… too worn out. Besides, I could eat.
Imanio turned toward the door but paused. “And Naji?”
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!”
I went still—like my whole body hit a break button I didn’t press.
Imanio tilted his head slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in his expression.
We just… stared at each other.
“What was that?” he asked, mouth curving just slightly—like the edge of a smirk was threatening to expose itself, but he wasn’t about to let it win.
That’s new. He’s never commented on my tics or outbursts before now… not once. He either ignored them completely or acted like I hadn’t said anything at all. But now he’s asking.
“W-What do you mean?”
“That last one… The Brillo pad comment. It sounded a little… personal.”
I shifted awkwardly. My knee bounced once and fingers twitched at my sides.
“Ittttttttttttttt wasn’t! I-I didn’t mean it! It just—it just came out!”
His nod came without expression. But that smug curl at the corner of his mouth stayed put, like satisfaction tasted better when it wasn’t explained.
“Mm-hmm. Well, next time, aim for someone else’s mama. Mine’s already too high-maintenance to be scrubbed by anything less than imported silk.”
The slight humor disappeared from his face like it had never existed, replaced by that grumpy, commanding energy he carried so well.
“But it’s all good. In—” he glanced at his watch, “—ten minutes, I need you showered, dressed, and smelling like you know why hot water and soap exist.”
“T-Ten minutes?!” The words ripped out louder than I meant, half outrage, half disbelief. “I ain’t no microwave burrito!”
And no—that outburst wasn’t Tourette’s related; that was me talking, with a side of attitude.
Imanio smirked faintly, shaking his head. “You right. You need at least thirty. Hell, maybe forty, just to be safe. But we don’t have that type of time this morning. Ms. Shirley has already started cooking, so I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”
Five minutes add on? Oh wow. I take longer than that just staring at the water, thinking about life.
“And Naji—” his added, snapping me out of my thoughts, “—Don’t confuse this grace period with kindness. I’m an impatient man, so don’t push me into reminding you what happens when I wait too long for something.”
With nothing else to say, he was gone, leaving me to sit with my fear, his offer, and my funk.
The moment the door closed behind him, I moved like I was being timed and bolted for the bathroom. My heart was thumping and my nerves were twitching, but Imanio’s semi-threatening words—and my own desperation to feel like myself again—overpowered it.
I had never gone a full day without a shower in my life—not when I was sick…
not even when I was hospitalized once for dehydration.
Cleanliness was the one thing I had always clung to, even in the messiest of circumstances.
So to be sitting in an almost three-day funk, fear, and filth was something I didn’t just hate —I barely recognized myself in it.
I kicked open the bathroom door, closed it behind me, then stripped down in record time and hopped into the shower.
The second that hot water touched my skin, I gasped. It felt like relief… like redemption… like I was washing off the weight of every silent breakdown I’d had since being there.
I stood under hot water, letting it burn the tension out of my bones.
The shower was beautiful—marble tile, a rainfall head, and products that smelled like honey and herbs.
I exfoliated every inch of my skin like I was shedding the old me.
I even moisturized afterward, using the thick shea butter lotion sitting neatly on the counter, like it had been placed there just for me.
I wanted to wash my hair. But again—time wasn’t on my side.
Fifteen minutes wasn’t nearly enough to get through all of my morning hygiene.
Not to mention, I had to do everything a bit longer .
My hair, though? My hair was about to find out what betrayal felt like.
After stepping out of the shower, I exhaled, steam wrapping around me like a reset button.
For the first time since being there, I felt somewhat human again.
I timed myself the entire time I was in the bathroom.
I managed to brush my teeth, wash my face, and get a good scrubbing in—all within ten minutes.
Still, a part of me knew that after breakfast, I was probably going to need another shower just to feel complete.
When I reentered the room, I had literally five minutes to be out and sitting at the table next to Imanio.
My nerves buzzed as I hurriedly dug through my bag, clothes tumbling out in my rush.
Comfort over fashion won this round. I yanked out a matching two-piece lounge set, buttery-soft and deep wine red, and slipped it on as quickly as my shaky hands would allow.
With one minute left to spare, I finally made my way toward the kitchen, heart pounding like I was headed to judgment instead of breakfast. However, as soon as I stepped out, I turned right back around and grabbed another hoodie from my bag.
Imanio had the air on full blast—cold enough to hang meat, start a snowstorm, or make me question if he was trying to preserve me like leftovers. I couldn’t deal with that.
When I stepped back out, I realized he’d never actually told me where the kitchen was, so I had to find my own way, following the smell like a cartoon character floating after a pie on a windowsill.
One thing Chi hadn’t lied about was Imanio’s house description.
The place was massive—ridiculously so. And since I was officially late for my breakfast date, I figured I might as well take the scenic route—call it a quick house tour—and deal with the consequences later.
The night I was brought there, I barely noticed anything past the anxiety buzzing in my ears.
But walking through it in the daylight, seeing it without the haze of fear and chaos…
was mind-blowing. The floors gleamed like they’d been polished with intention, not just by routine.
The air smelled expensive—like lemon zest, soft vanilla, and clean ambition.
It was pristine… every surface, every detail.
From the crystal chandelier overhead to the sleek molding on the walls, not a speck of dust dared to exist. That kind of clean said somebody got paid very well to keep it that way.
I couldn’t help but think: What does one man need with all this space? Or maybe… he’s not single. A man like him? Probably not.
Still, I padded softly into the dining room, nerves creeping up my spine as I turned the corner—and all eyes immediately landed on me. Everybody paused, including Imanio; not out of judgment or confusion… but acknowledgment.
The dining area looked like something out of a luxury home magazine.
Open concept, sky-high ceilings, and a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that let sunlight pour in and drench the room in gold.
The long, obsidian dining table stretched across the space, glistening beneath the natural light. At the head of it all sat him.
Imanio looked like a walking temptation wrapped in simplicity—black joggers that rested just right on his thighs, a fitted white tee hugging his chest like it was custom stitched for that body alone.
His skin had that warm, rich tone that somehow looked better in natural light.
His legs were spread slightly, arms resting on the table, and when his gaze slowly dragged up from my bare feet to my now-clean curls and moisturized skin—he licked his bottom lip.
I forgot how to breathe. And whatever part of my brain handled impulse control? Yeah… it glitched.
“Dammmmmmmmmn, he’s fine!”
My eyes widened.
What the actual hell?
A few of the staff bit their lips, looked down, kept it professional—but not before I caught their smirks.
Imanio didn’t smile nor smirk; he just tilted his head ever so slightly, expression stoic… except for the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Like a grin was pacing behind his teeth but hadn’t quite been granted permission to spread.
“Was that one of your outbursts you couldn’t control… or something your spirit couldn’t keep to itself?” he finally spoke.