Chapter 8 #6
“Tell me about your family,” he randomly asked, his voice calm but direct.
I froze mid-scoop, a tic rippling through me before I could stop it.
My head jerked to the side on its own, eyes stretching open with a rush of startled breath, and a high-pitched bird whistle shot out—followed by a low, garbled growl under my breath.
“F-Fuck them birds! Fuck them!”
I looked down quickly, my fork was scraping the plate like I was trying to dig a tunnel out of there.
“Shit,” I mumbled.
I didn’t want to talk about my family; not then—maybe not ever. That topic always brought out the worst in my body… the emotional kind of tics—the ones that didn’t just show on the outside but shook me up on the inside too.
“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 a little.
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 not light . 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 you throw me 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 was Ambien, 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!”
“My victims don’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.
“I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you,” Imanio voiced softly, brushing a strand of hair off my face.
I nodded sleepily.
Before he exited the room, I cautiously asked, “Imanio, can… can you go back to my room at Blu’s and g-g-get my teddy bear?”
My right hand twitched as I said it—fingers curling then flicking outward like I was tossing something invisible away.
He reared his head back a little, brows pinched in confusion. “Teddy bear?”
“Yes,” I confirmed, sheepishly but firm. “It-it has my grandmother’s voice recording in it. It was given to me after she passed. I keep it close when I’m anxious or scared. I need it with me… especially right now.”
Imanio’s face softened. For a split second, that dangerous edge he carried everywhere dulled around the edges.
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get it.”
“Oh, and… and my phone. I left it too.”
He cocked his head. “Nah. Now you pushing it.”
That little glimmer of hope I had almost vanished until he said, “I’ll think about it.”
“T-Thank you,” I whispered, sinking deeper into the bed, but one last question itched at the edge of my mind.
My neck gave a slight jerk, and I whistled low, involuntarily.
“One more thing. H-how do you… know my name?”
Imanio, already halfway to the door, paused.
“I saw your photos in your room that night.”
“Oh. O-okay.”
With his hand on the light switch, he gave a small nod and concluded, “Get you some rest.”
I nodded, biting my lip, trying to suppress another twitch.
Imanio flipped the switch, cloaking the room in a warm shadow, and pulled the door just enough to leave it cracked.
A sliver of hallway light filtered in—but not much.
The blackout blinds drawn tight over the windows ensured no sunlight would sneak in.
The room felt sealed, protected… like a quiet cave made just for sleeping.
It was the first time I didn’t feel fully exposed.
As I snuggled into the bed, the soft sheets kissed my skin—cool and freshly laundered, smelling faintly of lavender and something expensive.
The comforter, heavy and plush, hugged my frame like it had been waiting for me to surrender and rest. And for the first time in damn near three days…
I did. Sleep finally came—deep, overdue, and silent.
Honestly? I was grateful Imanio had the chef slip something in my drink. He probably should’ve hit me with a tranquilizer at that point, because I’d been running on fumes and nerve endings. Whatever they gave me—Ambien, Melatonin, billionaire-grade NyQuil—I didn’t care; it worked.