Chapter 10 #2
“Now, he got a darkness to him—everybody knows that. But it doesn’t spill out unless you push him.
And even then? He doesn’t raise his voice, baby.
He just starts making decisions you can’t come back from.
” Then she softened, almost smiling. “But if he lets you in—even just a little—it means something. That man doesn’t waste his energy on people he doesn’t care about.
So if you’re here? You matter more than you think.
And if you pay attention, you’ll see that he protects what’s his… fiercely.”
I nodded faintly, lips pressed together.
Then she added, her tone dropping just a notch, “But around here, we don’t ask questions… well, not too many; we just do our jobs.”
There was a beat of silence—one that almost settled—until she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering like it was being folded in trust.
“But I’m asking one anyway. Are you here because you want to be... or ‘cause you have to be?”
I stiffened.
“Pudding pop prayer… pee-pee pants—damn it.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Breathed in and tried again.
Ms. Shirley waited with calm, patient eyes for my response.
“No,” I finally answered. “I mean… I’m here because I w-want to be,” I lied, and could feel God tapping me on my shoulder—the kind of tap that came with a side-eye, a hand on the hip, and a whispered, “ So you just gon’ lie in my face like that?
” Like he was two seconds from sending an angel down with a belt.
My face flinched again.
“Sassy strawberry soap dish!” I blurted, voice sharp and loud enough to make my own ears ring.
I pressed my lips together, letting the tic pass before whispering a shaky, “Sorry. Me and Imanio just… had a bad argument. That’s why I wouldn’t eat…
or talk,” I said quickly, stringing together the lie like a fragile necklace I was scared would snap.
“No one’s hurting me… or forcing me to be here. ”
I hated lying; it tasted like rust in my mouth. But some truths weren’t safe in the open. And I wasn’t ready to lay mine out on a stranger’s lap, no matter how kind her eyes were.
Ms. Shirley stared at me for what felt like a full minute—those wise, warm eyes scanning me like she had a truth detector hidden in her chest. Then she nodded and reached out to gently pat the top of my hand with her soft fingers.
“Okay then. That’s all I needed to know.”
Maybe she knew I was lying, or maybe… she just understood that sometimes, survival wears the face of silence.
We sat in silence after that—not awkward, just two women sitting in the same boat, neither asking how deep the water was.
“You... you don’t seem to be weirded out… by my tics,” I said quietly, breaking the silence between us, my eyes still low, fingers tapping the side of my mug.
“That’s because I’m not, baby,” she replied with a soft smile, her voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around me like a shawl.
“I used to work at a school as an assistant teacher. I worked with the mentally challenged. One of my babies had Tourette’s.
I’ll never forget her name… Kayla. That child used to bark when she got excited. ”
Ms. Shirley chuckled to herself, eyes growing distant like she could still hear the little girl.
“Oh, she was the sweetest girl God ever made. Had a laugh that could break through the hardest hearts, and a spirit that could brighten the whole damn hallway. Kids teased her. Teachers doubted her. But not me. I told her mama one day, I said, ‘Your child ain’t cursed; she just got a different beat to her drum.’”
She looked at me with those same wise eyes, full of knowing.
“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 .”
I forced down the lump rising in my throat, hoping it wouldn’t turn into tears.
“She used to look at her hands like they belonged to somebody else… like she was waiting on them to stop e mbarrassing her. And I told her, ‘Baby, your hands don’t betray you—they speak for you when you too tired to explain yourself.’”
A pause.
“You got that same look right now. So I’m gon’ say to you what I used to say to her. 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.”
She leaned in a little closer, her palm still resting over mine like a grounding force.
“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 stared at her for a long second, trying not to cry. “That’s... beautiful. Thank you.”
Ms. Shirley smiled warm, but firm. “You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, if you want extra syrup on these organic pancakes, you’d better say it now before I ration it out like it’s gold.”
“N-No. That will be fine.”
And for the first time since this whole mess began, I didn’t feel like I was just surviving… I felt seen.
“I’m glad to see you out of the house,” Imanio said, stepping onto the patio and settling into the chair beside me like he belonged there.
I tensed—just slightly—but enough for him to notice.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he added.
“It… It’s okay.” A tic slipped out under my breath. “Sunburned raccoon. Mm-hmm.”
I cleared my throat.
“I’ve b-been in hibernation for the last three days, so after getting advice… or p-p- permission from Ms. Shirley to c-c-come out here, I figured a little sun wouldn’t hurt.”
He sat back, stretching his arms across the back of the chair.
“You could’ve called me, Naji.”
I winced subtly. “S-Speaking of calling… my phone doesn’t work and I paid my bill a week ago.”
“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!”
His expression never shifted.
“Naji, I’m letting you live the luxury life,” he explained, calmly exhaling like this was just business. “But let’s not forget what this is. This is still a… kidnapping; some part of it has to stick.”
“You think t-that’s just something you s-sprinkle in between breakfast and patio time?
!” I shouted, voice rising before I could stop it.
“Like—‘Here’s your p-peppermint tea, sweetheart—oh, and by the way, you’re still k-k-kidnapped’?
1 Is that supposed to feel normal to me?
! Kidnap and croissants—sicko brunch special! ”
My voice cracked at the end, but I didn’t care. I was too tired to filter and too tense to pretend I was okay with any of that.
Imanio didn’t speak right away. He just stared, arms crossed—dressed in that silence he always wore when he was trying not to explode or say the wrong thing.
“See… that one word,” he finally spoke again, jaw tight. “ Kidnapped. Naji, the shit that comes out of your mouth is too unpredictable for me to just give you back to the streets. There’s no telling what you might say around the wrong person.”
My hands clenched at my sides.
“G-Give me back to the streets?” I retorted, voice rising. “Y-You say that like… like I’m a prostitute !”
“It came out wrong.” That was his way of apologizing.
“Yeah—j-just like my words do!” I clapped back, tensing as a tic hit.
“Ah! Feed the pigeons, save the sinners! So, f-forgive me if I can’t help what comes out of my mouth!
S-Sometimes it’s a tic! Sometimes it’s a trauma dump!
Sometimes it’s just my b-b-brain running wild!
Sometimes it’s… it’s all three! I don’t know! I just… say what’s there sometimes!”
I stared at him—eyes burning and blinking fast like that would stop me from going off.
“You act like just b-because I’ve got sheets with a high thread count and someone warming up my damn waffles, I’m… I’m supposed to forget I didn’t ask to be here! Like… like being fed and pampered erases the fact that you took me!”
Imanio looked at me, eyes cool. “I don’t trust you enough yet to know you won’t go to the police, tell your best friend, or go LIVE showing off my crib to everybody. This isn’t punishment, Naji.”
“Control freak concierge…” I muttered, my body twitching again. “Hostage hotline… welcome to the goddamn trauma inn!”
The tics were eating me alive that day, and he just sat there like I was background noise.
“Then what do you call it?” I asked, my voice sharp and strained.
Imanio looked me dead in the eye and replied, “ Precaution. ”
Just that one word. No apology. No softening. No fake comfort.
I sucked in a breath, hands trembling. And that silence that followed? It stretched between us like a tripwire.
No matter how plush the pillows were or how sweet the tea tasted… I was still in a cage. And now he’d reminded me exactly who held the key.
Imanio sighed deeply and ran a hand down his face like he was trying to knock the frustration off without throwing it at me.
“Are they always bad? Your tics?”
That was the last question I expected from him.
I didn’t answer immediately.
“No… not always,” I finally responded, tapping my foot, avoiding eye contact with him.
“Only when you’re stressed?”
I whipped my head at him.
“Yes! Like now!” Then my voice softened. “Or when I’m overstimulated, scared, o-overthinking, or tired. Sometimes they just… happen. But yeah, when I’m calm, they’re not as heavy… at least not as often.”
He nodded.
“What helps? Like, what actually calms you down?”
I hesitated, not sure if that was a setup for another awkward fix-it moment—but Imanio didn’t look like he was trying to fix anything; he looked like he was trying to understand me.