Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
NAJI
I fluffed the pillow behind Imanio's head and handed him the mug of hot ginger tea, careful not to spill it on the sheets. His skin was clammy and color was dull. Whatever bug he had grabbed ahold of him quick and wasn’t letting go.
Imanio took a slow sip, his gaze fixed elsewhere.
I sat at the edge of the bed, watching him... studying him.
“Did you hear about what h-happened to Aaliyah?” I asked softly.
“Heard about it and saw it,” he responded, his voice low and detached, as if discussing something trivial.
“I didn't watch it, but they said it was suicide. Is that true?”
“Yup. Damn shame.”
I blinked in surprise.
Was that really all he felt?
“You say that like you k-know more,” I pressed gently.
Finally, Imanio looked up at me. His expression was neither cold nor warm.
“All I’m saying is… karma finds its way home,” he murmured. “Sometimes fast. Sometimes slow.”
I held his stare a second too long, hoping for some sign of remorse or reflection, a hint that he felt something deeper. But there was nothing. Instead of pushing him, I simply reached for his hand, rubbing my thumb across the back of it in a comforting gesture.
Thirty minutes later, Imanio was resting upstairs, finally sound asleep. I was cozied up on the sofa downstairs, enjoying a pint of almond milk ice cream while mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. The house felt peaceful—until the doorbell rang.
A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have dared answered it; I would’ve stayed glued on the couch, heart racing and praying whoever it was just went away—not now. Now the house felt like mine too, and I had the right to open doors.
I grumbled, then set the ice cream down and stood. My socks whispered across the floor as I padded to the door, stomach knotting for reasons I couldn’t name.
The moment I opened it, my heart dropped, and my soul rolled its eyes so hard they nearly left my body.
There was Giselle, standing there like an uninvited headache, dressed in a blazer that screamed “business casual” and a smile that declared, “I’ve got this.
” Beside her were two unfamiliar faces: a white-haired man with a clipboard and a young woman in scrubs; both were smiling gently as if they were delivering good news instead of potential upheaval.
“Hi, darling,” Giselle greeted sweetly. “We need to talk. May we come in?”
I shifted uncomfortably and frowned. “Um…”
My shoulder jerked, and I sniffed twice before blurting, “Turn your fake smile off—what is this?”
Giselle remained calm, gesturing casually toward her guests.
“This is Dr. Freeman and Nurse Lee. They’re from a wellness center I support that focuses on psychiatric care. They’re just here for a preliminary evaluation—nothing too formal."
I eyed her skeptically, then looked at them, and back at her.
“Evaluate what?” My voice sharpened. “Or better yet, who ?”
Giselle’s smile didn’t budge. “Well… you, of course.”
I took two steps back.
“Did y-you just say… someone’s here to evaluate 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 be here. ”
Imanio stepped closer. His eyes swept over the two strangers.
“So tell me… what the hell are you doing here? And who the fuck are these people?”
“I—Imanio, baby, listen. They’re professionals… psychiatric professionals. This is just an informal evaluation?—”
“ Once again, you went and did some shit without my consent. Only this time, you brought these muthafuckas to my crib knowing damn well I don’t like visitors… not even yo’ ass. ”
That silence hit the room like a bomb.
His tone was hollow. That was signature Gatez’s voice; the one that meant run.
Giselle straightened her shoulders, trying to stand firm.
“Okay, I’ll act like I didn’t hear that last part. But Imanio, she needs help! This is me stepping in before the press, or the world, further tears her further apart! Before you collapse under the weight of trying to protect something you can’t possibly understand?—”
His jaw twitched. “Say one more word about her like she’s a problem. And apparently, you haven’t been checking social media…” He smirked coldly. “They love her. Always have. Never stopped. You’ve obviously been too busy or bitter to notice.”
Dr. Freeman tried to intervene. “Sir, if I must add. We’re only here in a professional capacity?—”
Imanio turned his full glare on him. “I will professionally drag yo’ ass by your clipboard and feed it to your receptionist! Now back the fuck up!”
The nurse lifted both palms in surrender and bravely said, “We just want?—”
He stepped toward her slowly, voice dropping lower. “Lady, I own buildings that bury secrets deeper than you’ve ever been paid to lie about. Step one foot closer to her, and you’ll need a nurse of your own . ”
I sat there, still on the floor, eyes wide, breath caught, heart thudding. My tics had slowed to almost nothing; just a small tremor in my fingers, like my body knew I was safe now.
“Imanio, this is extreme!” Giselle shrilled.
“No, Giselle... you are! You think you can just walk into my damn house, judge my wife, and try to kidnap her with a clipboard and some sorry-ass ‘evaluation’ from muthafuckas you paid ? You think you can play with her mind, and I’ll just stand here smiling?!”
“She’s unstable!” Giselle barked, her voice sharp with fake concern.
“She has fucking Tourette’s , Giselle; not a damn demon possession!” Imanio fired back.
He jabbed a finger toward the doctor and nurse.
“Did you even tell them what she has? Or did you just spin it like she’s losing her mind, so you could finally control something again?”
Giselle faltered. “I… I was worried?—”
“Worried?” he snarled. “Worried is calling me and asking how she’s doing. This? This is a setup… a damn trap. You didn’t bring help; you brought strangers to cage my wife like she’s rabid because you’re uncomfortable with something you don’t even have the mental range to understand!”
His voice cracked at the end, roughened—not from emotion, but from the sickness burning at the edges of him. Even under the heat of anger, I could hear it, the rasp of a man fighting his body while still forcing it to obey.
He took another step.
“Yeah she twitches, blinks a lot, and says the craziest shit! So the fuck what?! Naji shows up in this world unfiltered and still full of love! Meanwhile, you hide behind expensive clothes and fake smiles—rotten to your core.”
Giselle’s eyes watered.