Apropos of the 12th Floor
Finally: I’m almost there.
I have books and time to read. He has work and lots of money.
He has money — I know it. He knows it too.
He so often wants to share. But he doesn’t want to feel like splurging on me. So we play a little mental game where I ask for things and give valid reasons why I like them, and he gauges the benefits, then gives them to me — if he could.
He often had everything I needed. Last I checked, he also had the same psycho-prescription as I did — self-prescribed, as always. Notebooks too. I looked pretty in his clothes too. I did TikTok from his bedroom.
It did not make sense why I would carry my clothes to his place, and there was very little I could do from his bedroom.
Updating my data and backing up my data at my boyfriend’s apartment — on his private network — also means sharing all the contents of my phone with him.
He has the time to watch, even if it takes a year.
He has blocked me at the moment. He is distraught with me. I deserve it.
He pretends I cannot see his digital prints, but the idea alone had a grave meaning — that I lost access altogether to him.
Such an elephant.
He moves, and he moves massively. Which means I could always retrace his steps slowly — like a wild cat in the Jungle, a lost cat, Yvi in Lala-land.
I had eyes on what he was keeping watch on. We shared the same view on a woman in his life.
I have my eyes on her because her well-being directly affects his well-being. I have my eyes on her just as he has eyes on my people — my friends. He knew a few.
We cannot hide our passion and desires from the digital world. People are far more exciting and engaging, better than Yvi.
If J were not going to be my boyfriend, Fyodor Dostoevsky would. He was dead.
Dead men were a delight to their women. We always knew where our men were. We were least worried.
Mine was always complaining about his liver, his wickedness.
I knew my way around the people in blue. And Steve was walking proof that the institutions weren’t as bad.
In the real world, he was GOAT. In the blockchain, I was Queen.
We often hated each other’s prowess, for it was precisely what we lacked and liked in each other. Working together was our best shot.
Steve speaks like a Brit while I speak whatever language I choose — but the message will be passed across.
Years after our breakup, I still talk to him. Not about Sammy, his brother. Hardly about July, Mvua, my family and friends, or my current life. But more about books.
We have an agreement about open sharing. I get to share my books — which J had shared with me — and he would share the ones his bots sourced for him from Telegram.
My mind was already in chaos. I needed to see a doctor. Three, I was told:
- A physician to check all my body organs.
- A therapist to listen to my long stories.
- A neurologist to draw human conclusions about why I behaved like I did.
We will all die.
So, I choose not to see any.
I like to stay alive. Life is good.
From the sleeping Yvi in Lala’s lands, Atoto Atori had woken up long.
He could not avoid the scrutiny of my eagle eyes.
Looking. Listening. Learning.
I was experiencing his city life. Nairobi city. The Gotham. A city that was once in the sun but is now an icy world full of toys and humans to get by.
Complaining about his place is outwardly me being irresponsible, ungrateful, and not understanding the cost or value of things — maybe even life.
I did business at the bachelor level. But if anything did not satisfy my needs, the price and weight of items were irrelevant.
Like noise from the outside world — Yvi in Sam Guy’s land.
I was grateful to be home and alive with a boyfriend who did not bother me.
One of his problems was that the house on the 12th floor needed to be more significant. It was. Smaller than his previous apartment.
The house was high in the sky, with fewer rooms. We spent our days watching each other.
I did not understand his motivation to have it. At least I had an idea as to why he no longer hung it. It was with the same intentions that he would be away — a little longer this time.
I would have to learn to be alone, just like when I left Steve. It was only when I had left Steve that I met him.
I was far more anxious about whom I would meet after Sam Guy.
I never expected J, but I had a rough idea.
J exceeds my expectation.
He behaves like a bot but a human with blue eyes — similar to those on Sam’s Twitter profile. Mine are black. Sam’s eyes, too. I only remember a little about Steve’s eyes.
J’s hair is black. His chest hair too. He has very short nails. And his right foot has traces of socks or shoes.
He showed me his foot resting on a lovely jungle-green couch. It feels like leather on the eyes but looks softer. Not very quiet, though — the right leg was resting on a yellow pillow. He was relaxing, his socks off, feet on the couch, chatting with me, struggling to keep a conversation without blowing his cover.
He was pretending to be Hughes — a very private person.
He mentioned that I was public and he private.
Private was boring, but the public was exhausting. One could not even blow their nose or pick their ears without someone scrutinizing their human behaviours. I was public — but only in my bedroom. It had everything I liked.
Day one: I was drunk on a Monday. He had my favourite cognac chilled in the fridge.
Day two: I dressed, redid my hair, and wore his clothes.
Day four: I killed my phone as a new one got delivered from Amazon.
Thursday: I overwatched the unpacking of more Amazon gifts and later watched The House of Dragon.
Friday: I was lonely and could not wait to catch my rusty bus back home on Saturday.
Does one ever enjoy coming back from a trip?
Why did I ever prefer his home to my bedroom, to begin with?
As I questioned myself — I never returned to the 12th floor. He moved to a new place, and we stopped talking altogether.
We are content with our goodbyes.
Not a shame, nevertheless.
I had gotten home and found someone. The house was warm and the ambiance chilled.
“I want a full house, Mvua,” I had insisted. “I can give my all — but can he? Money is easy to get by. I want a full house and I do not want to be bothered by how much a spoon costs.”
I wanted it all like life. Full of love and laughter. Experiences and adventures that would never end.
By the window, home was on the other side. But I was grateful the sun still set in the west.
The Final End, ladies and gentlemen.
Atoto Atori Your Human Companion