Reality is fucked up.
When you think about it, we are all living in our own tiny reality, and the attempt to try to enter into the other’s reality is an attempt so futile, it is actually pitiful to watch.
And yet that is what we try to do every day.
That is what I am trying to do right now, ready to take the Molly pill that Bill has just given me, because, in his own words, I will be able to enter his reality for a second.
I will be able to understand him more. I will be able to love him more.
What I am supposed to do? I love Bill. And if there is a way to make this fire in my heart burn even brighter for him, why should I not try it?
So here I am, despite my better judgment, taking the pill, taking a sip of the whiskey, trying to avoid Bill’s excited eyes. He lives for this, convincing people to follow his ways. Perhaps he should try joining TikTok.
We are waiting for it to “kick-in”. His own words.
He keeps telling me about his past experiences with Molly. How it was glorious, how he could feel lights and touch sounds and taste colors.
I want to contribute to this conversation but my whole body is burning with anxiety. What did I just do?
I stand up and head to the kitchen counter. I want to take another sip of the whiskey. I want to calm these damn nerves.
“Unaenda?” Bill is suddenly annoyed that I am not paying attention to him.
“Nadai shot,” I say and turn back.
I don’t know if he sees it. The moment of wait in my eyes, the approval I want from him.
“Sawa, but usikunywe nyingi. Hizi vitu huwa hazitaki ulewe sana”
I nod and proceed.
The whiskey burns my mouth, burns my throat, burns my stomach, burns my whole body. I love it. I love its fire. I want more.
I turn back, and Bill is on his phone. Probably watching memes or posting memes.
I sneak three more shots of the whiskey. Already, I feel calmer.
When I return to his bed (there are no chairs in his bedsitter), he turns towards me for a second, looks at me, and goes back to his phone.
“Ngoja tu zitakick in,” he says.
I lie back on the bed.
Today, I chose to wear something more than my usual jeans and a T-shirt. Today, I am actually in a dress. A short flowery dress. I saw it once as I was going to school, and I had to have it. I don’t even like dresses, but those flowers, their petals, their beauty, I just had to have it.
I guess that is the problem with me. When I see something beautiful, I just got to have it. Like Bill. Bill is really beautiful. He is light-skinned. Not too light-skinned like a pointy, just the average light-skin.
He has this sharp jaw that reminds me of these Instagram models whenever I look at it, and I fucking love looking at it.
His eyes are emerald green, and I know you are probably thinking that I am saying that just for the sake of elevating his beauty, but they really are emerald green.
When I saw them for the first time, I was in awe. Then I thought they were contacts. He later told me that he actually came from a long line of biracial sex relations, and that is where he got his amazing genes.
I just nodded, lost in the green of his eyes.
He also has an amazing body. Abs and all.
He is really beautiful, not just handsome. Beautiful.
A human being that beautiful could never, should never, give me any time of day. But he did. So, what was I supposed to do? Give him my whole soul - that is what.
Apart from the flowery dress I chose to wear today, I also chose to wear lipstick. Something I never do, but once my lips were all pink and shiny, I swear I felt like I could kiss myself forever. So this is what the beauty magazines have been talking about when they speak about The Power of Lipstick!
I also got rid of my Vans Sneakers and wore the cute sandals that I “borrowed” from my sister. I considered wearing heels, but for the sake of at least having legs for the rest of my life, I decided against them.
My hair is in a cute little bun, and I have laid my edges just like Wabosha Maxine. I also decided to top it all off with a cute necklace I found in my mother’s thing, and a cute blue denim jacket.
Before I got out of the house, I took one look at the mirror, and I could feel my insides vibrating.
Daaaaaamn, you look like a snack GUUUUUURRRL. The girl in the mirror said, and I smiled.
I couldn’t wait for Bill to agree with her. The girl in the mirror, that is.
“Babe, uko sawa? Zimekick? “Bill is putting his phone down, paying attention to me.
My eyes are on the ceiling, and I am wondering how I am supposed to know if they have “kicked in.”
Bill’s weight is suddenly beside me, and his eyes join mine on the ceiling.
We stay silent for a while, then he is turning towards me. Towards my body. I am suddenly on fire.
Those emerald eyes are on me. On my body. On my flowery dress. On my pink lips.
Perhaps now, he will say how pretty I look today?
“Baaabe,” it is more of whine, and for a moment, I wonder what kind of grown man whines.
But his lips are suddenly on mine and all the thoughts in my head disappear.
I love how he kisses me. Both with gentleness, both with roughness. It reminds me of our first kiss. It was during our first date. He was a real gentleman, taking me to Java for our first coffee date.
He wore a pair of blue jeans and a white muscle T-shirt. He was so simple, yet so composed, so confident, yet so attentive.
His emerald eyes bore deep inside mine whenever I said anything, and I felt like the earth could be burning, the sun could be melting, the sky could be falling and none of that would matter.
He treated the waiters with the utmost respect and professionalism, something you never expect from beautiful people. One waiter, a man to be precise, even looked away, blushing because of his beauty and his emerald eyes.
I felt like a princess with her emerald-eyed prince next to her - so when he asked, Can you pay for the bill, I forgot my wallet at home and I don’t have any money on my MPESA, all I could think about was: who cares about worldly things like money when all I want is those emerald eyes on me forever?
We ended up going back to his place, kissed for the first time then fucked.
It was glorious.
I only noticed that his house was a bedsitter after we woke up, and by then, I was so caught up in the post-coital bliss that I did not mind.
Not that I minded bedsitters really. I have tons of friends who live in bedsitters. The thing is, my friends are 20, 21 or 22. University students. Bill is twenty-nine.
“Fuck babe, I am so hard for you right now.”
He knows whenever he says that it sets my whole body on fire. And it does. A second later, he is pushing my dress up my thighs, removing my panties, fucking me.
And what am I doing?
I am moaning, scratching, screaming.
I am in heaven.
The Molly kicks in as he is fucking me. I don’t know how I know it does, but I just know.
Suddenly, everything is beautiful. Everything is ugly. Everything is moving inside me. Everything is moving out of me. Everything is making sense.
“Babe, I think zimekick.” I say, but Bill does not hear me.
He is groaning, keeps saying how sweet I feel, how he wishes he could die inside me, how he wishes he could live inside me. Now, I feel like both a princess and a harlot.
I don’t bother telling him again, choosing instead to concentrate on the feelings washing over me. How come I have never noticed that green patch on Bill’s ceiling?
And wait, is it growing bigger and bigger the more I keep looking at it, or am I just imagining?
I shake my head. Ah, just my imagination.
Wait, is there music in this room, or is it coming from the neighbors?
I could swear there was no music before, yet, is that Billie Eilish singing, whispering, Isn’t it Lovely?
I shake my head again, but it is still there. She is still there. Singing.
I feel like my head is spinning, and I about to tell Bill to get off me, but then he cums, and he is off.
I suddenly miss his body on me. His dick inside me.
“Babe, that was awesome.”
“I think zimekick in.”
I say in return.
His emerald eyes are on me. Wild. Excited. Anticipating.
I want to say that I feel like my body is cold, and hot at the same time.
I want to say that I can feel my tongue in my mouth, and it is so so light.
I want to say that the green patch in his ceiling is growing bigger and bigger by the minute.
I want to say that I can see that the walls of his house are not made of brick but glass.
I want to say that I want Billie Eilish to continue singing and singing forever.
I want to say that I can feel every color on my skin, and I can not only feel them, but I can touch them. I can be them.
I want to say that I can see now that his emerald eyes are not that beautiful.
“Normal tu,” I say instead, and decide to keep my wants to myself.
He nods, disappointed, and then a minute later he is snoring off, asleep.
I remain lain in bed, letting the feelings wash over me like waves in the ocean.
There is one thing I know for sure – I just found another person I love more than the emerald-eyed man sleeping next to me. And Molly is her name.