The Elevator Frequency - Part 4

“But that feeling in me doesn't go away.On paper, he works.But in my body... he doesn't.”This is… a lot.After the coffee, he reassures me. He explains that he got married too fast, that it was a mistake, that it’s over. He even shows me the divorce papers, almost like he needs me to believe him.Then comes the other part.He has four kids.Three of them are four-and-under toddlers. And the other one is about sixteen or seventeen.I just look at him, because in my mind I’m thinking… maybe you shouldn’t even be dating right now.I tell him, gently but honestly, that he should probably get therapy. He doesn’t take it badly, and somehow, we keep seeing each other.We go on a few more dates.There’s something about him. He has this artist charm, even though he’s well educated. The dreads, the beaded bracelets, the slightly open shirt… he carries himself like someone who belongs in both worlds. Academia and art.And physically, he is gorgeous.He could probably spend a bit more time in the gym, but I understand he’s raising kids. Even if he says he has nannies, he keeps emphasising that he’s alone.That part… I find myself liking.He tells me I wouldn’t have to raise his kids, but he does want more in the future.I try to hide my sigh. I’m not even sure how I feel about children.At the same time, there’s this energy around him. A heaviness I can’t fully explain. It feels like anxiety, or something close to it. Like he’s trying to hold everything together, including me.At some point, I tell him about Helena, the married woman who made a move on me. How I didn’t see it coming.He laughs and says she has better game than him.We laugh. It’s light.But that feeling in me doesn’t go away.On paper, he works.But in my body… he doesn’t.At one point, he says very casually that we should “get the sex out of the way as soon as possible” because his past relationships worked better that way.I tell him I’m not comfortable with that.He says it’s fine, that we can go at my pace.I take that in. I try to trust it.Then one Saturday, he asks to come over to my place. He says it’s too soon for me to come to his because of the kids.I agree, but I hesitate.We had already spoken about this about how sometimes you don’t want someone to know where you live too early. About safety. About keeping your space private.That day, I feel it again. That tightness in my body.We don’t even set a proper time, just “late afternoon".On the phone, he chuckles and says, “I won’t do anything to you. I’ll behave.”I laugh it off and tell him I’ll send the pin.But I never do.It’s like my body refuses.Instead, I go to the gym at around 5pm and stay there for two hours. It feels like I’m killing time, avoiding something I don’t want to admit.Eventually, I text him and tell him I’m not ready for a home visit yet.He reads the message and ignores it.On Monday, he sends me a gift an anthology by Chinua Achebe. It’s thoughtful, personal, tied to our inside joke about his name.It pulls at my heart a little.So I call him.He tells me he was upset about Saturday. I feel bad, so I drive over to him to apologise. I blame my fear of commitment and tell myself maybe I should try again.But when I get there, something has changed.He’s distant. Cold.And then it starts.The tone.Condescending, but subtle. He asks me questions, academic ones, and when I don’t immediately respond the way he expects, he says things like, “Do you even know what that is?”It’s not one comment. It’s constant.And I feel it.How small I’m becoming in that moment.He’s pacing around while I’m sitting, and the whole interaction feels uneven. Like I’m being assessed instead of spoken to.He tells me I need to “work on my shit". That this could work – he and I – if I just open up and stop the nonsense.I nod. I half-smile.But I know I’m not being honest.Not with him. Not with myself.We leave it there and agree to meet again, this time at my place. He even jokes that he’ll bring the coffee.But when I get home, I know.Clearly. What I’ve been feeling this entire time.I didn’t feel safe with him.My body was always tense around him. Always alert.And it takes me back to something I don’t talk about easily.The guy who did it, who assaulted me. With him it didn’t start with the horrific act; it began with being broken down, slowly and subtly, so that by the time it happened you felt so worthless. That’s what this felt like.That doesn’t mean he is that man.It just means he isn’t good for me.Hours pass, and my phone keeps lighting up. Long messages. Accusations about me not sending my location, about me behaving "shady".And I know this is it.The last I will hear from him. And I never want to hear from him againThat night, I cry.But underneath the tears, there’s relief.Because my body knew.And this time, I listened.

The Elevator Frequency - Part 4

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Namibian Sun 2026-05-21

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The Elevator Frequency - Part 4

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Namibian Sun 2026-05-21

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