the warmth of your coldness

Pressing the tapered mouth of the sharp hoe into the soft soil, Bassey scooped it out. With the sun still up, she knew she'd have time to get more work done. She pulled the yellow wheelbarrow closer and picked out a tiny, round ball, wrapped in old rags. It smelled of old, dead flesh and fresh blood, mixed with pungent herbs. The wet mixture inside the rags oozed out of the fabric, but Bassey didn't pay it any mind as she put the ball into the hole she'd dug in the ground and covered it up with the loose soil.

She was going to need a cold bath, a lot of cold drinks, and at least twenty hours of sleep, when she was done. Not because she needed it, but because Bassey liked to spoil herself every once in a while. In a body that had retained its youthfulness for the last eighty years, Bassey was in peak human condition. Her brown skin didn't keep blemishes after the wounds healed and her strength only grew with age. Walking and working around Akpata would never be enough to make her tired or weak, but she liked the way her people welcomed her back to town with words of gratitude and smiles. Like she'd done more than was necessary. 

Making her way through the trees on the hill, she got to the next marker. When she knelt by it, her phone rang. Her hands were muddy and dirty, but she didn't care when she pulled her phone from the pack hanging around her waist.

"Yes?" she said, wiping sweat from her brow. 

"No 'hello'?" a calm, slippery voice asked, stopping Bassey in her tracks.

Clenching the phone, Bassey stood.

"Bassey?"

"Y-yes," she stammered. She cleared her throat.

"I'm surprised you didn't change your number."

"You told me not to change it."

A careless statement that had been made ten years ago still ran through Bassey's head. Because nothing was ever really careless. Bassey lived on cues and suggestions that were more than mere cues and suggestions. She'd had to learn when total obedience was needed and when mild disrespect would be tolerated. The difference between the two was often the difference between spending the night in her room with a nice, soft bed, underneath a rotating fan or spending the night tied up in a dungeon, naked and bleeding.

"I'll be coming home in a few days," the voice said. "I'd like to see you."

Bassey's lips trembled as her hand clutched the phone.

"Bassey? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Can I see you when I get back?"

It was a loaded question, Bassey knew. There was no answer she'd give now... in that moment... that wouldn't come back to haunt her in the future. If she said no, she would get punished for it. But if she said yes, she'd have to see the face that the voice belonged to. Standing there, at the center of the large field, Bassey suffocated under the weight of such a choice.

"Bassey."

"Yes?"

"I'm coming home."

"I'd… love to see you," she said, closing her eyes and lifting her head to the sky. 

"Great."

The call ended. Bassey rubbed her fingers against her temple, reminding herself that this was not her fault. This was not her doing. After all, she'd only ever had the illusion of choice. If Ansa was back in Akpata, then it was time for Bassey to get her head out of the clouds and return to reality.

—

Bassey worried about her scent. 

It was not bad. It's not the worst she'd ever been. But she was still very conscious of it as she sat in the small roadside restaurant, holding an empty bottle of Pepsi that she'd gulped down the moment it arrived on her table.

A bunch of tables with plastic tablecloths surrounded them in rows of threes and fours. The concrete floor was so old and unmanaged that it had cracks and holes in it, adding to the uneven slant of the entire building, seeing as the restaurant was on a hill. The lights flickered in tandem with the turning fan, making Ansa appear like she was stuck behind the shutters of an old window in a horror movie.

"How have you been?" Ansa asked, bracing her elbows against the table as Bassey leaned back without meaning to.

Her head was blank and busy, screaming and screeching in all directions because everything felt so wrong. She felt like the girl from years ago, struggling to come to terms with her new reality. She'd spent years learning to be any and everything Ansa wanted and now, after just a few years without Ansa, Bassey felt like she'd forgotten it all. 

How was she supposed to explain pulling away from Ansa? 

Whether Ansa approached her in hostility or affection, it was Bassey's place to stay put, accept it, bask in it, and enjoy it, regardless of what it was.

She waited on bated breath for the repercussions of her actions, but nothing came. In the quiet restaurant that had been emptied for Ansa's sake, Bassey felt like she was about to go mad if something did not start happening. When she looked up at Ansa, Ansa was sitting there, looking back at her like they were having a regular conversation.

Without the usual arrogance, Ansa seemed normal, smaller than usual. Almost human. Her back was hunched over her full bottle of Pepsi, her fingers enclosed around it like she was fighting with herself. Fighting the need to reach over and drag Bassey back into her space. Put Bassey in her place. Remind Bassey of the way things were supposed to be between them.

She was still very much the intimidating sight she always was. Tall woman with angular shoulders and an even angular jaw was sure to set people on edge when she moved around with barely a smile on her face. Sharp, darting eyes, lips painted black to match her already dark skin that was so black she could slip in and out of sight at night without bright clothes. Her hair was woven all back, but dusty, dirty and old. Her eyes were red-rimmed and dull. When she looked at Bassey, she seemed to be trying to hide the fatigue. Because, of course, she was drained and fagged out. She needed Bassey almost as much as Bassey used to need her.

Ansa's phone call had sent Bassey into a spiral between quiet rebellion and obedient fear. 

She knew what she should look like, for Ansa's sake - tightly fitted trousers that hugged her on the waist, all the way down her thighs to her ankles, with satin blouses and loose buttons to show off her chest. Rings on her fingers, earrings lining her ears, along with beads around her wrist, as well as chokers clasped on her neck to match her outfit.

If she was going out in public, her blouses were tucked into the trousers, to accentuate her waist and curvy hips.

In four years, she hadn't worn a single blouse or a pair of trousers that was much too tight. The first two weeks, she'd waited, dressed like a show puppy in search of its lost master. But by the time no one came home and no one called, she'd started to shed her fancy uniform, piece by piece, earning quiet glances from people as they watched her metamorphosis without a word.

One phone call sent Bassey running back to her wardrobe of clothes. One phone call sent her running to the salon to have her brows plucked, her nails done and her hair permed.

One phone call.

When she'd been spun to face the mirror, when her hair was combed and packed in a sleek, ponytail, the rebellion set in. Because what the fuck was that? After four years? One phone call was nothing. It wasn't nearly enough to cause the amount of attention that Bassey was giving to her body. She'd taken a pair of scissors and cut off the ponytail as everyone else in the salon screamed in shock.

Their screams jolted Bassey back to her senses as fear set again. 

Scared and barely breathing, Bassey had sat through four hours of long, tight braids to hide the abomination that her hair had become. After that, she'd overcompensated by dressing up.

Exactly the way she was supposed to.

Ansa let go of her drink, reaching across the table to hold both Bassey's hands in hers as she caressed the bracelet on Bassey's left wrist. Bassey looked down at their hands, fighting the urge to pull back again. Because even though everyone else would swear that Ansa's hands were cold, Bassey had only ever felt a scorching on her skin when she came in contact with Ansa.

"Ask me," Ansa said.

"Ask you what?" Bassey asked briskly, before catching herself in a flinch.

"Ask me how I survived four years without you," Ansa stated simply.

Bassey tried, she really did. But in the end, she couldn't help the gulp that dropped in her throat, aching to breathe at the absurdity of it all.

"You've always been resourceful. I'm sure you found a way."

"Yeah… well…" Ansa paused, taking a long hard look into Bassey's questioning eyes. "I need you now," Ansa said, grasping Bassey's hand as if to restrain her. 

It dawned on Bassey that Ansa was asking. Not commanding.

Which was ridiculous because they both knew Ansa could have just waltzed right in and taken what she needed. This outing, all this wooing didn't need to happen. But there she was, head lifted towards Bassey with a look of tenderness… or openness… a look that Ansa only ever saw reserved for everyone who wasn't Bassey.

"That's why you're in Akpata."

"Yes," Ansa nodded.

Honest. Straight to the point. Nothing had changed.

"Fine," Bassey said, rising to her feet as Ansa blinked in confusion. "If you only came back to feed, then let's get it over with."