Ex Nihilo

Good wombs hath borne bad sons. That’s what the tattoo on Oakley’s neck says. It’s revealed by her hair held up, out in the plain sight, where Farai’s girls can so easily see it. She doesn’t approve, but she cannot exactly tell the woman to cover it up either. Just because Farai hides—

Either way, Oakley has more than one. Oakley has her upper arms littered with them, pictures upon pictures, some tattooed over the other, probably because she stopped liking the past ones along the way. It must be years worth of work and pain and satisfaction.

“I should sin to think but nobly of my grandmother.” Farai quotes. Oakley’s eyes are dark; in the darkness of Farai’s apartment, where no light is on, they appear to be almost black. It’s a strange look on her, given how used she’s gotten to the icy colour of them. Given that, after everything, Farai has grown to think of Oakley’s ice as if though it was warm.

“Good wombs hath borne bad sons.” The dark-haired woman mutters around her cigarette, a lazy smile forming. When she’s being genuine, the right side of her face, the one with the scars, doesn’t always follow in sync. Farai finds it charming now that she’s not afraid of her. “Shakeshapeare. I love The Tempest.”

“So it wasn’t just a fancy quote that you’ve heard?” Farai feels like she’s known Oakley for enough, like they’ve gotten close enough for her to tell her this. To say: you’re actually like this, you’re not as shallow as I judged you to be by your cover. It feels freeing. It feels as if though she’s got a friend.

Oakley raises her eyebrow – her undamaged, left one, mind you – and does the smuggest face that Farai has ever seen.

“You really wanna do this?” She asks, laughter echoing in the small apartment. Farai is trying to keep her voice down, but Oakley hardly knows how to keep quiet. Subtle just wasn’t something that could describe her. “You wanna talk about tattoos?”

Farai lets out a small snort, half-smiling through it. It’s strange for her to do something so uncontrolled; it was more of Oakley’s field, really. She shifts on the sofa for a little while, then reaches across to the small table and picks her glasses – new, beige, and a lot lighter than the black ones. She wouldn’t have bought them if her previous one weren’t ruined and she’s spent too much time reading without them, to the point where she could feel her eyesight getting worse. At this rate, she’ll have to wear them outside of reading too.

Then, Farai distracts herself with her hair, plays with curls in mock-arrangement. Everything, just not to think of what now that inevitably comes.

“Are we going to say something about the body snatchers or are we going to pretend nothing happened?” Oakley makes the first pull on their metaphorical bandage. Farai shrugs, unsure of how else to react. She’s grown tired over the past twelve hours; she barely had the time to get home and make breakfast to her girls, then contact her colleague and leave again. Now she’s not only in debt to the woman again, but lost.

Why would somebody steal a body?

“I’m sorry for this taking up all of your time.” She says in the end. “It was just... a pointless chase I suppose. I’m so sorry.” She is, she really is, but nothing comes up to her – nothing that she could fix this situation with. She has nothing to offer to Oakley. Nothing to pay her back, even when the woman required nothing to begin with.

“It’s all terribly shady for me.” She’s sitting near an open window, cigarette ever-present, and Farai’s not even concerned anymore. After tonight, she can justify the need of cigarette. (Nevermind that Oakley is basically a chain smoker, a thought that Farai pushes away right now.)

“Somebody stole a body.” Farai shrugs. “Carried it, I think, I mean—and yet we couldn’t catch them. Why would somebody steal a body?”

Wanda seemed to find the entire thing amusing rather than anything else. Farai was genuinely surprised.

“I could tell you a lot of reasons.” Oakley shrugs, taking the drag in again. The red tip of the cigarette is the only bright thing in their vicinity. The children are sleeping and everything is off; Farai might be trying to keep as quiet as possible, but Oakley seems to have given up a while ago. It’s just how robust she is; it’s not something Farai minds much. “You wouldn’t like any of them.”

Farai’s not dumb. She can come up with a plenty of reasons that she doesn’t like on her own.

“I’m so sorry about it again.” She shakes her head, tired—she wants to go to sleep. It’s nearly morning. “Do you want to stay over?” That would include Oakley sleeping past four in the afternoon and most likely staying the dinner, but that’s okay. Farai’s daughters love her anyway.

“Yeah?” Oakley perks up, surprised, and her scarred eyebrow twitches a bit. It’s a strange movement, that, one that Farai hasn’t seen in a while.

“Of course. You’re gonna have to make your own bed thought. I removed the sheets and everything.” It’s a bunk – Farai has three daughters and two bunk beds, something that came with her super-tiny apartment, and she’s got a one-bed room of her own. So far, Oakley hasn’t minded sharing the bedroom with her daughters.

The woman smiles and nods, seemingly content. Farai can’t say the same for herself.