Chapter 8
Basra spent the next two weeks focusing on her search for a new apartment. She finally settled on a small one bedroom on the seventeenth floor of The Brooklyner. She was skeptical about leaving Manhattan but she figured this would provide a more low-key lifestyle and she could use the break in rent. It was still luxurious with twenty-four-hour concierge, a fitness center, and a private balcony. Most importantly, it was hers. As she settled in, she wondered why she hadn’t done this earlier. The first two nights were a little lonely without Lucia popping in and out of her room, but by the third night, Basra was thoroughly enjoying the silence. She’d become so used to the constant noise of the city, she’d forgotten that quietness could bring clarity. She hadn’t spoken to Hollis or Lucia since the move and with the exception of her agent and her family, Basra’s phone hadn’t rung. She was enjoying her time away from it all; however, into the third week, she realized that she had to get a plan of action together because the money she’d saved was quickly dwindling. The sexual encounter with Lawson calloused a section of Basra’s heart, mostly the moral part. She was rethinking her opinion about the exchange of money for sex. Basra had developed feelings for Lawson, more than she’d expected. And since they weren’t having regular sex, the relationship held more of an emotional value. They talked, laughed, and found ways to enjoy each other. If she’d just had sex with him, she would have been doing exactly what was expected, nothing more. Perhaps, trying to be “the date” was the wrong idea. Basra thought she’d feel cheap the morning after sex with Lawson, but she didn’t. She felt empowered, like a woman pulling strings on puppets that were silly and insecure.
The mind games were mounting and Basra was more than happy to let them take over. She pulled out her cell and called Hollis.
However, before she could finish dialing, Lucia was calling on the other line. She’d thrown the idea into the universe and just that quick, it was acknowledging. Basra clicked over.
“I’ve given you time, are you still mad at me?” was Lucia’s first comment.
“I’m not mad at you. I just needed a break from everything. But I’m actually ready to go back to work.”
“Good. You have a package here.”
“What kind of package?”
“I don’t know. It’s FedEx and I can’t make out the name. What do you want me to do with it?”
“I can meet you in the city. Let’s have lunch at the Eatery.”
“Oooh, I haven’t been there in a while. I love their Mac and Jack,” said Lucia.
“Good, but give me an hour. I’m still figuring out the trains.”
“Take a cab,” Lucia said.
“Too expensive. I live in Brooklyn now.”
“Oh God, why?”
“I like it. See you in an hour.”
Basra got dressed and arrived quicker than she’d expected and had soup while she waited for Lucia, who walked in carrying a big brown box with a white bow.
“Here’s my peace offering,” were her first words before extending a hug.
Basra took the box and sat down.
“Open it,” Lucia said. Basra pulled out a beautiful Louis Vuitton handbag. “It’s the Sofia Coppola collection,” Lucia said with excitement. “I know you don’t really care about designer pieces but this is classic and very understated.”
Basra held the bag up and grazed her hand against the soft leather. “It’s very nice.”
“And no one will even know it’s LV unless they get really close and see the logo right here,” Lucia stated, pointing to the tiny signature engraved near the handles.
“Thank you. I needed a chocolate purse.”
The two women ate lunch and chatted about Lucia’s drama over the last few weeks. Her life was anything but dull and she seemed to love every bit of the chaos.
“Sloan’s agency is picking up, she’s been giving me regular work, and her guys pay just as much as Choice.”
“Sloan sent you on a date with a man who was going to kill you. Did you forget that?”
“She’s doing better at the background checks now. Besides, he didn’t kill me and that could have happened at Choice.”
“Are you not at Choice anymore?”
“When she calls. But Hollis got in some new girls and I think it’s time for me to change up.”
“I’m going to stick with Hollis for now.”
“That’s too bad, I had some easy money for you tomorrow night. It wasn’t a lot, just $1,500, but he doesn’t want sex, only dinner.”
“Who is it?”
“Some boring guy from New Jersey.”
“Okay, I’m in, what time?” said Basra with a slight sparkle in her eye. “I need to get at least ten thousand in my savings.”
“You can make that in two weeks, maybe less. Oh, here before I forget,” said Lucia, handing Basra the FedEx envelope from her purse. Basra took it, tried to read the scribble, and then opened it. She pulled out a stack of American Express Travelers Cheques along with a note.
My lovely Dove,
I truly enjoyed your company, and I appreciate your integrity.
Always, Derrick
Lucia grabbed the stack of Cheques and flipped through them.
“Damn, girl, there’s twenty-five of these. That’s $2,500.” Basra snatched her money back. “Somebody obviously forgot about her no-sex policy.”
“I didn’t have sex with him,” Basra expressed.
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. I didn’t have sex with him. However, I’m considering sex if the situation is right.”
“I see you’re finally understanding how this game works.”
“Just finish your lunch,” griped Basra.
After lunch, Basra called Hollis. The talk was brief but she promised to keep Basra in mind when booking new clients. With a pocket filled with money, Basra hopped over to a few shops near Riverside, and while in that neck of the woods, she made her way over to the gallery to pay Grayson a visit. The small studio space had every inch of its white walls covered in art. Basra didn’t see anyone when she first walked in and so she hung out near the front while checking out the work. Within minutes, a young woman, borrowing her look straight out of Woodstock, came from the back and asked if she needed help.
“I’m looking for an artist named Grayson.”
“Grayson!” the tall, lanky hippie called out.
“You rang?” he said, making his way from the back.
Basra stood at the front, waving and smiling like a little girl. Grayson rushed over to her.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I told you I was going to stop by,” said Basra.
“That was weeks ago.”
“I’ve been busy moving.”
“Give me a hug,” he said as though they were old acquaintances.
“I like your space. Show me around.”
“This is Guppie, this is Basra,” said Grayson.
“You remembered this time,” Basra commented with a big grin. “Guppie, nice to meet you.” Guppie was not as pleasant, only giving a slight nod and walking out.
“Is that your girlfriend?”
“No, she doesn’t shave her legs.”
“I don’t always shave my legs,” Basra added.
“Yeah, right,” Grayson said, taking his hand and rubbing it down the front of her shin.
Basra pulled her leg away but only after he’d caressed for a few seconds.
“Stop being fresh,” she said. “Show me around.”
Grayson placed his hands on Basra’s shoulders and physically turned her body around. “This is it. One giant box.”
“Show me your paintings.”
“Later. We have to go.”
“Go where?” she asked.
“Out. Hold on.” Grayson rushed to the back and one minute later returned with a satchel draped across his body.
“Where are we going?” Basra asked again.
Without answering, Grayson grabbed her hand and led her from the gallery.
“You can’t kidnap me like this,” Basra said as she was being whisked on to the street.
The two of them walked down Riverside Drive to the shop that Basra intended on visiting before she went to the gallery.
“This is the only store I want to go in, I promise. If I don’t see what I’m looking for in here, then we can go wherever you like.”
Grayson happily agreed and waited while Basra tried on three dresses. She settled on one, paid for it, and they left only spending a total of thirty-five minutes in the store.
“I like the way you shop. My sister used to have me in the mall all day.”
“I really don’t like to shop that much. But when I do get something new, I go get exactly what I want and then I’m done.”
“I think I’m in love,” Grayson said jokingly.
Grayson held out his hand and Basra quickly latched on like a girlfriend of many years. It wasn’t until they’d walked a few blocks until she even realized.
“Why are we holding hands?”
“Why not?” Grayson asked, but then suddenly released his grip. “What’s the deal with you and the rich guy?”
“His name is Lawson, and why do you assume he’s rich?”
“I know one of the owners at the Fountain and right after the visit he made a generous donation.”
“Oh. Well, I can assure you, I have nothing going on with Lawson.”
“He seemed very comfortable with you.”
“He’s just that way. We’re friends, business acquaintances really.”
“And what do you do again?”
“I model.”
“Of course you do.”
Basra gave him a peculiar look. She wasn’t sure if he meant that sarcastically and she felt the need to reiterate and defend.
“No, really I’m a model. I actually book work in magazines, and get paid for it.”
“Of course you do.”
“Why are you saying that in that way?” Basra asked.
“What way? I’m saying of course because you are almost six feet and absolutely gorgeous. What else would you do?”
“I could be a doctor or an attorney.”
“You could, but the natural choice would be for you to model. You look glamorous, that’s all I’m saying.”
Basra tightly puckered her lips and squinted her eyes just before extending her hand again. Grayson grabbed a hold of hers and they continued down the street. They took in a movie and then made plans to meet later for dinner. Basra beamed all the way back to Brooklyn. It was so refreshing to spend time with a man in whom she could have a genuine interest. She felt all girly inside and this gave her an extra pep in her runway strut.
That evening, the process of dressing took an extra hour because Basra tried on at least four different outfits. She settled on a short and flirty champagne-colored knit dress. She paired it with brown wedges and her new Louis Vuitton purse. Grayson lived in a loft in the East Village but offered to come to Brooklyn and meet her for dinner. They decided on The Pearl Room. Over dinner, the energy between Basra and Grayson sparked to greater heights.
“I feel like we’ve been going out for months,” Basra said. “I know I’m not supposed to say things like that on a first date, but it’s weird.”
“There’s definitely a connection. Maybe we knew each other in another lifetime. What’s your sign?”
“I don’t follow astrology but I’m a Virgo. September twenty-fourth.”
“I’m a Capricorn, January tenth.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m thirty,” he responded. “And you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“A baby.” Grayson laughed.
“I’m grown,” Basra playfully bantered.
They giggled and joked over their appetizer and began making plans for later that week. The butterflies in Basra’s stomach were doing somersaults. She couldn’t contain her incessant chuckles.
“I know you think I’m totally silly, but I promise I don’t normally laugh this much.”
“It’s cool, I think you’re adorable.”
As soon as they finished the appetizer of fried calamari, Basra’s phone rang. She let the first set of rings go to voice mail, but when it rang a second time, she grabbed it from her purse, looked at the number, and then excused herself. Basra stepped into the restroom and spoke.
“Hi, Hollis, what’s up?”
“I need you tonight. Where are you?”
“I’m at dinner with a friend.”
“Well, wrap your plate up and take down this address. His name is Adam Sizemore.”
“But I can’t go right now, can’t you—”
“You called me today and said, ‘please consider me for new jobs.’ You said you were willing and available.”
“I didn’t say tonight,” Basra specified.
“You’re not sick and this guy specifically wants a woman of color. If you’re not dependable, then I need to know that right now.”
“I am. I will be there in an hour. Thanks.” Basra clicked off. “Shit!” she yelled. She paused and looked in the mirror. “God, I really don’t want to do this. I like hiiiiiiim,” she whined.
Basra walked out and delivered the bad news.
“I have an emergency,” she moped.
“Is there something I can do?”
“No, but I have to go.”
Grayson began chuckling. “You have to go pick up your friend who was in an accident?” he asked in between the laughs.
“This is serious. I have to go.” Basra placed her purse on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. Seriously, what do you need me to do?”
“Ask me out again.”
“Will you go out with me again, Friday night?”
“I was hoping you’d say tomorrow.”
“I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that. Are you sure everything is all right?”
“I’m fine. I just have to go take care of something. I’d love to see you tomorrow. Call me.”
The waitress came to the table with two plates. Basra looked at her food and frowned.
“Can you wrap up her plate?” Grayson asked. “You have to eat,” he said to Basra.
She sighed but then sat back and waited for the server to return.
“I’m sorry. I promised I’d help a friend prep for his photo shoot,” Basra commented while rummaging through her purse. She couldn’t face him and it was killing her that she couldn’t be truthful.
“I can come help.”
“No,” she replied quickly.
“Oh, I see.”
“See what?” she asked.
“This photographer is someone who’d rather you not show up with male company. Ex-boyfriend perhaps.”
“No. He’s just funny about people in his space. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s cool.”
The server returned with her to-go plate. Basra kissed Grayson on the cheek. “Are you going to stay here and eat?” she asked.
“I sure am. Who knows, I might find me another date. Lonely, cute guy in a nice restaurant, all by himself, eating all alone ...”
“Stop making me feel bad.”
“I’m joking. Call me tonight when you get in.”
“I will.”
Basra hailed a cab and scarfed down her food on the way to Brooklyn. She needed to stop by the house and grab a few overnight essentials. She was hoping she wouldn’t have to spend the evening with this Adam person, but she wanted to be prepared. With a slight scowl stretched across her face, she walked back through her lobby to grab another cab. Meeting someone new normally unnerved her, but she was so annoyed that Hollis had ruined her evening, her nervousness had been replaced by irritation. She gave the cabbie the Upper East Side address, and twenty minutes later, Basra was walking through another lobby with an even bigger grimace.
“Is there a restroom down here?” she asked the concierge.
“Are you here to see one of our residents?”
“Yes, I’m going to 1004. My name is ... Dove,” she answered.
The concierge picked up the phone to call.
“Is there a restroom down here?” Basra repeated with frustration.
He pointed by the elevators, and she turned to walk.
“Could you wait one minute?” said the concierge, halting her movement. Basra was angered by his rude temperament. She rolled her eyes, turned back, and waited until he’d confirmed her visit.
“He’s expecting a Basra—”
“That’s me.”
The concierge asked for identification and finally released her to pass through. By the time Basra had made it to the restroom, her anger had boiled to rage. She had to pace the black-and-white tile floors to calm down. She called Hollis, who surprisingly answered.
“I’m here. Who is this guy again?”
“His name is Adam. He’s a financial bigwig. Does business here but lives out west. He was referred by one of my oldest.”
“Fine, how much am I making? I need five grand.”
“Well, well. Someone has gotten quite demanding.”
“I know Lucia gets that a night, and I’m more exotic than she is. That’s what I really need to make.”
“You got it,” Hollis said.
Basra paused, surprised at how easy that was. I should have asked for more, she thought. Hollis had a strict policy and the girls weren’t allowed to discuss money with the clients. They weren’t even allowed to ask how much the agency retained from each date. But Basra had decided that if she was going to be used, she would get as much out of it as possible. The business was numbing her, and she could feel it. But she no longer cared. She wanted her money and she wanted to get back to Grayson, and at the time, that was all that mattered.
The door was partially cracked and so Basra walked into the one-bedroom, simply decorated apartment. It looked like a picture in a catalogue complete with fake fruit on the coffee table. Adam came from the bedroom wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He was in his late forties and slightly resembled Brett Favre, without the handsome ruggedness. His eyes were small and shifty and as Basra made eye contact, her nervousness set in.
“I’m Dove,” she said, extending her hand.
“Adam. Have a seat.”
She sat in the chair farthest away from the bedroom door, and gazed out of the window.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Somalia.”
“I’ve had some business dealings in several parts of Africa. Never been to Somalia, though. How long have you been here?”
“About a year and a half.” Basra appreciated him trying to make small talk, but she didn’t want to chat. She wanted to know what he was expecting, so that she could deliver and then leave. It’d have been great if he only wanted company, but she assumed that wasn’t the case since they met at his place and he wasn’t dressed for a night out.
“So, how long have you worked with the agency?”
“Six months. I was introduced through my roommate, well, my ex-roommate.”
“You in school?”
“I was, now I’m just saving money. I will go back in the fall.”
“Would you like a drink?” Adam asked.
“Wine would be nice, red.”
Adam poured her a glass of merlot and flipped on the television. Basra continued to sit and sip her wine, and as the minutes passed, the awkwardness grew. Finally, Adam made his move.
“Why don’t we go into the bedroom?”
Finally, Basra thought. But then, suddenly, she felt sick. Her breath shortened, and her stomach cramped. She forced herself to think pleasant thoughts: images of her meeting Grayson for the first time, the way he constantly pushed his black-framed glasses into place. Then she thought of her sister and how happy she’d be at FIT. The thoughts led her to a happy place, and before she realized it, she was lying in bed with Adam.
“I just need another glass of wine,” she said, lifting up.
He jumped from the bed and returned with her glass and the bottle. Basra quickly drank, removed her shirt, and turned to him.
“I promise this won’t be as weird once we get to know each other,” he commented.
She smiled and replied, “I’m sure,”
Adam wrapped his hand around her neck and kissed her. The lip lock took her by surprise. She didn’t think he’d want to do something as passionate and intimate. Her body stiffened.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered while laying her body down. Her body refused to cooperate, but Adam didn’t care about her unwillingness. He vigorously mashed his hips into hers. He tossed her lean body back and forth and his actions grew in intensity. Basra played along. She was no longer able to produce happy thoughts. All of her concentration was spent on holding back the tears. Eventually, she gave in to the natural emotion and buried her head in the down pillow and let the cotton soak up the moisture on her face. The tears fell, but Adam had no idea. He was too busy asking a barrage of stupid questions.
“Am I the best? Is this what you want?” kept ringing in her ear but before she could reply, he spouted more questions. “You want to tease me. Can I punish you?” Basra snickered slightly and tried hard to remove all emotional connection from the act. When she concentrated on other places and events, her mind physically left the shell of her body, that was being strewn about the bed. Although, his questioning continued, she remained silent. It wasn’t until he grabbed her shoulders and slapped her across the face did her mind fall back into room 1004. The stinging on her skin caused a brash reaction.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” she yelled, lifting her body.
Immediately Adam caved. He pulled away from her and whimpered. “I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve you. Please punish me.”
Basra sat up and looked at him as he knelt by the edge of the bed.
“Punish me,” he reiterated.
With confusion, Basra nervously looked around the room.
“Would you like to slap me back?” he asked.
Basra nodded slowly, feeling as though she were being pranked.
Adam, still on his knees, turned his face to the side and waited. Basra slowly moved toward the edge of the bed and softly slapped Adam.
“Don’t you ever hit me again,” she said softly with caution.
He bowed his head and apologized. Basra sat on the bed and looked at him. She didn’t know what to do. Was it over? Could she leave?
Finally, Adam spoke again. “May I please kiss you?” he asked.
“No,” Basra said loudly. She had no idea she was playing along with his fantasy. She simply abhorred the thought of kissing him again.
“If I let you beat me, may I kiss you then?”
Again, Basra looked around the room. This was very weird and she had no idea how to respond. But she figured she’d go for it. If he wanted to be beaten, she was more than happy. She took the liberty to slap him again, this time with more momentum. He seemed to enjoy it. Basra grabbed her shirt from the bed and stood over him. She covered the front of her body with her shirt and placed her foot against his chest.
“Look at me,” she demanded.
He looked up.
“You don’t deserve to kiss me. I should just beat you for asking.”
“I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me,” he said.
Basra held back the chuckles, and got more into character.
“Who do you think I am? I’m not playing with you.” She took her foot and pushed him onto the floor. She got on top of his chest and dug her somewhat pointy knees into his ribcage.
“I will cut off your air.”
“Are you going to choke me?” he asked.
Basra’s eyes lit up. She was about to release all of her frustration and was more than glad to choke the shit out of him. She wrapped her hands around his throat and clinched tight.
“Is this what you want? I will punish you until you stop breathing,”
He seemed to enjoy it. The tighter she gripped, the more he smiled. She took her right hand and lapped it over her left and began to wring his neck back and forth. He coughed violently and turned red. Basra jumped up.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” she said with fear.
Adam regained his breath and rolled over into the fetal position. Basra stood back and hoped she hadn’t taken the act too far. He got enough wind to speak.
“I’m fine.”
He rolled back over and stared at her. He grinned like a devious cat burglar with stolen treasure. “You’re going to be perfect.”
Adam rose and sat on the bed. He pointed for Basra to join him.
“I like Dove,” he said before leaning over for another kiss.
This time, she covered his mouth to prevent their lips from touching. He grinned, pushed her down, and politely asked for another round of intercourse. Basra desperately wanted to deny him, but she knew this was part of the deal. She obliged; however, this time she was just as rough as he. She called him vile names and took pleasure in slapping his face and digging her teeth into his skin as often as possible. Two hours later she was heading back to Brooklyn. Her emotions were rapidly jumping between degradation and exhilaration. As soon as she stepped in her place, she pulled out her phone to call Lucia. But she saw the missed call from Grayson. Though she wanted nothing more than to talk to him, she knew the first part of the conversation would be an absolute lie. He was going to ask about the fake photo shoot and her imaginary photographer friend. Everything about Grayson made her feel warm and mushy. Yet, as much as she liked him, she knew she needed to end things. She wasn’t in a place to start a relationship and she knew it was where they were heading. Their connection was an undeniable force that grew with every minute they shared.
“I have to end it,” she said aloud. “But first, I have to call Lucia.”
Basra was able to reach Lucia and she couldn’t wait to spill the beans about Adam.
Lucia laughed fiercely as Basra told her about the night. “Don’t you love it!” she yelped. “I have three or four guys like that, and I work out all of my frustration on them.”
“Isn’t it weird though?” Basra asked.
“I don’t judge. It’s the way they cope. He probably has a high-stress job, something with a lot of power.”
“He does something in finances.”
“Well, if you see him again, get in some licks for me. I’m for real, beat his ass.”
Basra burst into laughter.
“So are you still going to see the guy who comes into town once a week from Philly? He’s one of Sloan’s clients. She had another girl on him, but now she needs someone else. You want to do it?”
“All he wants is dinner?” she asked.
“Yep. Sloan said he’s a little weird, one of those loners with no friends.”
“How did he get his money?”
“Inheritance, I think,” replied Lucia.
“Why don’t you do it?” questioned Basra.
“I’m not giving up my Friday nights for fifteen hundred.”
“It’s not all night, right? It’s just dinner.”
“No, but I travel on the weekends. I think this would be perfect for you.”
“Yeah, it could be. It’s six grand a month. He comes every Friday?”
“So far. And Sloan pays out on the next day. She just needs your account information.”
“Okay, cool. I’ll do it this Friday and see how I feel.”
“Great. She’ll call you.”
“All right. Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” They disconnected.
Basra stripped and poured her bathwater. She filled the tub with fragrant bubbles and stepped in. Before sitting down, she stepped out, tiptoed to her room, and retrieved the Quran from her bottom drawer. She rushed back into the water and let it cover her skin, which suddenly felt filthy. It had been a while since Basra had opened her Quran. When she wanted to reference any religious material, she’d look through her Bible, but for some reason this night she wanted to read the Quran. She flipped through the pages looking for a section her mother used to read to her and her sister. Upon finding “Al Nisa,” she read softly.
“But those who disobey Allah and His Messenger and transgress His limits will be admitted to a fire, to abide therein: and they shall have a humiliating punishment. If any of your women are guilty of lewdness, take the evidence of four (reliable) witnesses from amongst you against them; and if they testify, confine them to houses until death do claim them, or Allah ordain for them some (other) way.”
Basra closed the book, placed it to the side, closed her eyes, and exhaled. The remorse sank deep into her skin and she immediately took her loofah and began scrubbing her arms. She moved down her arms to her stomach, and legs. She rubbed so hard that her skin turned a soft red. Basra began to sob.
“I’m not a bad person,” she whimpered. “I’m not a bad person.” Basra closed her eyes and rested her head on the edge of the tub. All the years of discipline and studying vengefully returned. She remembered at age twelve getting lashed for coming home stating that she had a boyfriend. Virginity was strongly preached in her home, and growing up, she knew nothing else. She and her sister were encouraged not to look men in the eyes and definitely not be flirtatious in anyway. It wasn’t until she was twenty that she realized how attractive her neighbor, Dalmar, was. They were close friends but she spent years not looking him directly in the eyes. Once she did, the attraction was instant and at twenty, he took her virginity. At the time, she was enamored with him and they spoke about becoming married. She couldn’t imagine being with any other man, and she wasn’t until she came to America. Even then, it felt odd. But Americans were so comfortable with their sexuality that it seemed wrong for holding it to such sacred standards. So when she began dating a guy introduced by her cousin, it was assumed they’d have a sexual relationship. They dated for a few months and then things fell apart. She didn’t remember who stopped calling whom, but one day they just stopped communication. After that, she had a quick fling with a waiter who was a dead ringer for Lenny Kravitz. That ended after a month, because Basra decided to buckle down and concentrate on school, and he was too much of a party animal. There were no more men until Lawson. Somehow she’d managed to go from chaste to wanton in a couple of years. Basra pondered her libidinous journey and it literally upset her stomach. She stepped from the tub, dried off, and took her Quran into the bedroom. She tossed on a long T-shirt and crawled into bed. She opened the book once again and continued to read.
“Allah accepts the repentance of those who do evil in ignorance and repent soon afterwards; to them will Allah turn in mercy; for Allah is full of knowledge and wisdom.”
She slid underneath the covers and whispered to the Most High. “You know my heart. Do my intentions make up for my actions?” Basra was very still as she waited for an answer. Her tranquility gave way to sleepiness and Basra drifted off.