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I went to bed after that "wonderful" showing, earning several more hugs and kisses as I did so. I considered asking to sleep by Trace, and was wondering on the idea if he would come in by me, though assuming not. I closed my door and changed into another pair of short-shorts and tank top, but went back and kind of nudged it open a little. Except when I sat down on my bed, I realized that this was all completely insane. Trace had kissed me like seventy times - not that I was counting! - and snuggled and nuzzled me all night. He had petted me and rubbed my legs. This was all, if not wrong, still ridiculous.

Except, the realization of all of that was fine. I could tell Heartsie any single part of this story and be whisked back to - well, not my home, I guess... but somewhere faster than Trace's head could spin. I didn't want that though. I hated that woman. I hated that system, and the only thing good I ever got from it was hugs and kisses from Trace. Which, I guess, meant that I was stuck here. Or... maybe here willingly? It seemed unfair from a moral standpoint, for Trace to use affection as currency, considering how starved for it I was. But it also seemed like there was nothing I could want from him more than that, anyway.

I flopped over on my back with the lights out, waiting for something to happen, or at least trying to sleep. Neither was the case, but I at least felt more within my routine alone than I did being groped by somebody. My unfiltered narrative pointed out that groping suggested Trace's touch was unpleasant, which was obviously not the case. I didn't think it was funny.

Either way, morning came shortly - and alone. I was not used to sleeping on the east side of the house, so sunrise sort of upset me shining through the window. Then again, I didn't have an alarm clock, so I guess it worked. I looked at my rather sparse wardrobe, slightly wondering again what would become of my estate, but more concerned I would look plain on a day when I felt so much more than plain. Not satisfied with anything, I decided to make breakfast instead.

The bread Trace had made poor toast, even if the cheese sandwich was edible. I ended up making a salad, not that I liked them especially, but there wasn't a lot of starch in the house I discovered. Realizing, about halfway through this endeavor that I didn't live alone anymore, I made everything for two. Around the time I was frying four eggs, Trace wandered out, nose leading, looking confused or embarrassed or both.

"I didn't think I'd had anyone over last night." He confirmed relievedly. "What're you up so early for?"

"Sun woke me up. Besides, I have a big day." I groused. "Want some breakfast?"

He perked up significantly at my question, but immediately apologized, "Oh, hun, you didn't have to do that. Today of all days." This display made me uncomfortable in foreign and discomfiting ways.

"It's just breakfast...." I muttered, already starting to blush. "It's not like I can't cook...." Realizing that Trace was about to keep saying weird stuff, I continued abruptly, "make some coffee. Please."

I guess he thought I was upset with him, because he stopped talking and did as told, which also was strange for me. We set up our plates and sat down. I was more interested in the coffee pot than in my breakfast right now, but I was truly glad that Trace didn't have one of those expensive "cafe-in-a-can" instant machines.

Trace was staring, like he often did, but this time it was not blank staring like at dinner. He was staring directly at me. Rather than acknowledge this I pointed out my thoughts on instant coffee dispensers.

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because his ears drooped and he put his face in his palm wearily. "Annette, aren't you nervous, or concerned, or anything about today?" Tired bewilderment, like a child in a war zone. He had a pretty expressive face.

"Why should I be? I can manipulate Heartsie any way I please. If you think I would still actually be here if I didn't like you - if that's what you're worried about - then you're crazy. An interview and a checklist. Probably an unwarranted search of our belongings and stuff. So hide your illegal or illicit things and we're done. What's to worry about?" I ticked these points off on the tines of my fork.

These points were evidently the wrong thing to say, because Trace's face grew more and more horrified with every word. I suppose I could have said this all less casually, but really, what point in hiding? "Annette, what the hell?" Trace asked me very carefully. "Is that really how you think?" I nodded. "I meant... like... won't people at school notice the new bus route and arrival time and stop you come to?"

I blushed so hugely I wanted to leave the room in my shame. "Oh." I said after a few long moments where he was still staring at me. "I... don't... especially care?" Trace grunted and threw his hands up in defeat.

After that he picked up his fork and ate slowly. I was confused, but imitated shortly after, because, according to the clock on the wall I did want to have some time to figure out what to wear. And it then occurred to me how to make myself sound less ghoulish and inhuman. "Um, I was kind of wondering what I should wear today...? I didn't bring much from my house."

Trace perked up again, warily this time. I didn't think I was that scary. I guess all the better I had not tried to make friends. "Let's finish eating and we'll take a look, okay?" He said mildly. I nodded, wondering if Trace was the easy one or I was. Heartsie would have talked twelve ways from the door if I asked her any questions regarding the fact that I was a teenage girl who really needed to learn things about socialization. Though I only made that mistake once - which is completely not important! - even if I wasn't exactly keen on asking Trace certain things either.

So we ate in an unsteady silence. He was still staring at me, but pretending not to, which was kind of worse. I would rather he just goggle in horror and desensitize himself and move on. I finished eating first, and Trace made a big deal of swiping my plate and mug and placing it in the sink, even though I didn't really understand the gesture - or rather, was unimpressed by it.

I went to my room - my room, I could think fluently, though the feeling was odd. Not my house, but somehow my room - left the door wide and glared soberly at my wardrobe. Primary colors, gray navy white and green as well. I was feeling, dare I say, girlish today, but didn't really find anything to make me feel such. When Trace entered, more silently than a ghost, I managed not to jump.

It was mortifying and impossible to say, but I had the courage of a thousand men and said quietly. "I feel really... cutesy... today." Demeanor changed; child in candy store with money.

"Pigtails." He judged instantly.

"No!" I growled.

"How about grown up pigtails, not elementary school ones?" He asked smugly. I assented grudgingly. He grabbed some hair bands off my dresser that I could not even have found as easily. Yanking and rotating my head, he quickly gave me two ponytails that tended to lay on my chest. I really liked.

"This is good." I said mildly. I couldn't stop my tail or my ears from betraying me, though.

"You love it!" He proclaimed in victory. I nodded and earned scalp petting.

I earned enough petting for my head to go numb, before Trace finally said to me dumbly," Like, uh, this is it I'll bet, right?" I nodded, much more shyly than previously. "This is awful. We're going shopping tonight after you deal with 'Heartsie'." He pointed out - air-quotes and all. I nodded again, this time pretty dumbly I imagine. I did. Not. Shop. Damn it.

After a few minutes I ended up in a denim skirt and black sweater. It was super hot outside, but there was no denying it was the best outfit I could make. My sneakers were plain and stuff, which made Trace complain hugely, but he eventually "let me out of the house". This also made me uncomfortable in unusual ways.

From the moment I left Trace's house, I was bombarded with questions. There were three kids on my bus stop and myself. And though they lived far enough away to not bother me, it appeared, outside of schooltime, they were "coincidentally" walking by the door as I exited. Coincidence does not exist. Some children even read the newspaper - or internet news maybe at least - to have seen the big third page article. Gag.

So now I was outed. As the bus pulled up, I noticed dozens of stares - four high - literally everybody, just for me. I was going to have to have a word with Trace about using that stupid car of his to take me to school. One of those three children, the girl sibling of the one standing in front of me, gently ushered me onto the bus. I was not confused by this action; they thought they were protecting me. It was rather a stupid idea, though, because it made them susceptible to my own pariahship.

Except, when I got on the bus, and everyone resumed their seat to stare at me, there was no contempt or fear. It was blank-faced, slack-jawed awe. Six girls started up at once - how nice I looked, how strong I must be - ten boys the same thing, but much different connotation. The calm before the storm gave way. Everyone feeling they had endeared my heart to them enough to ask deeply personal questions.

I was honestly more upset with some of the girls' questions. How did I learn to dress? How did I learn to "take care of myself" - which was either masturbatory or cosmetic in nature, but still weird - How did I manage those seasonal times? Ugh.

The boys thought it was great. Much less nitty gritty. Had I ever bought liquor (I didn't know how they thought I could have)? Had I ever had a party (See Above)? What was a comatose person like (Define: comatose)? Did I really feed and clean them through a tube (Mhm)? Questions I could answer without saying, "the internet" dozens of times. I couldn't really imagine the interest anyone would have in me besides that, but that boy from the block and his sister sat us down on a conspicuously free bench right near the front of the bus. Staring eyes burned my scalp the whole commute. The joys of social interaction.

The greater high school was even worse. I was not a celebrity; I was a statue or painting people observed and commented upon. Boy and girl seemed more my curators than escorts, and I still had no idea why they were being either. Homeroom teacher gave me a cookie - as consolation prize for dead parents I suppose. Though I'm sure the statute of limitations had run out. It was a good cookie. First period I got to read a book of my choice, though it was Literature class and the teacher knew I was already reading the assigned book anyway. More a gesture for the kids, to make them think even more strange things about me.

Second and Third did not acknowledge the news, though that was because despite being Civilizations and Ethics teachers, they kept their heads firmly in the dirt. Civilizations teacher gave me extra credit once when I was right on a news story, though a few weeks back. Fourth was Natural Sciences, in which the teacher - a wannabe MD - was fascinated to no end by my "care". Gag. Lunch was more peaceful, the rumble having died down of the ghoulish lone wolf prowling the school.

Fifth was Math, my beloved. Teacher tried to give me a pass on homework for today, but I had done it yesterday evening anyway, so she was kind of flustered. Sixth was a study period and last I had Theatre. It was the closest I came to social interaction throughout most of my life, and it was mainly because it met at certain times, was not conducive to "hanging out" - except the slackers who pretended to learn their lines at slumber parties - and usually had pretty interesting stories.

The buzz was worse here than anywhere else, and Teacher chided me for the literal entire class about how I should have trusted him enough to tell him. When I said the entire point of my situation was to avoid foster care, he deflated. That was - surprisingly - the right answer. My classmates, two of whom were jealous of my "talent", which was a proper diet and disciplined memorization, were saccharine sweet to me and twice as artificial. The quiet, lone straight boy of the group avoided me conspicuously, which was fine, because he usually was making eyes at everything and anything. The unfortunate stereotypes of camp theatre... actors, though, were quite gracious and offered hanging out and such things that I specifically avoided.

For once, it was genuinely hard to turn down an invitation. The sly look amongst them made me think they realized this as well. I had found this class relaxing, in the past. Oh well. Just like my chamomile shampoo, so too was therapeutic thespian art. On the plus side, Girl and Boy were not flanking me as I headed toward the bus stop. I was sincerely hoping to see Trace near the entrance, but did not, and as such sat through even more of the same questions.

How did I eat? How did I cook? How did I shop? How did I entertain myself? I wondered at what point people became adults, as I blandly answered simple questions. It surely couldn't be a gut-wrenching drop into nothing for everybody? Could it? They didn't ask about the taxes, or the identity fraud, or the insane logistics of cashing state checks as direct deposit and oh my god the loopholes and backbends and - a mathematician should have made the tax code, not a bureaucrat. But that would have distracted me too much from answering questions.

One of the "popular" girls - I could tell by the deferential stares - tried to bait me into telling how I learned to masturbate, which was an uninteresting story anyway. However, this was enough to quietly enrage me near the point of violence. I was glad to be at my stop, for fear of getting in "social trouble" at school the week of my adoption. Or, as it's called, throwing up red flags. And fists. As I got up to leave, her being nearby, I flicked my tail straight up and caught popular girl across the chin, earning applause from some of the crude males. She was furious. I could smell the rage on her as I walked away, and it smelled sweet.

However, even despite my good mood, my solitude and my recent victory, I found myself slowing down as I reached Trace's block. I didn't even really know how to enter. I obviously had implicit and explicit permission to enter, but I felt like I should knock, or ring the bell, or wave through the window or something. But I was more brave than the whole pantheon of heroes, so I turned the handle to Trace's front door and walked inside.

I immediately heard Heartsie making a giggling laugh I had never heard from her, which set me distinctly on edge. Trace said something, but he didn't register for concern so I didn't actually understand it. Closing the door silently, I entered the kitchen where I heard voices to see that... woman... touching Trace's forearm and grinning like a fed stray. Or should that be a stray Fed? I thought ungraciously. Trace, alert in discomfort it looked like - since his eyes were aware and darting - noticed me first as I crept into the kitchen.

A look of mischief gently showed on his features until I was right behind Heartsie and - though my heart was in my throat and it terrified me to my core - brightly chimed, "Hi Daddy, I'm home!" Trace's eyes went wide with mirth and shock at my affectionate title. Heartsie jumped nearly enough to spill her coffee, and even through her pleasantries was lashing her tail in shame and fear. Really. To think she could have Trace.

"Hi there Annette!" She managed cheerily, voice steady. "I didn't hear you come in."

Relishing in my second victory of the day, though still not knowing for what I was fighting, I agreed, "Well, I've never liked to disturb the peace," I said chilly. "Has Trace been satisfactory in his interrogation?" I asked with no pretense.

The blush did not reach her ears, but her eyes got faraway and distraught. "Uh huh... he's been telling me that you made breakfast this morning." She recited flatly. I severely doubted that was the last thing he had been telling her, but I would bring that up with Trace alone. I at least managed not to roll my eyes.

"Did you have any more questions, then?" I continued. This time in a normal tone, to hasten her retreat on amicable terms, instead of using up the anger from earlier to deal with this problem.

"Well, do you like it here, hunny?" She asked me. Really? Not, "is he touching you inappropriately?" Which he was, but was not the point. I would lie anyway.

Maybe she actually knew that? I found it hard to believe her savvy, but she had found me a home. "Terry, if I were unhappy here, I would have left." I said matter-of-factly, but more civilly still.

"You do go on about independence. I'm sure Trace just lets you do whatever you please, then?" She asked pointedly.

"The occasion hasn't arisen for me to require reprimand yet, no. But of course I can be trusted with some responsibility? I managed not to burn down my own house." She always hated when I brought that up.

"I suppose." She admitted at length. "And you two have gotten along well these past two days?" She was looking at Trace expectantly, and pretty much expecting one answer.

"I've never spent time around such a sweet little girl." He said, grinning ever wider. "And when she's not being that, it's like she's hardly even here."

Heartsie clearly was shocked. I was a little surprised too. I had sobbed and argued quite a bit since I was here, even if that never had been my intention. "I see." She agreed. "And you, Annette?"

"I really love it here." I admitted simply. "Trace is really nice, and a great cook. We kind of do our own thing and... I really like it." I managed without my voice quavering. I excused myself quietly to put my bookbag down and go pee, which I actually needed to do. But I managed to calm down as well.

Coming back, Heartsie was trying to make pretense to stay, but upon my return she realized there was none. "I can't think of any reason that you two should not be finalized in the records." She admitted skeptically. She walked me, specifically towards the front door, glaring at Trace the entire few feet we were in sight. "Annette, if there's anything you ever feel makes you unsafe or unhappy in this house, you call this number - in private! - and make sure you detail the situation, do you understand?"

"Is this standard procedure?" I asked dumbly, honestly surprised that three vetting processes would be insufficient.

"It is. Two decades ago our organization was duped over and over again. Please?" She asked, for the first time, as an equal.

"Yes. Thank you, Terry." I agreed, taking the business card and pocketing it discreetly. "I appreciate all you've done for me. Words don't do justice." Which was true. I had a pretty long stream of derision lined up for her, but it got repetitive eventually. She did still land me here, so I owed her that much civility, even if it was only finally paid to get me to accept her lifeboat or whatever.

She smiled at me, walked back to the kitchen and formally shook Trace's hand and left without being escorted. She wasn't just overjoyed and oblivious, she got weirder the longer this went on too.

Trace put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing me close and admitted, "She was going to go in for a kiss if you didn't show up around when you did. Such a tiresome lady."

My fury rose up at the mention, then melted away as he called her that. "I didn't like that giggle." I said, "and assumed I needed to rescue you." He squeezed me really tightly in a hug at that, which made me grin for some reason.

"Well, you could have shown up thirty minutes earlier, so she would have left as quickly as you made her."

"How long was she here?" I asked in dead monotone.

"Over an hour. She came in like she was here to do her thing, and then she kept trying to flirt with me, but didn't take my rejection seriously. It was really upsetting." His addition at the end sounded strange.

Had I known how long she had been in Trace's house - been bothering Trace - I would have been completely unacceptably behaved and probably ruined the whole thing. So that was good I guess. It did not change the anger I felt that her car had already pulled away. "I'll kill her." I said in that same monotone.

Trace petted me on the head and earnestly said, "Don't. I love you."

I don't know why, but I started to snivel after he finished saying it. So we stood there awkwardly in the entryway for a few moments, tears welling in my eyes until I turned and pressed my forehead into Trace's ribs, throwing both arms around him. I knew I still couldn't make those words yet, but I did nod fervently against him. That earned me much more petting, and I calmed down quickly.

I calmed down only for Trace to say, "So, since you've had a stressful day, it's time for retail therapy." He said conspiratorially. I groaned in dismay, which made him laugh at me. "I'm either going to hear you complain every morning or I'm going to hear you complain all night. So I'll take the one time deal. Come on." That was a pretty logical thing for him to say, which worried me slightly. I washed my face of puffiness and tears and allowed more of this lunacy to happen.

It was worse than I imagined. Trace had driven us not to some outlet place with a half dozen stores in a line, he had taken us to the mall-o-plex or whatever you called them, about twenty miles from town. On the way he had distracted me with idle conversation, and teased me about the two kids walking next to me to and from school. He even had mentioned that the boy one was handsome enough I could put moves on him, but I snapped at him and probably upset him a little.

So, after parking in a five story parking deck - to go shopping! - and being ushered gently by Trace nudging the back of my arm or shoulder occasionally, we were entering one of the department store postern entrances. I was so nervous I had to have been visibly upset, which did not help the fact that at least four of those anti-theft people were wandering around - which is really not important how I noticed them - glaring daggers at Trace and me.

It snapped into my head how strange this may look to an uninformed observer. I was a young teenage girl with a man to whom I was clearly not related. I wondered if Trace happened to keep a copy of my adoption papers on him. In this case I hoped he did, since I wanted to be with the police again like I wanted to get beaten by mallets. When one did materialize in front of us, I was sure our "relaxing" night of shopping would turn into an interrogation.

"Hey young lady, who's this guy you're with?" He asked in a - surprisingly - light tone.

"He's my dad. I'm, uh, adopted." I said blushing so hard in my ears I was sure I was glowing. The man obviously did not understand what I had said, as he stared at Trace and me for almost thirty seconds. Trace, the wonderful man, actually did have some official documentation on him which proved that I was indeed adopted. I wondered if it was in the water, the crazy medicine.

"Well, where's your wife?" He asked dumbly. Trace replied curtly that the paper said he had adopted me, not a couple. This made me... really happy. He also asked, slightly more politely, in a manner I used as well, to please inform some of the other staff members of this, because reasons. I really wanted to hold Trace's hand, but I was smart enough not to do that. We walked, about a wide step apart, with me trailing about six inches behind following him. He directed us into a store, all pink and glitter and loud pop music, and I realized that the mall security was probably going to be the least painful part of the evening.

Within five minutes, to my growing dismay, Trace had an entire arm load of Annette-sized clothes that looked like they were for children. I hissed quietly, "We are not getting all that!"

Trace looked at me like I had said something stupid and grinned. "No, but I am going to make you try on every item and show me. You agreed." He pointed out. I tried glaring at him, but it just put this really annoyingly pleased expression on his face until I averted my gaze. We were in front of the dressing rooms and I really didn't want to do this.

He just kind of raised his eyebrow until, putting up my arms, I asked, "How do I... do this?"

"Try on clothes?" He asked me, teasing. I glared at him harder, and this time he took it seriously and pointed out, "well, you've looked kind of okay the past few days. You know how to make outfits?" I stared straight ahead. "Um... pants and shirts don't belong to each other. You should always have something else to wear a bottom or a top with, okay?" That made relatively decent sense, so I nodded.

"Certain cuts or patterns don't go with each other, but either you'll figure that out, or I'll tease you about it." He said next, and the half second of thoughtfulness that flashed across his face made me confused. "I guess, finally, you obviously have to make sure it fits you, too." He said lamely.

I stepped into the dressing room with like, a million different items. I sorted through the top five or six items and found two... outfits... I liked, that could be matched with some other stuff I found. After changing out of and into clothes, I stepped nervously from the room. He told me to keep the top and lose the pants, but to look for a skirt that looked like the pants. This earned him a furious glare which made him grin again, making me wonder what the criteria was for taking my glares seriously. I grumbled quietly while I found a skirt that looked similar to the pants, flopped it irately under the doorway, only to have it thrown onto my head with a satisfied affirmation by Trace that I had the right garment.

This was worse than insanity. This was a satire in which I was the joke. I repeated this stupid ceremony six times, being approved or denied by a man I had known for four days - and that loosely, considering two of them were full of bureaucracy or school - and for some reason actually listening to him and being cooperative, which I did not like to do usually.

We left Teenybopperworld or whatever it was called to enter a department store not unlike but slightly nicer than the one from which we entered this carnival hell. He told me I needed shoes, which kind of sucked. Or would have until I had four nice pairs of slippers - flats, I guess they call them outside the theatre - in front of me, saying "Choose two pairs, and tell me two colors." So I asked for gray in a kind of lacey material and blue -which wasn't really important - in a slightly more plain cut and material. I think Trace liked the second choice better. This process repeated in several styles; sneakers, little heel boots, two more styles I wasn't really certain of the names, and sandals. I wondered how I could get Trace to dote on me like this all the time, while trying to decide if I wanted to deal with the annoyance of closed or open toed, when I noticed him staring at knee-high... riding... boots.

I growled quietly, making eye contact, which seemed hit or miss, saying, "You're not going to make me buy an entire wardrobe, are you?"

Trace calmly walked over to the display, picked up a pair of boots, in gray, which I was starting to think he might enjoy almost as much as blue, and set them down in front of me. I wondered how he knew my shoe size, although I suppose he had plenty of time to go snooping through my things. This thought brought ungracious ideas about Trace looking through my closet and clothes.

He replied, far more dangerously than I started, "You're getting those." And actually ripped the price tag off them, handing me the offending merchandise. I was getting more and more confused as things went on, and I wanted Trace to turn around and, like, pet me and talk to me instead of just doing things he said, but I was also getting more and more comfortable with the idea of doing just that. Finally, we ended up looking for a pair of heels, since he said the ones I had were worthy of an honorable funeral. Trace kept picking out these scandalous stilettoes and things I was unsure I could actually maneuver in. I pointed this out, while trying to find something wrong with a really gorgeous pair of suede, strappy heels that ran to mid-calf and stood probably four inches high.

He told me I would just have to practice. My jaw would have dropped if I thought anything happening inside this place could actually make sense, but as it was I just acceded meekly. After me ending up with, like, three years shoe budget in an hour, he decided I couldn't just look like a fourteen year old all the time, which was my point when we entered the first store. I ended up with three outfits that made me look like a sexy secretary, librarian and (I thought) livestock vet, but I hadn't been interested in that for a while.

I was in the middle of trying to awkwardly thank Trace and ask to go home, when he asked me, very seriously, maybe a block away from a large name lingerie store, "Do you need anything to go under these clothes? I have a few things I could look at while you go do that - and get somebody to help you, uneducated girl." While this started as a question, it ended as an admonishment, and Trace had just handed me his credit card and gently shoved me in the direction of a store that was entirely pink and black. This was not just a satire, it was a shitty one to boot.

I entered the store, wide-eyed, which I usually tried not to do because salespeople loved that look. An infuriatingly gorgeous panther lady walked up to me and asked, "Hey hun, how can we help you today?" Before I could get lost on why so many people were calling me confectionery names, I said blandly. "I was looking for some new bras, and I guess panties while I'm here and I don't know why I'm doing this my dad made me come in here because he likes fashion more than me and said I probably should have more underwear since I just got way more clothes and I don't know what I'm doing or why and this is crazy and I think I'm a 32B but I guess could you measure me because it's been like six months and I feel a little sore after school wearing some of my bras and I assume it's because I'm growing." All fell out of my mouth in one sentence and one breath. "Um... I'm Annette, it's nice to meet you. I appreciate this." I continued stupidly, but at least managed to stop after that.

It took several seconds for the lady to process that, for which I couldn't blame her. She was lucky I managed to enunciate, instead of just making a dull croak in my throat for twenty seconds. "Okay, well that'll be fine. Just come over here out of the doorway, and - I'm going to touch your chest - " this seemed obvious, but when her knuckles touched the sides of my breast, and the cloth tape measure the front, I would have jumped out of my skin without warning. As it was I tensed like a stone. "What's the matter, I thought you said you'd been measured before?" The lady asked worriedly.

"I just did it myself the other times." I admitted, trying my hardest to relax.

"So your dad told you to come in here?" She asked conspiratorially and a little bit concernedly.

"Yeah. He likes fashion and I never paid attention to it before he g -" I did not stutter hard or anything, but I realized saying "got me" would have been pretty poor form. "Adopted me."

"He's single?" She asked, slip of paper with my chest waist and hip measurements, for which she did not warn me and I did not jump.

"Yes." I said slightly more quickly than I felt necessary.

"And he adopted a teenage girl." He had, I agreed.

"And he's how old?"

"Um, twenty-four." This was one of those situations I had become used to avoiding in my life; the truth was the completely wrong answer, but a falsity - like they always are - would be easily discovered when Trace came to wait for me or I for him on the benches near this store. I usually preferred not to lie to people's faces, because it was dangerous. In this case I wish I had said he was eighty.

She stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. "And you're okay with that?" I nodded, trying to wipe a dumb grin off my face.

"And why are you 'adopted'?" She asked, air quotes and all.

Feeling significantly less friendly towards this woman, I didn't say a tragic accident broke my family, or that drugs and alcohol ravaged my parents' lives, which I usually never said explicitly, but implied pretty heavily that was the case, anytime I had to interact with someone with any regularity. Now, though, that I was a free girl, even if I was in the jurisdiction of Trace's rules, I didn't have to lie anymore.

"My mom's brain got eaten by germs and my dad's got smashed on the pavement." That one did not go so well as the first long stream of words.

"That's not funny." She said kind of sternly, but weakly.

"Didn't think it was funny when it happened, either. Mom when I was six, Dad when I was eight. Am I going to have to answer questions like this in every store, or just the ones that sell underwear?" I groused, but found myself still talking.

She just made a little sniff of laughter and showed me what various styles and cuts were for. She conspicuously avoided anything sexy, which was fine because that was usually more expensive and didn't really seem appropriate to buy in a store. The internet existed for a reason. I picked out like a half dozen bras, and a few pairs of really nice panties that looked super cute in navy.

I had been glancing idly toward the set of benches that seemed the likely place for Trace to wait for me, but it was clear he was still doing whatever he was interested in at the moment. This panther lady was getting ready to start talking again, which I did not want to entertain, and I was still stressed and scared and confused. I was getting extremely uncomfortable, and there was a really, really gorgeous little teddy that I wanted to buy and was trying to eye only causally.

Fortunately, I guess, my eyeing this garment made the panther lady as uncomfortable as I was just being in this store, but she stated, in a teasing way that was meant to be fun. "So, who're you eyeing that slinky number up for?"

"Oh, I just think I would look really good in it. I guess my self-esteem. I kind of like playing... sexy dress up, when I feel a little self-conscious."

"What, you claim to live alone and have never had a boyfriend?" She asked in almost scandalous shock.

"Well, no. If anybody knew my parents were dead - especially a kid - I'd pretty much have been outed in a second. I just kept to myself. I'm not a really social person anyway." I glanced away and hoped for Trace, seeing him about two hundred yards away. I walked out of the store, both purchases and credit card accounted for, and made toward Trace.

While it was completely unprofessional, and really stupid, this lady followed me out of the store, obviously wanting to see what kind of horrible monster's clutches I was running toward. Well, maybe just walking a bit briskly. So there I went, a bag of underwear, a grown man's credit card, and a woman who might have been a child herself still, in a mall the size of a castle grounds. I guess as I point all this out, I was pretty much flying blind with no point of reference..

Which, I guess, is why I surprised Trace ( and the underwear salesperson), when I walked directly into him. He grunted as my muzzle hit his ribs, and I made no sound. He was supposed to have hugged me though I did not complain. I guess it was the fact we were in public that made him not, or maybe that woman, but he just petted me on the upper arm three times.

He said, slightly concerned, "Hey hun, done already?" I nodded, upset as he drew away and stopped letting me rub my muzzle against his chest. Noticing the lady behind me he added, "Oh, hello. She didn't steal anything did she?" Which made the both of them grin but I found way less funny. She made some vapid comment like she was taking me to him, but none of the three of us believed that, and so she went back to her store that I hope somebody burgled while she was away.

I asked him if we could leave, and he retorted that he didn't want to cook tonight. I did not understand that, really, since I was trying to figure out what to cook for supper so late at night anyway, until he asked me what I wanted to eat, because we were in the food court and I was really bad at this "mall" thing.

We took our time looking around, or maybe just I did, but I settled on some fancy-sounding exotic place and ordered super hot chicken curry. Trace got a salad with chicken on it. Eating in public was kind of weird for me, because I don't think school counts as public, so I was mostly following and imitating Trace. We sat down to eat near the edge of the space, and started our meals.

As I started to sweat and as my ears turned red, Trace stared at me concernedly. Despite the glee with which I was eating - this stuff was exactly perfect! - he pointed out gently that if I didn't like my dinner I could go pick something else.

"I love this. Why should I not eat it?" I asked him, genuinely confused.

"You're sweating bullets and your ears are red. Isn't that too spicy for you?"

"No. I like spicy. I just don't keep much hot stuff at home because it's usually expensive." This didn't seem to be the right answer, because he just looked at me skeptically and ate slowly, monitoring me.

I finished my dinner first and waited on Trace to finish his so we could end this lunacy and go home where Trace would hug me and pet me again. Finally he finished and we left the food court, left the postern entrance of the building, and went home. Aside from the fact that I was exhausted mentally and physically, I really wanted to cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie. I pointed this out, though not saying explicitly "cuddle up". We were listening to public radio instead of talking, this time, and I wondered if I had done something wrong.

As we entered the house, I found Trace's arm around my waist more quickly than mine wrapped around his. A niggling thought wanted me to turn to face him, but I put it down. I thanked him again for taking me shopping, and buying me things, and advising me on clothes. I thanked him for things for which I thought I was ungrateful, but apparently just too off-balance to understand. This devolved quickly into me mumbling into his chest while he stroked my back in a hug.

I didn't know what to do anymore. Sometimes I wondered if I wanted any of this to happen. Sometimes I wondered if Trace had some designs toward me, or good intentions, or what. I wondered why it was suddenly okay for me to be living with a man I had just met, who touched me constantly in the most wonderful ways, considering how I spent most of my life. I guess it didn't much matter. I was already here. I already completely belonged to Trace, which I found myself failing to correct in my narration.

After what could have been a moment or an hour, we sat down on the couch, hips touching. He asked what I wanted to watch, and the truth was I didn't care because I doubted I would pay attention. I was feeling vulnerable and it was alien and uncomfortable to me. I put my arm around Trace's back again, but this time he just scooped me into his lap and lay himself across the couch, me in tow. I mean, this was kind of exactly what I had wanted, but it was still utterly insane.

We spent like ten minutes going back and forth with what to watch, and compromised on an animated film by an artist I hated but a director I really liked. He had me in his clutches and for some reason this idea made me nuzzle the back of my head against him. Several minutes into the film, Trace started to comb his fingers through my hair, which wouldn't have bothered me if it didn't feel so fucking incredible. The soft, caressing feeling on my scalp was hotter than starfire and tingled like needle pricks. I could tell he was completely engrossed in the story, because he was staring so far away he may as well have been on another planet.

I endured this treatment for an indeterminate amount of time. That is to say, I woke up to Trace still caressing me and a different movie - live-action - playing. As I stirred, he greeted me gently, "You fell asleep."

I nodded wearily, not quite fully conscious yet. Which was why this imbecilic string of words fell from my mouth. "I've never been so relaxed." I burbled dreamily, soft eyes staring up at him. I was certain that I had not wanted to say that sentence, and was pretty certain that was the wrong answer, but Trace just nuzzled my scalp and hummed softly in... I don't know - agreement, happiness, comfort. I didn't really know much, I was realizing more by the moment.

"You wanna go to bed?" He said gently, lips moving against my scalp.

I knew this was the wrong answer. I knew this was stupid and dangerous and wrong, but still I asked as treacly sweetly and delicately as I could. "Can I sleep by you?"

This garnered a long pause. It was like Trace had frozen. No breathing, blinking, words, anything. The quiet metronome of his heartbeat between my shoulders still thrummed on, so I was only mildly concerned. He asked me, almost like his words were treading carefully, "Why's that?"

"I ..." I was going to say it. I was stupid. I was a fool. "I wanna snuggle." This was at least not egregiously wrong, because I felt his lips curl into a gentle smile.

"You had me worried for a second...." He pointed out. This made me feel bad in strange ways I did not want to think about. "But sure, I guess. It's not like we... haven't already." There was a sound in that sentence I could not place, but really wasn't thinking anyway - or at least not thinking well - and couldn't focus on it. I slipped myself gently from his grasp, making sure not to move like I was upset or scared, even if my pulse was pounding from the mess I was making of things.

I changed from my clothes I had been wearing all day into some pajamas of a tank top and skimpy shorts. I trod back to the living room to see the television off and a vacant couch. I continued on, instead, to Trace's room, where he was already under the covers, staring at the ceiling until the sound of my footsteps brought him back from wherever he was. I didn't really know what to do here.

I had just asked for and received permission to do exactly this, but I didn't know exactly how to enter another's bed. I silently slid into place, and started to get under the covers when I exclaimed in glee and shock, "Is this samite?" That was evidently a good way to enter another's bed, because he immediately wrapped his arm around my shoulders and agreed mildly that it was. "I thought that this stuff didn't exist anymore?"

"I mean, it comes out of bugs, it's not like it'll go away ever. And it's not like it's woven with gold thread or anything." I think he was actually embarrassed slightly by this conversation. "Besides, it keeps my fur and hair super manageable and tangle free."

"So I sleep on store brand linen and you get the finest silks?" I teased him, rolling a quarter turn in his grasp to face him.

"Well, you picked them out." He said.

"And I'm sure you ordered them from overseas or something online."

Playfully, he said, "You never suggested it."

A really stupid suggestion almost fell out of my mouth, so I dropped my head on his chest and cooed in mirth instead. I guess I had been doing things that were objectively wrong for most of my life. I could tack on a few more poor decisions. It didn't feel exactly wrong, though, when I mumbled, "Night Daddy, I love you."

Neither did the crushing hug or the kisses he was raining down on my scalp.