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I spent the night idly wondering how a single, young gentleman like Trace could possibly want a daughter. Though, besides occasional outbursts of obvious youth, he seemed simply like a man who should be raising kids. But me? I wasn't so sure I understood. The adoption industry did not exactly have tailor made children for every couple's fantasy parenthood, so I doubted he was looking for me, me. Was he looking for a quiet, sullen girl who could occupy the spare bedroom? I think the classifieds are more effective, but I've only ever sold some baubles through them.

Was he training me? I wondered in slight mirth and anxiety. I was familiar with all of the nasty details of Johnny Forrester and his failed wife husbandry. I couldn't imagine someone like Trace being so unappealing in the same context as a wandering eccentric like that. Incredible to even think about him resorting to something like that. Was Trace really just a generous, kind, maybe a bit overzealous, silly guy like he acted? I knew I was getting nowhere with this line of thinking, and that I would end up in a very bad place soon if I kept ruminating. I also was thinking it unlikely I would sleep well tonight.

I rolled over, thinking of grabbing a book instead of trying to sleep or think, but the only entertaining volume in the house right now was a snow leopard down the hall, presumably asleep at this hour. To be honest, I just didn't want to be alone anymore. Maybe that was really all that mattered.

Or, actually, those could be his eerily glowing pupils reflecting the track lighting in the baseboards. In my doorway. In the wee hours of the morning. Well, at least he chose a ripe female to capture, I dumbly thought with almost no emotion.

"Hey, Annette?" Trace asked me, so quietly I thought I imagined it.

"Hm?" I intoned, less certainly than I hoped.

"Could I come in?"

"...Huh?" Huh?

"Well, I was hoping to sodomize you and maybe pierce your nipples with screws if you were having fun enough, but since you're up..." he said, deflated.

"Huh?" HUH?

"I'm teasing you, sweetie." Trace chided me, and I wondered even more dumbly if blushes were luminescent. "I've been sleeping badly tonight, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I went for a glass of water and peeked in. It didn't look like you were asleep..." He soothed.

"Oh... yeah... I'd like that." I said warmly. Well, if he was going to go about things this way... a niggling thought flashed.

Trace padded to the edge of my bed and took to a knee like he wasn't invited on it (it's his house - and bed! And daughter.) I wonder what got me in such a nasty mood tonight? Either way, I scooted over exaggeratedly in the dark, and petted the mattress next to me. Trace easily entered my personal space, and relaxed next to me. I slid my hand over until I touched his pinky, and he covered my hand with his.

It wasn't very long, I'm embarrassed to admit, before I was aching for another's touch. It had been six years since I'd been held, and Trace did so with such openness and protection. I buried my face in the crook of his neck as his arms gently trapped me against him. I rested my arms on his shoulders, and felt him plant several kisses in my scalp. See?

"I think despite maybe the technical correctness, sodomy sounds a bit vulgar for your process." I murmured, sounding breathless and playful - not that I knew that extensively how I was supposed to sound.

"Well if you weren't such a trollop," Trace huffed, falsely ecstatically - I assumed - "I wouldn't have had my hand forced."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, until peals of laughter accidentally came out where words were supposed to be. Trace joined me shortly, and that was the last thing either of us said all night.

Sometime during the night, I was startled awake by a distinctly alien feeling. After I startled awake I freaked out. Trace was cuddled up to me nose to nose, both arms wrapped around my body, each hand touching the outside of a different breast. I knew it. Then I noticed the other thing. It was a rather nice other thing - I guessed! - if it weren't part of a situation that I didn't want. Oh Trace...

He was asleep.

Since I'd woken he barely had taken two breaths. And then he drooled on me. I hated myself for thinking that. I wanted to cry at my betrayal, but I was obviously not being rejected for it. I did sniffle, but hugged Trace tighter and tried to think nothing of it. I guessed it was a nice other thing.

When I woke up I was in love with my pillow, apparently, because of the four-limbed stranglehold I had on it. Weirdly, it smelled like Trace. And my door was open. He came in and slept by me. I blushed at the horrible things I thought about him last night and apologetically breathed in his scent. What had put me in such a foul mood last night?

I put on something a bit more socially appropriate than my tiny shorts and tank top pajamas and padded to the kitchen. Trace was still shirtless and in his sleeping pants, but for some reason had a frying pan of bacon cooking. My fur did an okay job, but surely he'd burned his tummy before too?

He clearly didn't mind, but was clearly getting burned. I laughed at him, which earned me an indignant look. "I woke up in the wrong place to find clothes." He said dumbly, trying to tease me, I assumed.

"You too!?" I squealed, and stuck my tongue out at him. "I can't figure out how I got miles from my house."

"Uh huh." He rolled his eyes. "What do you want for breakfast, Annette?"

"Oh, whatever you're making." I cooed, and he grunted affirmation.

It was fun to watch Trace do anything, I was coming to conclude. No wonder he's a model. In different circumstances I might pay him to take his - came another unbidden thought. Though I didn't alert him with my silent giggling.

Breakfast seemed to be an omelette which had broken, made of chopped bacon, green onion and goat cheese. It. Was. Fantastic. I gushed about it for several minutes, and actually managed to make Trace blush a bit. Again things fell into silence, but they were as companionable as any had been. Halfway through breakfast, though, Trace said something that would have me far too distracted to talk or think about much.

"So I heard that the next venue the troupe doing The Pendant cycle flooded last night. Months and months of refurbishing and ensuring no mould grows." Trace said in a very sarcastic sigh of grief. "Which means they're stuck here, doing the same plays for another four whole cycles."

I had dropped my fork, which made Trace start laughing at me, which made me blush. "So, do you want to come with me weekend after next?" He finally asked with a purr.

"Ohmigoshyesyesyes!" I squealed, like I had planned to yesterday in the car. I jiggled like I was going come apart, but then thought of something. "Wait. The forecast was clear for over a week now. Are you sure?"

"It was a burst water main, if that's what you mean." I wanted to be really mad at him that he was playing with me, but he grinned at me like he was enjoying my reaction so far, so I did what I'd found myself doing more in two days than in the two years before. Giggling like a schoolgirl, I averted my gaze and tried to finish my breakfast.

Then, he certainly managed to dampen the mood. "Oh, did Terry tell you about the follow-up interview?" He asked me gently. "It seemed like she left you out of as much as she could, so..."

"No! She did not tell me about it." I grunted. "Though that must be why I thought she was so incompetent. She just never mentioned the shit she did right." I didn't exactly mean to curse, but I suppose that now was an easier time to learn about that rule than later.

He snorted, but seemed unoffended. "I'm glad you hated her too." He said, despite having had this conversation last night. "It made me feel like a jerk, but... argh." He said, chewing on the head of his fork angrily. He was so cute, and he looked indignant when I laughed at him. After we finished breakfast, we lazed around the living room for a while, alternating between books and television. I still had a deep ache for touch, but was not exactly indulging it. It turned out that Monday afternoon when I got home from school, Terry would already be in the house, waiting to scrutinize my life. Why I could not escape that woman was beyond me, but hopefully this was the last time I'd ever have to see her.

I was laying across the couch on my belly reading a book we had brought back from my house, when Trace picked up my legs by the ankles, sat down under me and unceremoniously dropped them back in his lap. At this point I'll mention that growing up without parents does not mean I was an ill-mannered or undisciplined little girl, but I had only learned when I was nine or ten (suspiciously coincidentally before puberty, by the way) that it was terribly unladylike to ever have your tail fully raised up. The socially acceptable angle seemed to be around a hundred twenty degrees, but I had never had the opportunity measure, my tail being behind me and all.... Anyway, that said, my tail was draped over the couch back, because it was comfortable.

"You know, you may be cute, but I don't think I need to see you like that..." Trace said, not even having looked at me anyway. I grumbled and put my tail between my legs slowly, but unlike the times Heartsie had told me not to do it, this time my ears were hot and I wanted to go hide in my room. However in that short time he had already stopped paying attention to me and was fiddling with a controller I couldn't see. He started a movie about something or another with ghosts, put down the controller and rested his hands on my calves and tail.

As I may have pointed out, I hadn't had a lot of personal contact in the six years my parents had been dead, so it was pretty distracting, the feeling of his thighs against my shins and his wrists against my calves. Not only that, but I couldn't move my tail, which felt really annoyingly restraining. Either way, I still managed to read a few more pages of my book, when my jaw dropped in utter shock. He still wasn't doing anything bad to me, but he was... petting me. He was rubbing the lower third of my tail absently but certainly, only going with the "grain" of my fur. This was ridiculous.

I could tell he wasn't paying attention to me, because he got this look in his eyes when he was focused on things, I had noticed. But he kept doing it, and I didn't know what to do. It felt really good, but that was hardly the point. For one thing I could barely focus to read a sentence, let alone a page, but for another thing I was pretty sure this was completely inappropriate. I wriggled my legs some, and besides getting slightly more comfortable I didn't feel anything bad in his lap - I mean, I was just being safe after all....

After ten minutes of petting, I thought my tail would go numb with pleasure. Either Trace had read my mind, or he had gotten bored, because he finally stopped petting me and I accidentally sighed in relaxation. This was kind of stressful. Less than a minute later, I bit my tongue very firmly to keep from squawking like an idiot, as Trace picked up my left leg in both hands and started to massage it. This was completely ridiculous! I didn't... struggle or anything... because Trace was my Daddy, and ohmygosh - have you ever gotten your calves massaged? - it was the best!

I tried to stealthily glance back, and saw he was absorbed totally in the plot of what I was starting to think was a B movie. I chewed on my lip, too, as he worked his way to my feet. I managed not to whine or anything, but I couldn't read my book if I tried. Like technically, this was not bad touching. He had not even touched my knees, but I didn't want to admit this to Heartsie, I thought. I did want to figure out how to get Trace to do this on command, though.

"You have nice legs..." Trace said to me blandly, switching to the right one, and since I was looking away anyway, I rolled my eyes.

"Thank you." I said more curtly than I meant to, considering how much I liked what he was doing.

"Well, I just said that to say this," he said kind of off balance. "I have to go to the gym in a few minutes, and I wanted to make sure you were okay and if you needed anything while I was in town?"

I tried to think sarcastically of something I could ask him for that was expensive or rare or extravagant, but the truth was I simply didn't want anything at all. I said as much and he called me a good girl while he "smoothed my fur" which was pretty much petting as far as I was concerned, and mentioned there was plenty to eat in the fridge, and not to burn down the house.

I was super flustered, and completely disinterested in my book now, so I got up shortly after I heard his car leave. He had paused the movie halfway through, which was weird, but then again, he had also just petted and massaged me for forty-five minutes, so it was a bit of a wild card hand. On fresh and strong - the feeling was hard to describe - legs, I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Fancy cheese, tons of greens and veggies, two dozen organic eggs (spendy jerk), some also organic boneless skinless chicken breasts... well, at least we had that in common. Chicken was the best.

I cooked my lunch, which was just a fancy grilled cheese on twelve grain bread, and watched television on a different channel while I ate. Afterward, realizing I hadn't since yesterday morning I went rummaging through my things to find some underwear so that I could bathe. I realized that Trace had left me alone in his house, and that I could go snooping, but right this second I was too self-satisfied to care. I walked into the other room - my room - and picked out a pair of briefs and a bra, figuring the clothes I had put on just about three hours ago were still clean. I left them in the corner, realizing I wanted a hamper to keep my dirty laundry in so Trace didn't see.

Aside from the fact that I was naked, it was obvious that this was not urgent enough to need to happen right now, so I entered the adjacent bathroom. I lived alone and kept blinds and curtains drawn. No point to modesty. The bathroom was nice; synthetic countertop, big vanity, small white tiles on the floor, and a bath tub with blue curtain and the biggest shower head I had ever seen. Grinning broadly I stepped into the tub and turned on the water, which was instantly hot because of the future, or something about water heaters.

It was the most incredible feeling ever. I had always just cleaned my showerhead when it got dirty. I would have skipped a month's play for this. I turned around and gawked at the absurd amount of bottles in the shower. I searched until I found two that matched, and boasted the subtitle "SILKY!" in obnoxious font. It smelled kind of like a smoothie, but that was okay. I had a new life, may as well give up on chamomile. It foamed like a fire extinguisher - which is not important! - and what I thought would cover my hair did my whole upper body. I didn't over pour for my lower half, and between the soapy rinse water and standing on one foot, I felt like I had done my core exercise for the day, gym be damned.

I used the conditioner and it was... definitely silky. I left it on for several minutes while I thought about things I would need to furnish my room, and stopped after I lost track. I rinsed and grabbed a super fluffy towel that appeared to be Trace-sized and not Annette-sized, but that was no bother at all. As soon as I started to dry off I noticed how shiny and soft and much less like a smoothie I was. Spendy jerk. Noticing a mounted hair dryer, I sat down on the toilet lid and took one of the several brushes and flicked it on. It wasn't very warm, but that was okay, and it certainly sped the job along.

Looking in the mirror, I considered putting on lingerie and playing dress up, but didn't know how long I had spent fiddling with my fur, so ignored the idea out of prudish prudence. Despite the fact that I looked and felt more gorgeous than I had in over a year, I was still just far too pleased with things to want to bother, too. I even considered taking a nap, something I still occasionally indulged in, since I knew I was still disinterested in my book.

Either way, I got dressed, and sat on the couch. I looked at the news for a few minutes, but it was all distraction from real news. A puppet king had absconded his throne to the already de facto ruler, cat food was being recalled because of machine lubricant being used improperly, and a small mountain of urns of mummified minks were found in the frozen north. Beyond that, fluff. The news ticker said I had been in the bathroom for somewhere over an hour, which I didn't usually do. I grinned anyway, considering all the things I didn't usually do that I had done recently.

I remembered the list I wanted to make and started looking around for paper and pen. I found it in the same closet he kept the broom and mop, which was weird, but I guess it worked. The pens were at least in a cup in the corner of the counter. I realized also that I had homework to do, so I retreated to my desk to get done with it. The list was simple. Things like the clothes hamper, an alarm clock, some different containers. Other stuff like that. After that I did the little bit of math homework I had left from in class (I was good at math, and didn't even usually have homework). After that I did Geography and technically had finished my Literature homework already.

About ten minutes after I finished, I noticed Trace's car pull back into the driveway. He stepped out in clean clothes and grabbed a gym bag - blue - and strolled up to the door. I was only casually watching this, and stopped my traitorous tail wagging. He entered and turned for his room, I heard his bag thud against the bed and he strode back out to the living room. He came around the front of the couch and saw me laying there eyeing him and he mumbled, "Oh right."

"'Hi Annette, I'm home! ' Is what I meant to say." He said, deflated. I grinned at him, both because he felt bad he hadn't greeted me - which was a brand new thing anyway for me - and because he was back. I stopped my tail wagging again and sat up. His eyes then went kind of wide, and he said half in play and half curiously, "Jeesh, who did you get all dolled up for?" I blushed so hot that it must have been in my ears, because he immediately backpedalled. "I mean, you look very pretty, but that must have taken you a while and I was just surprised and, um... you look nice."

I didn't laugh or giggle because I was too mortified to say anything. He sat down next to me like he was afraid I would hit him, and without thinking I drew my legs up underneath me, scooted against Trace and slid my arm behind his back. He didn't say anything, but it took him a while before he finally put his arm around my shoulders. For my part, I managed not to coo, or start nuzzling his chest or anything. I can't believe he said that to me.

When he finally put his arm around my back, he started petting my shins. I would have preferred he rub my waist to hold me close but I didn't say anything. I noticed Trace wasn't getting that look in his eye, which I guess is why he said quietly, "Your fur is much softer than this morning." Which was going to make me really upset until I realized it was a compliment, and it made me too bashful to speak. I made a non-committal noise and hoped Trace didn't take my silence poorly. Either way he was still petting me.

He had switched back to the movie he was watching, and I watched the second half. It was definitely a B movie, and it made no sense, but I didn't care because Trace was holding still and I could hear his heart beating and he was so warm and firm. And so before I started to sob in glee that would be misconstrued, I asked quietly, in case he was engrossed - though he didn't have that look in his eye, "How was your workout?"

"It was okay. It was a cardio and leg day for me, so I'm pretty beat. Did you have fun in the shower?" He asked me equally primly.

I had no idea what the things he had just said meant, though in different context I understood the words in the first sentence. The other half I got though, and said, "Yeah!" A bit more enthusiastically than I kind of meant to. "I didn't know they made shower heads like that. And the shampoo and conditioner I used were really nice."

He was kind of smirking, and asked, "Which did you use?" I said I had just picked out the first two matching products I found, but that they were subtitled with "SILKY". At that he said, "And here I thought a practical girl like you would use one of those easy-to-manage treatments, not such provocative ones." He teased. I was blushing furiously, but he was looking straight forward at the television.

I didn't know what to say or how to respond. There was no indication he meant anything by the statement, but I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what to say. He was still petting my legs, which was not helping me think, or making discerning his actual meaning from sarcasm any easier. I mumbled uncertainly, "I didn't know what it was..." and after pausing for a response which I didn't receive, I continued, "but I think I might use it again...."

He didn't grin this time but his voice sounded pleased when he said, "You do whatever you want, Sweetie." I spent a few seconds thinking of impractical and destructive ways that could be interpreted, before he said, "As long as you behave." And then I was going to be furious, but I remembered - or rather, accepted the reality, or I don't really know - that Trace was my Daddy, and I had to do what he said. Which made me happy in really complicated and strange ways.

So after sitting and watching the conclusion where the ghosts turned into glass or something, Trace ended our embrace and excused himself. He walked toward his room, to use the bathroom I assumed. I considered flopping down on my tummy and seeing if he would rub my legs again, but by the time I had even halfway gotten the courage to see if he would, he was back again and I had lost my chance.

He sat back down and started petting my shins again as soon as his arm was wrapped around me. He turned the television back to the news, and I stared blankly at it while I focused on being hugged. The news ticker said it was nearly six, so I mumbled in hopes of not disturbing our embrace. "Who was going to make dinner tonight?"

"Hm? Well I assumed I was. Are you hungry?" I shook my head no, which was more of a nuzzle since I was resting against him, not that I minded. "But, I guess I should get started. You eat shellfish, right?" I nodded dumbly. I guessed I did. I didn't buy shellfish, but I could eat it. He petted me on the head and stood up. I considered following him, but then the weird intrusive thoughts pointed out how pathetic that would be, so I headed back to my room to find my book. I threw my dirty undies in the closet, since I had lost the desire to look for or ask for a hamper right now. I retrieved my book and sat down on my bed, but felt uncomfortable. I usually read in my bedroom. I did most things except watching television, eating and cooking dinner, and my homework in my bedroom usually.

I thought of all the things I usually did not do that I had recently, and got up. I sat in the living room on a recliner I hadn't paid attention to yesterday, and fiddled around until I found the recline part. I noticed that I could sort of see Trace through the archway to the kitchen, which was nice as well. Like having the television running for the drone of sound, seeing the movement in the corner of my eye made me feel comfortable. I managed to read for about an hour, but I was still not feeling very much like reading. I padded to the kitchen and saw Trace standing in front of a sauce pan.

There were lemons on his right and an empty bag of frozen lobster tails (since I'm literate, and all) on his left. I stepped up close to him and he absently put his arm around my waist. I was not sure what the point was this time, but was very happy he did. "What's for supper?" I asked sweetly, managing not to bury myself in a hug.

"Lemon and lobster risotto." Trace said like we were talking about microwaved frozen pizza. I wanted to point out that some of us were not so fancy, but didn't bother, because I was pleased right where I was.

"Wow, sounds amazing." I praised. Trace tried to deflect it, but I pressed the compliment until he accepted it awkwardly. I stood there, comfortable in his arm, watching him idly stir at the pot. He let go of me shortly, and I would have pouted had he not darted to the refrigerator and gotten cream and chicken stock to pour into the mixture. He resumed his idle contact with me, which the intrusive monologue demanded be called a grasp.

"Directly behind you, get the microplane." Trace said, and I knew what most of these words meant, again, but was baffled in context. He used the arm around my waist to shove me gently toward the drawer in question, while he grabbed hard cheese from the refrigerator. I realized dumbly that it was actually not unenjoyable to cook - as little as I was really doing - with another person around to interact with. I liked interacting, I guessed. Especially hugs.

He made me grate cheese, which was pretty awful, but he petted my hair some while I did it, and I was not going to complain anyway, since dinner smelled so great. Shortly after the cheese was grated in Trace served up two bowls of it, and we sat down to eat. This, like last night's dinner, was really incredible. I liked lobster more than I realized (although when I was five the concept of a carapace was bad enough, let alone their diet...), as well as clams and tiny little sweet globes of scallop. I gushed over dinner again, and Trace again tried to deflect until I forced him to accept that he was a very good cook.

I was staring mostly at my plate, though I couldn't really articulate why, beyond the few dumb things my internal monologue was pointing out rudely. I tried to snap myself out of that nonsense again, and looked up at Trace who had apparently been staring at me.

I pointed this out to him and he said, "Oh, no, I wasn't staring at you. I was just... staring." I didn't really believe him and pressed him on this. He continued, "Haven't you ever just stared at nothing?" The immediately following silence during which I would not answer evidently upset Trace.

He had set down his fork and was looking at me by the time I had managed to stop staring at the little decorative tiles on the wall like art. "Did I say something wrong?" He asked earnestly, and I bit my cheek hard to stop saying something stupid. "You look upset...." He added, like I didn't know that. I kept silent, but he kept looking at me, until I realized I would start to snivel if I didn't answer him.

I said, "Yes. But I certainly don't consider it a healthy thing. And I certainly haven't done anything like that since I was finished grieving over my parents." I said much more firmly than I should have, though I did not yell, at least. I immediately looked away, gritting my teeth. Some while after I said and did that, I realized Trace had not said anything either. I wanted to prove my point, but my dinner was getting cold.

I turned with my head down, picked up my fork and started chewing. The food turned to ashes in my mouth when Trace said softly, "I'm sorry to upset you." I made a noncommittal sound, and finished my suddenly unappetizing dinner. Which, to my amusement and dismay, ended with Trace suggesting a movie. At least he didn't talk during them if he was paying attention. He might even pet me.

I agreed, more to make a show of not being difficult than any real desire to keep interacting. We moved to the couch and sat down near each other. Trace turned on a movie that it seemed he had watched before, since he seemed to wince before every punch in an action scene, and grin before some jokes. About thirty minutes in, Trace dragged me close to him with one arm over my shoulders, and lay across the couch with his tummy against my back. I didn't tense up, I guess because there would be no point to it. He nuzzled my scalp and wrapped his free arm around my waist.

Even if we had slept like this last night, and even if I did love being embraced, this was still not okay. I calmly slid my hand over his, making to get rid of his touch, but when I got there, I just dumbly wrapped my fingers around his palm. I could feel his heartbeat, his warmth, and despite how unacceptable this was, I let this idiocy continue. I was not watching the movie, and I did not think Trace was either anymore. I expected shortly for him to say something like, "you're so pretty... it's a shame you had to hide away." Or equally ridiculous, and try to make out with me.

What he did say was, "Annette, are you happy ever?" In the gentlest manner he could.

"I've been relatively content for a while, why?" Trace was weird.

"Because it strikes me that you are kind of sullen and lost-looking sometimes. And you weren't sleeping well last night...." I was trying to figure out how this was inappropriate conversation, but could not. Despite that, I was getting very confused, and I tended to get upset when confused.

"It's hard to sleep in new places." I snapped, "And I don't see why I wouldn't be happy."

"Because you - " Trace pointed out, though I interrupted.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I continued, "I had freedom, and responsibility. I could buy whatever I wanted and I could - " Trace started to squeeze me so hard I thought I was going to crack. I didn't really understand his point, and he wasn't saying anything.

Then he planted a bunch of kisses in my scalp and on my ears and said quietly, "Well, nobody's hugged you in a long time. Or held you, or reassured you or comforted you or anything like that. And that makes me sad, not even having to experience it."

It took me a long time to answer, because he was kind of right. I added anyway, "I still don't see your point about 'am I happy?'"

"I just wonder if you aren't Depressed."

"You and all those other shrinks. I don't see why I can't have come out of this unscathed?" I said pointedly. "I've been doing fine this whole time, and I don't see the bother." I gently tried to reposition myself, or maybe leave, I don't know. I'm not sure why I was so upset either.

Trace tightened his grip on me to immobility again, and said angrily in my ear, "Because it's not possible to come out of that situation unscathed. I don't care if you're Depressed then, but don't try to sell me that!"

I sniffed in disapproval and lay silently in Trace's grip. The movie was halfway over and I had not watched more than a few seconds in and out, while Trace had stopped when he started talking. I was very angry, not just because he was right, but angry because I was angry and angry because I didn't want to keep talking about this. After only about five minutes, Trace firmly planted his head on top of mine, maintaining a slight pressure as though I didn't know he was there.

Finally, after a further ten minutes, Trace spoke up with, "how many doctors did you see?"

"Six. Two psychiatrists and four psychologists with Letters." It took him a moment, but he understood my point and let out a hum of a laugh. "Two of them insisted I was a psychopath because I did not see the point in making wishes. Reality was here, I got hungry and thirsty and needed somewhere private to stay. Animal survival is taboo these days, I guess.

"Then three of them, they didn't really like what I had to say. They insisted I was depressed and borderline and codependent - none of which made sense given my relative success in life. Heartsie, after I screamed and howled that I would not use their medicines, finally relented, and did not agree to the prescriptions."

The last one was weird and kind of okay. He asked me most of the same questions and when I finished answering them all, he said; 'Wow, girlie! That sucks!' Which was nice, because he did not try to pathologize me. He still said I might need to have grief counseling if or when that became an issue, but that I was as mentally sound as any teenage girl."

"One out of six is pretty good." Trace said with endless sarcasm. I elbowed him in the ribs, which just made him start to laugh. "So no brain doctors, then?"

"Unless I get meningitis." I said sullenly. Trace hugged me tighter again, which made me start to laugh. I'd told him I was over it. I guess he misinterpreted it though, because he started kissing my scalp again, which felt really great. But my cheeks were wet, and I didn't really understand why my eyes were watering so much.

Without trying to upset me, or bring up the fact I was crying, Trace mumbled into my skull, "I love you, Annette. Okay?" I nodded, which was the right response, I guess, because he hugged me really tight again. I didn't understand any of this, and I was more scared than I had ever been. And I guess that was where I realized that, maybe I was a bit sick in the head. My shoulders shook once, and I accepted that my laugh was not really a laugh. I realized that as tightly as Trace was embracing me was a million times lighter weight than that under which I had been living.

It infuriated me. It scared me. I didn't want anything but to be safe and happy. I realized now, though, that I had never been either, since my parents had gone. But now that everything was better; now that I was safe, I could be happy, too.

This was all insane.