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I woke up in Trace's arms, pretty much aware that this was my fault. It was pretty great, despite the fact that it was completely wrong. I also really liked silk. Trace's hands were on my ribs and we were spooning. I don't know when I had rolled over, but the sensation was much

nicer now than on the couch. I lazily swam my legs through the sheets for a while, thinking stupid things and considering getting up to make breakfast.

I guess my movement had stirred him, though I had taken Trace for a heavy sleeper, because he grumbled awake slowly, fumbling his muzzle about like a blind baby animal. He nuzzled my scalp, inhaling deeply as he did so, pulled me firmly against him, and started rubbing from my solar plexus to just underneath my breasts. Or at least he did for a few seconds, but his brain must have started working and told him to stop - I mean, I certainly wasn't going to - because he relaxed his grip and pulled his nose from my hair.

"Morning, Annette." Trace grumbled sleepily. Despite the connotation I kept hearing myself point out in my head how cute he looked right now, even if from just a stolen glance across my shoulder. "Sleep okay?" I just leaned back against him and nodded, trying to keep my smile sweet and small, instead of the enormous grin that wanted to split my face. He hadn't started petting me, which I guess meant I would have to ask him to do that, in here. Which was far too embarrassing for me to do.

"What do you want for breakfast?" I asked him.

"Why do you think you have to cook?" He asked me, almost defensively.

"I - uh - I woke up first, and it's not like I'm not used to it. It's supposed to be an...." I sighed, being stupid first thing in the morning. "Affectionate... gesture." I managed to make my tone relatively light, but I don't know how well it worked. Trace woke up so slowly he might have misread the comment, too.

He hugged me around the ribs really tightly, and said, "I love you too, Annette. I'll do it." At which point he let go of me, got up, and left me in bed. Since I didn't need to worry about food I was pretty unsure what to do. I guess I could have started looking through Trace's things, but I really didn't care anyway. I could read some, but I was going to spend the entire day doing that. I wandered into Trace's bathroom, noting that it was really nice and more interested in finding a hairbrush than in paying attention to detail.

He had, like, ten brushes, which took me a minute to sort through before I could groom myself. Trace was right about the manageable fur part, because it took me barely any time to brush myself. I threw my hair over one shoulder, then the other, liking it loose like that today. It didn't really strike me I had forgotten to close the bathroom door until about ten paces out, adjusting my shorts after having put them back on after brushing. I had to remember I lived with somebody now.

Ignoring the weird things that were filtering through my head, I went to my room. Though the insistent thought of calling it my closet I could not shake. I was going to sleep on silks from now on, dammit. I "made" an outfit and left it on my bed, preferring less clothing to more when possible. I left the room, trying to clear increasingly stupid and sometimes nonsensical garbage I was having trouble shaking, and saw the coffee pot empty.

That pretty much dealt with my concentration problem, because coffee was super important, and I had a pretty strong caffeine addiction, so it was a two-for-one deal. After I did that, I hugged Trace from behind.

"You're certainly turning into a snuggly thing." Trace commented.

"Well, you were right about me not having been hugged..." I admitted, though I wasn't sure if he was still tuned into our little argument from two nights before. Or, for that matter, why I was. "And since you applied for the job, I'm going to take that all out on you."

Trace sighed enormously. "Annette, this is not a job. This is a labor of... well, love, obviously... because you deserved better than the life you had and if nobody was going to take responsibility then I was." I thought I would start crying at that, but what happened instead was I cooed in utter glee and nuzzled him between the shoulders.

I guess most of this was acceptable. It's not like he was touching me in weird ways or anything. Though I did somewhat crave his arm around my waist. I tried to ignore that, and extricated myself from my hug. I got myself some coffee and sat down, waiting for breakfast. It was some weird fruit salad that was cooked and spicy. It was good enough, I guess.

The details for the rest of the day - well the next two weeks, aren't super important - though Trace kissed me every day, and most of the time I was with him we were in each other's arms in some fashion or another. I wasn't really sure what to feel at this point, but unlike most times when I'm confused, I was not getting upset. Anyway, Trace was taking me to the theatre this weekend! I was so excited!

Trace spent almost as much time getting ready as I did, but when I was exiting the bathroom he sort-of-asked-sort-of-not if I wanted him to do my hair and makeup. For one thing, this sounded really enjoyable because I liked Trace doting on me, and second I assumed he could actually do these things proficiently. So he dragged me to his bathroom, sat me down and started brushing my hair and clipping and pinning it with pins in the bottom of the brush basket. All said my hair was up in a fancy style I could not name, gathered loosely and elegantly, holding the rest of my long mane neatly falling between my shoulders.

Then he grabbed a makeup kit, which made me really suspicious of his need for such, but didn't comment. He brushed my fur and then started using these weird silvery and bluish powders with little combs and brushes. He tipped my little whiskers on my eyebrows and muzzle with silver, and I had a... silver shimmer on my cheeks. My eyes were in dark navy, my eyelashes silver. I was so fucking beautiful!

I started to babble and point at the mirror, trying to coherently tell Trace I was pleased, but he kept grinning bigger and bigger, so I guess he got it. He asked me if I had any blue lipstick, which was kind of dumb, but I said that I did not.

And then, having found my words, I said "Ohmygosh Trace! I look so beautiful! I'm like... like the moon or something. How did you learn to do this? Oh my god."

I don't think I had ever seen Trace smile wider. He looked so beautiful. "Well then, Selene," he teased, "you're welcome. We're going to a store on the way to get you blue lipstick though." Being called a pet name like that made me blush hugely, and I was sure I was staring at him with big soft eyes, but I nodded assent so he didn't think I was being weird, and tried to hug him. "Nuh uh uh!" He exclaimed, holding me back with one hand on my chest. "No hugging. I worked too hard on that for you to smudge it all up. Besides, we should be getting dressed, right?" I was in my underwear, which was pretty alright, since Trace had already seen me in my underwear due to some more... misapplication of doors. Plus I guess he probably knew the shape of my body pretty well because of our unspoken agreement that I slept in his room and by extension his arms. I had considered sleeping in my own bed (it being mine had slightly lost its fluency in my head) once this week, because I was too full and hot from chicken stew. Of course silk is much cooler than linen anyway.... But whatever.

So I got up to go to my room, stepped into - which was relatively fortunate I had a dress that did not slide over top of me - my Little Black Dress, which was sort of plain, but a respectable piece of clothing in both quality and style. I put on my little silver stud earrings (I really should have remembered to raid my mom's jewelry box before we left), stared at myself in the mirror for another few moments, and grabbed the stuff I wanted to take with me. Trace, mostly I think because he wanted to tease me when I did, had kept the scandalous black suede heels next to his formalwear, so that I had to put them on not only on carpet, but in his sight.

After I managed to navigate the straps and extraneous bits to actually put the things on, I stood up with only slight unease. This was nothing a bracing arm - or waist - could not help. Shuffling into a pair of pants in deep charcoal, Trace was blatantly staring And not "looking at a horror movie" staring. More like the kids on the bus the other day.... I was not prepared for any of this, because I was already feeling clingy from having my makeup and hair done, and now he wouldn't take his eyes off me, and I wanted to leave in ten minutes because he said we needed to be in town at five, and it was like a three hour drive and both of us had gotten up late and kind of looping through the back of my head was repeating the phrase, over and over, This is crazy. This is nuts. Like it was a healthy or even acceptable mantra.

"I thought that dress would look a lot more plain on you." Trace purred in my vicinity, the intensity of his gaze thick on my fur. "It's not really in style though." At this point he was putting on a steely blue-gray shirt and was about ready for us to leave. A coat and his ID, keys, cellphone, and other weird garbage he carried in his pockets would have us set. "Do you like bows?"

I said I did not like bows, which made Trace grin evilly and tell me that was fine but I had no choice. He went into his closet - which was weird anyway, because it was the kind with the accordion doors and was not really much more than an alcove. I heard a drawer unlock and thump open and closed. Trace reappeared holding a sash - obviously silk, because people apparently lived like this - of light silvery gray.

He said, a grin that did not look wholesome but which I enjoyed, "Here. Let's tangle you up in rope and see if that looks a little nicer." This statement brought hugely inflammatory thoughts to my mind: Helpless Annette, suspended from the ceiling; disobedient Annette punished by being immobilized; a hungry-eyed Annette with a noose of a leash around her neck yelping as - aside from the fact that my stupidity knew no bounds, I was getting really nervous about tonight. Our itinerary was not disclosed to me, and Trace was already being weird, which usually made me weird, or worse, upset.

So this ten foot or longer ribbon - Trace puts it offset about one-third two-thirds across the lower part of my waist - he wraps it tight, like almost uncomfortably so, around and around, carefully making a pleat in my dress as it becomes more skintight, and comes to the end with a bit of slack a few inches under my right breast, offset to under my armpit, kind of. He tied a big bow, like a birthday or festival gift, out of the slack and pointed me to the mirror. The effect, more than just how incredibly sexy I looked, with Trace and myself standing together, obvious by the color and style coordination that we were "together" together, made me gasp hugely. Trace, wrapping his arm just above the bow - almost like an armrest, I thought deviously - just below my breast, said "There. I think we look decent enough for everyone to see."

I agreed, more with a coo than with a statement, but Trace accepted it just as well. He pocketed his necessities, I dropped mine into a comically small purse - mostly not having anything but a cell phone, a few dollars, and some makeup brushes and paints. We headed toward Trace's car, the issue of my ability to walk in these heels only slightly arising, but still earning me an arm around my waist. I wondered why we, outside of the house where others may see, were touching like this, but would never complain about his arm around me. Trace opened my car door for me, and stroked my upper arm like he would miss me before walking around, entering and starting the vehicle. He glanced at me... kind of like he disbelieved or could not fill his eyes enough with the sight of me, but after that we went on in silence for a while.

As stated, the trip would be several hours, going to the nearest megalopolitan city, and reaching the likely very crowded venue and such took time. We were listening to some talk program again, and I wasn't sure whether I felt too comfortable or completely uncomfortable. I asked Trace what we would be doing this evening, besides seeing this show, since it itself was four hours long, and I wasn't certain I wanted Trace to drive us home late at night. No reason to risk losing a third parent.

"Well, first I'm taking you to dinner at a nice bistro, then we're seeing the play, then we'll leave town in the morning after sleeping in a kind of crappy motel." He said all this really casually, and it seemed like he was spending way too much money on me. I know I was blushing hugely, but the robin's egg powder in my ears hid it slightly.

"Why are you spending so much money on me?" I asked him, both concerned and nervous.

"Have you ever had a vacation? A day trip? Done anything but go to the community theater and buy your taxi driver a fast food burger?" Trace said all of this like he was the one concerned.

I admitted somewhat glumly that no, I had never done anything but. We had been talking pretty extensively about my life and his. "So why does it matter? You understand you're supposed to have fun tonight." This was not a question, and I mean it was obvious anyway.

"I just... I've never spent money like this. It's - it's extravagant to me. You have silk and fancy makeup - which I don't understand - you have actual free time."

"Most people make more than two disability checks when they have jobs." Trace said like this was not public information.

"I mean, shouldn't we be saving money or investing?" I was babbling now and I knew it, because I was completely off balance now. In like sixteen days Trace will have taken me into like three or four dozen situations for which I was completely unprepared. I was smoothing my dress and staring at my shoes - or I guess my feet. I should have made the jerk do my nails, too, if I was going to be his date. Hold on. "Wait. We're on a date!" I accused like I was poisoned.

"If that's what you're going to call it, it's pretty obvious I can't change your mind." He said blandly. "If we're already going to a rare play, we may as well make a whole evening out of it. We're not going to waste an opportunity to do other things we can't in town."

"You're being weird." I said flatly.

With a glance that was long enough to convey mirth and not long enough to kill us both, Trace said sweetly, "I'll defer to the expert." And then, sensing that he could not get away with just a joke, continued. "How am I being weird? You're being really aggressive, and I'm not the one accusing you of anything."

"You're... you're not giving me the whole story on things. You're playing dressup with me like a doll. I'm so confused."

He interrupted, or interjected maybe, since I was in a long pause, "And when you get confused you get angry...."

I glared at him, but he was pretending to be engrossed in driving down an empty stretch of interstate. "I don't get angry...." I countered, trying not to sound... well... angry. "I just don't know how to do any of this, and you keep acting like I do and this is all normal, and..." My voice kind of lost momentum until I just... stopped talking.

It took several minutes for Trace to answer, I guess because he really wanted to hear what "and" I was talking about. Even so, he tried soothing me, saying, "Annette, I'm not trying to upset you. I want to have a nice night with you, and let you experience something you enjoy and have been unable to do in your life. I didn't tell you I was taking you out to eat because I knew you would behave exactly this way." I didn't like the way the end of that sentence sounded, but I really liked that he was right. He knew exactly. "Whether or not you think having a fancy dinner is appropriate is pretty much a nonissue anyway, since I'm your father and I'm telling you we're doing this."

My chest felt very warm - matching my eartips - and my glare melted into a very soft-eyed gaze. "I'm clear on that part. I meant your intentions." I said, trying to make it more accusatory than sweet.

"My intentions are the same as always. I want you to be happy and able to enjoy your youth." He said, lecturing.

"Then why do we sleep together every night?" I did not sound accusatory.

"You're the one who invited me into bed within sixteen hours of our meeting, and then crawled into my lap. You're the one who spent one night alone in her room and then asked if you could sleep with me." I don't think I had ever heard him so defensive. I also didn't really remember it that way, although I guess I did crawl into his lap... and ask permission.... I was terrible at this.

"I guess so." I admitted at length.

"And of course this isn't to say I don't like to cuddle with you, but it's not something you're going to pin on me like I'm some kind of monster, just because I'm willing to go along with your need to be held." I didn't think I "needed" to be held, since I had done fine without it for a long time. I guessed maybe I needed to stop over thinking things. Except that's what I did, like, professionally.

I didn't say anything for a few minutes, but then mildly said again, "We're on a date, though." It was a pretty stereotypical one, too, but god was I excited.

"Are you really this nervous? I'm getting concerned." He dodged so well I didn't even realize it for a moment.

"Answer me." I pouted.

"Parents are allowed to take their kids out to eat. You wanted to see this play. What's the matter, Annette?" He was kind of starting to sound worried.

I was unsatisfied, both with his answers and his tone, but I guess I was pushing a little too hard. And I was feeling more vulnerable right now than I could ever really remember, so I just mumbled, "Please take care of me." As I said that he grabbed my hand, put it on his shifter, and then his own on top of mine. That was the exactly right answer.

Anyway, I calmed down significantly on the ride to the city. I wished I had brought a book or script. Though there wasn't a production going on yet, I knew the three candidates already and could be learning and reviewing filmed performances. Anyway, about an hour from the city we needed to be in, Trace said "Ha!" mildly and pulled us into a fancy strip mall thing. It wasn't a strip, more a jagged zigzag, but the point was the same.

He parked us in front of a store with a weird name, and he said, "This one won't take long. Promise." We got out, and he immediately put his arm around me when I got close. I looked at him very skeptically and he studiously ignored me. As we entered the store, like vultures all the salesgirls - it was a makeup store apparently - looked up, and the nearest one came by.

I inwardly cringed as her mouth opened to speak. But instead of hearing the thing about being in the clutches of a strange male (he was at least a really sweet kind of strange), she said, "Hey - uh oh, blue lipstick?" Like, amiably.

"Yep. She was super mad when she was already dead set on being silver and blue and didn't have lipstick.." He said, jostling me fondly. I grinned pretty enormously, and we walked over to an endless rainbow of lipsticks of different color and brand and texture. Makeup was kind of weird. I grabbed a fancy brand which I recognized, in a color that sort of matched my ears, but was a bit more vibrant. This appeared to be correct, because Trace didn't make fun of me and the lady seemed unfazed.

After we paid and left, I asked Trace, utterly bewildered. "Why didn't they say anything about 'hey what's this guy doing near you'? I mean, I liked that, but why?"

"Are you done freaking out today? Calmed down and everything?" I nodded, relishing in the feeling of being held. "Well, you look like you're nineteen or so right now, hun." He said blandly, like he liked to do.

"What do you mean?" I was concerned again. Though there was nothing I could do at this point. I was literally in his grasp. I was going to spend the evening out with him. We were going to lock ourselves into a small room far away from prying eyes. This was not right.

"I'm pretty good at making girls up. Have to do it sometimes when we're short staffed. Since you were about to get in a fight with that security guard in the mall, and since I was pretty sure that if more than three people asked you that spiel tonight you would get in a fight with them, that maybe you would be better suited not looking like a minor and just being - "

" - 'My date.'" I interrupted acidly, opening my door.

He sighed hugely, rolling not just his eyes but his whole head. He held his tongue until we both had our seatbelts on though, saying, "Yes, my delicious morsel, you've found my heinous plans to date you and ply you with dinners and shows." All this done in a theatrical and over the top mock bass voice. "What are you so upset about? And either way, put on your lipstick first." I guess we had kind of been sitting parked for a minute or two.

After I had put on my lipstick, and gawked at myself for a few seconds, I started talking again, even though I had put my foot in my mouth up to my calf already. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you got upset when the security guard - "

"Why... this!" I finally snapped. "Why the - the - whatever this is? Why the shopping? Why the cooking and serving? Why... why me? Why any of this for me? If... if I'm supposed to be your - what? Mail order bride?" Trace cut me off with a loud snort of laughter, and I glared at him so hard he must have realized I wasn't teasing.

"Annette, sweetie, stop stressing. You're not my mail order bride, or anything gross like that. You're my daughter. Would you rather we wash everything off and I can use that magic piece of paper?" I shook my head dejectedly. "I'm not going to try to have sex with you. I'm not going to touch you in weird ways - "

Having interrupted each other a bunch already, I growled, "Until I wake up with your hands on my butt or my tits."

"Sorry." He said dumbly, grinning and reaching over to pet my hair, careful not to disturb it. I let him, but I didn't really know why. I was supposed to be mad at him. Or something. "I won't touch you in weird ways while I'm conscious, I won't try to steal your first kiss, or peep on you in the bathroom. Okay? I love you very much, even if you still think it's not possible. It's just... platonic. I know you'll get mad at me for calling you one, but you're a kid. I'm not a pedophile. I love it when you smile, and laugh and hug me and all sorts of little minutiae about you, but that doesn't mean I need to get in your underwear."

He had just said some really sweet stuff to me, and I was pretty sure I would tear up if we didn't stop. Not wanting to find out if my mascara was waterproof or not, I nodded assent, and said in defeat, "Please just start the car."

He petted my head again, and purred adoringly, "Love you too, Annette." This was all insane. Every last second.

The rest of the way to the city was pretty uneventful. Trace got that concentrated look and a small grin on his face when we hit rush hour on an eight lane highway, which was weird, because it looked like no fun at all. We showed up at this restaurant as the sun was fully disappearing, and again Trace had his arm around me as we entered. We had a reservation, which meant that he had been planning this probably since we had been together. My brain stutter-stopped at that language, but just because it sounded inflammatory didn't make it such. Together.

The food was very good, but I don't know other languages, so I had beef stew with lots of red wine in it. Trace had some kind of tiny bird and a bottle of red wine. I hadn't ever seen him drink alcohol before, and I was concerned about his driving, but also was past the point of arguing. It was all really incredible, but the conversation was far more interesting than the meal. Oh, I had "sparkling spring water". It was water with bubbles. I liked it.

"Well if you're not trying to seduce me..." I asked him, all my nervousness, though maybe not my suspicions, melted away, "what about other women?" I was waiting for him to call me a child, but I guess that would have blown our "cover", as if we needed one, so he either ignored it or agreed. I preferred the former.

"I'm kind of done with the whole 'girlfriends' thing. I've played around enough to know what's out there, and I'm tired of spending all my time chasing tail."

My eyes narrowed and my ears perked. "Really?" I asked, deliciously intrigued. "How many tails have you chased?"

"I stopped counting at one-fifty, but there were more than that." I dropped my fork, and my jaw, and probably would have called him a liar or a pervert very loudly if we weren't in public. Though this place did a very good job of making me feel alone with Trace. Instead of laughing at me like I expected, he shrugged and looked apologetic. "I mean, it's not like I was going for big numbers.... I just... liked casual sex. I was usually at a club most nights anyway. I caught quite a few girls' eyes, and that was really that. Oh, I mean, I started pretty young, too. But, you know... like thirty or forty a year up until about two years ago... you know, not like... one a day."

"You're terrible!" I accused him, but there was no bite to my voice, and I don't think my face was the picture of admonishment.

"We all make mistakes. Or... I guess... just grow out of some things. Either way, here we are. Not having casual sex, and on a real live date." He said, starting seriously and then teasing me heavily. Which was fine, but in my head, a fast-forward slideshow of hundreds of different girls' arms and legs - and other things - wrapped around Trace begging his name, or maybe just begging anonymously, for more, harder, yes yes yes! Was playing.

And for some reason, a raging flame of jealousy ignited in my tummy. Trace was mine. I was Trace's plaything and nobody else. This, I think, aside from being completely alien to me in every way, was a pretty inelegant - who am I kidding? It was nuts. I was either going insane or already there, and Trace was egging me along or maybe the cause of it, but whatever the case, I said, failing utterly to keep the sultry note out of my voice, "I'm pretty sure you don't just use up your libido...."

"Not your libido, I suppose, no." He tried to defuse, "Energy, though, certainly. And I don't have so many photoshoots in night clubs that would normally be charging covers. And now I'm pretty sure I have a daughter. I think you might get upset if I told you to sleep in the other bedroom while I fu - I mean, you know how that works. Public schools are at least good for that much." I didn't think I looked angry or anything, despite the fury that had already welled up at the idea, but Trace stuttered hard as he reached the word "fuck", though it hardly changed anything.

I was trying desperately not to be angry at Trace for something that didn't concern me, had happened in the past, and should theoretically not really be having any emotional impact on me. It wasn't working very well, which is why he managed to get me to talk about how I got caught.

"You still haven't told me what happened to get you in the foster system." He said diplomatically, noting, I think, that I was seething. This was not a topic I wanted to be on right now, especially after Trace's turn.

"It's stupid." I said flatly.

"What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything! Jenny Tallen - that stupid... child!" Trace was grinning from ear to ear.

"What happened with Jenny Tallen?" He asked, scandalized.

"She called the police, when she found out about my parents, is what." I snarled, attacking the end of my stew with really yummy sourdough bread - no seeds or anything in it! - so I didn't have to talk about this.

"I want the whole story, evasive girl."

I managed not to say 'Look who's talking', and made a half-snarling sigh. "Jenny was a chipmunk girl in community theatre this last summer. She's a year younger than me, a bit shorter, lighter - more prey like, you know - and was completely crazy about me." I started, irritated to even have to remember this.

"No!" He purred, grinning. "My Annette's a ladykiller." He teased, making me blush for a reason I couldn't pick out.

I tried to ignore it, and continued. "She always wanted help with her lines, or her intonation, or her demeanor or positioning or whatever. Always wanted my help. Asked me almost every practice if I would let her come over and "study our lines", which even if she hadn't had the most hungry look in her eyes, still would not have meant "study our lines", because that's not how things get memorized." I paused for water, and Trace filled in hurriedly, having found a new, very vulnerable spot he could tease.

"So, of course you were a good mentor. 'No, hold your arms... like this.'" He purred, mimicking a spooning embrace, "Or, 'No no no, when you do the kissing scene you...'" he burbled seductively, mimicking kissing.

I was mortified. My ears were purple, because of stupid robin's egg blue powder and stupid Trace making me blush so hot I could die. "Stop it! I'm not like that!" I tried to admonish, but a grin cracked on my face as soon as I said it, and it came out way too high pitched and flirtatious to even do any good. "Do you wanna hear it or not!" I managed to get his attention with that. Except now I was trying not to giggle, too. "So she ends up just like most of the kids, and gets a decent part in the youth play. Some modern piece of garbage, but she did well at it. Although telling her she did well or poorly either way made her read way too deeply into things, so I tried to avoid her as much as possible toward the end of practice.

"Hold on now, I'm getting distracted. And quit that!" Trace was occasionally making kissy faces at me, and besides the fact that it was really embarrassing, since I was being all honest and stuff and he was being a jerk, it made me wonder... like, just a little... what it would be like if Trace kissed me. I hated this story.

"Anyway, so I got a lead role as a royal child in the grownup play, because learning your lines is apparently a 'talent', and none of the kids had managed to... like act... so.... Um, the kids' play was on the same night as the adult play, and came right before. The cast had to be at the theatre an hour before showtime, and the kids' play was forty-five minutes long. This stupid, stupid girl sees me in the audience - I was partially costumed already - and goes all out trying to do a good job for me." Trace laughed out loud at this, and I glared as hard as I could, but that made him laugh harder. I wish I knew how to glare properly.

"Aneeeway," I exaggerated, trying to get him to stop. "After their play she came up to me all proud and starry-eyed and trying to be cutesy, though I don't know why she thought that would have an effect. I told her she did a pretty good job, which she misconstrued as me 'trying to act so cool', like she tended to claim." This made a snort of laughter erupt from Trace, which I just ignored, trying to finish this farce.

"Well, my play was like a hundred minutes long, and even though an inkwell broke on the stage floor - who the hell uses actual ink in a prop, anyway? - it was a pretty good showing," I did not add that you could stream this off the community theatre website, because I was sure I would have to endure Trace's jeers from that, too. "And, at the end, there's a tired, overstimulated rodent, trying to be energetic despite it being past her bedtime and worshiping me and singing my praises and touching me. Like, she ran up and hugged me. It was so embarrassing, because people were already starting to talk. Although trust me, the story she got to tell about me was way cooler than 'I totally did her!'."

"I asked her why she stayed and she told me how interesting this play was. Gag. She said she wanted to celebrate both our wonderful performances. I thought telling her not to get a big head would have been misconstrued as flirting, so I just declined and excused myself. I was done with community theatre for a while, since school was just starting back up, and thought I was done with Jenny.

"Except - I guess she must have checked the enrollment records or something equally illegal, immoral, and almost commendably clever, because she knew my address. I assume she knew my phone number and other personal details too, but she was the go-for-broke kind of girl." Trace had quieted down, now that we were in the meat of the story. "One night - let's see... fifteen days before school started, I get a ring at the door. No deliveries, groceries, or technical services like pest control or anything scheduled, so like always, I grabbed my trusty wasp spray and kitchen knife and went to see who was at the door."

"Hold on, wasp spray?" Trace asked "- wait, illegal, immoral and almost commendably clever? Annette, what the hell?"

"Wasp spray is cheaper than mace and it for-real blinds the assailant, not makes him have a too-spicy hot sauce. Illegal, because she was likely trespassing, she was definitely looking at private documents, and almost commendably clever because she should have just 'social engineered' her way into my info from the director or from me. Leave too much of your daily-shed fur lying around where it shouldn't be, and bad things may happen."

Trace was looking at me like insects were crawling on my face, so I assume he was freaked out. "What? My dad liked crime novels and there were tons at home. Plus... uh... if you're trying to stretch your budget, petty thievery really keeps you topped up on spices, things which require ID to purchase, cold medicine - well, it's not important. And that guy in the mall wasn't a security guard. I wasn't going to fight him, I was going to walk away and disappear while he waited twenty minutes for the cops to come or ten for a real guard." The look got worse. "Oh what? You can fuck your brains out but I can't shoplift? Besides, I only did it for like three months. It's a bad risk/reward ratio. Free turmeric; go to foster care."

"Fine, yeah, most kids try stealing. What the hell with the wasp spray?"

"Well, I'm not big enough to fight fair yet. None of this is the point. I want to be done with this stupid story and be done with you gawking like that."

If his staring wasn't bad enough, he made it endlessly worse by saying, "Annette, I'm 'gawking' because I am goggling in awe. You are so strong and brave. You scare me sometimes with your... your grit." And here I thought my blush was calming down.

I didn't say anything for over a minute, and I kept my eyes steadfastly on my plate while I tried to compose myself. God I loved Trace. "Um" A tremble in my voice. Not a single part of me trembled. I was steel. "Uh, anyway... so I get an unexpected caller at my door. I'm fully armed and ready to murder and disappear a burglar - although since I'm at home at the time that would be a violent crime and thus a robbery. Whatever - and what do I see on my doorstep but an annoying lesbian chipmunk who was apparently fond of being brushed off." The incredulity stayed on Trace's face. I guess not too many teenagers are actually capable of killing. I guess it's not murder, either.

"So I considered - just for a second - pumping her face full of insecticide and gutting her, but figured the parents knew where she was and expected her back in one piece. I let her in; mostly trying to keep her in the foyer and escort her out, but she knew how to socialize properly and I did not, so she weaseled her way into my kitchen, then my living room, then my bedroom. That is, 'Annette's' bedroom, not the master. So flirting heavily, and pretending that my terse reactions were honeyed words, she kept trying to touch me more and get me to say affectionate things to her." Trace was starting to crack up again. At least I got to take a break for a moment while we looked at dessert menus and ordered espresso.

"Finally, she's been in my house for like an hour, which already makes me feel as violated as if she had just kissed me on the doorstep or something, when she asks me if I've ever kissed a girl before. I tell her that I haven't, and that I wasn't going to find out what it felt like, was utterly disinterested, both in females and in her, and wanted to please finish watching the movie we were watching and go to sleep. I evidently don't know how to say 'no', or she did not know how to listen, because at the end of the movie, she started asking me questions. Some weird, some uncomfortably close to dangerous topics. 'Why's it so dusty in here?' 'Where's all your clothes?' 'I thought you said you kept all your scripts?' "Are you sure you don't just wanna run your fingers through my fur?'" At the last one, I mimicked her dragging her tail under my chin sensuously, and Trace's eyes got wide in what was definitely not shock.

"She didn't like most of my answers, but to be honest, neither did I. Lust quickly turned to childish suspicion - a secret may have been about - and she started interrogating me. 'If your parents are drunks or drug addicts how come your house is so clean?' 'Where are your parents?' 'Why are you so upset that I want to go upstairs?' 'What do you mean I can't go in this ro - ' Followed by the shrieks; full lung emptying shrieks of a teenage girl going into shock." This time Trace dropped his fork.

"No. Way. She saw them?"

I nodded. "Oh yeah. I almost hoped that her screaming to wake the dead would... you know, wake the dead, but it didn't. So, in order to not have the cops called, ironically enough, I had to shut this moron up. I grabbed her by the back of her shirt, dragged her on her knees to the hallway, and closed the door. Still shrieking. I put myself between her and the door, and tapped her on the muzzle. More shrieking. Now, I'm not going to claim I didn't enjoy this, but I'm not going to claim I did either.

"I backhanded her as hard as I could. One more shriek, then sobbing. Then wailing. Then she ran to the bathroom and puked. I mean, I tried to calm her down, but now instead of being all touchy-feely she flinched from my touch and shivered and keened. It would have all been slightly amusing - seeing such extremes of emotion like that - " oops, more gawking, "but, since she was in shock over having found out my horrible disgusting secret, I assumed and was correct that the worst outcome would occur. Cops. Cops. Fucking. Everywhere. By the next morning after business hours started, 'the government', whoever handles the dead parents branch, had figured out what had happened and how they had overlooked 'such an unfortunate and helpless individual'. Except that if I were helpless I would have starved to death or broke down begging for parents at school.

"So, right around noon four days before school starts, Heartsie and two cops show up at my door. She introduces herself all sweet, as much as one can do with enforcers at each elbow - whatever. I take a nice trip to a 'nice' group home where they tell me I'll be living until I'm adopted. Which actually meant 'until I'm eighteen because you're a ghoul or a ghast or monster'. The cops did not have kind words for me." This is the part that was either going to be outright disbelieved, or it would make Trace think I was a monster.

"Anyway, I get there, and there's like nine kids in this one house, run by these religious people. I don't mean, 'go to temples and waste money' religious, I mean, 'the gods must have had a reason for killing your parents'. So since I immediately hated them for that insinuation, I left."

"Left? What?"

"The bathroom had a skylight. Did you use - you didn't go in the bathroom at my house, right? Well, it was just like mine, and since I had had to replace the stupid thing once when a tree branch fell on it, I had learned that they popped out...." His eyes were dinner plates. "I'm kidding, Trace. I walked out the front door at one in the morning, hiked across a field going the wrong direction, and finally figured out how to get home once I found a road labeled 'eastbound' because I did not learn the whole sunrise in the east thing until the next morning when I got home." Trace looked upset with me.

"That was a very stupid thing to do." He said seriously, like I wouldn't hedge my bets.

"I did steal a can of wasp spray and a knife...." I defended lamely. "Besides, walking alone at night is hardly the sketchiest thing I've ever done. Anyway, next day, around noon again, Heartsie and four cops come to the door. I explain that I didn't escape from the cops, and doubling up her guard just meant I was winning, not them. I learned that cops were cowards that morning, because one called me a little girl."

"What did you say?"

"I simply pointed out that a little girl is neither capable nor willing to live in a house with and take care of two breathing corpses at the age of eight. That a little girl is not receiving about a thousand dollars in tax breaks because math is super easy and the government wants to let you have your money, if you're clever. I told him that if I was so easily cowed then they may as well have just showed up guns drawn and barking. Then I closed the door." Trace put his head in his hands. "So they bang on it for a few seconds - I bolted it - while I go get a cup of coffee."

"Are you sure you're not a psychopath? You weren't afraid of the consequences? Anything?"

"I mean, I was slightly concerned that I would end up in a juvie hall, and not in foster care. But the actions were already in motion, and sometimes maintaining character is more important than the consequences. Anyway, I'm not crazy. I'm neur-o-typic-al. And even if I were, that's probably the thing that got me here, so maybe you shouldn't complain about it, because I'm definitely not." That was the closest to being sweet I had come all day, and Trace visibly perked up at that.

"So, this time, in the back of a police car, being escorted by a second, with Heartsie squawking in one ear and out the other about danger and responsibility and they just want to love me and shut the fuck up lady, I get driven back to the same house. The 'parents', though I didn't stick around long enough to find out if they were just bureaucrats or doing it for nice reasons, were 'worried sick' and 'utterly shocked' and 'praying their hardest'. Which, I mean, if they had driven down the interstate instead of sitting in the living room with their eyes closed they may have actually caught me, since I didn't know what their car looked like. Wait, I take that back, it was probably a transit van."

"The interesting thing about this household, is that the kids actually believe the garbage they were being fed. I guess three of them were way too young to stand up against indoctrination, but I also shared a house with three very good boys and three very good girls of an age where logic circuits in the brain should have been kicking in. Maybe a low protein diet or something?" That was a joke, but Trace did not laugh. I wasn't going to elaborate.

"So, tonight there was a girl in my bed - which made me very angry for obvious reasons - " Trace laughed at that, at least. "A girl in a sleeping bag beside my bed, and the "good boys" were ostensibly keeping guard at my door. Well the girl next to me slept like a stone, and the one on the floor snored. I just walked across the night table, grabbed my clothes, and crawled out the window. It was way earlier than the last time. Since I figured they would try to check on me at the changing of the guards, and most plays I had been in claimed three hours per shift, I did hurry a bit, though.

"Since they didn't bother making the 'game' difficult, and since I knew which way East was, I got home before sunup, made breakfast and coffee, and prepared an information packet for Heartsie and what I presumed would be a swat van later. Drew up a contract and everything, 'I Annette Sorenson do hereby agree to this schedule and these locations, blah blah blah, stop coming to my house and kidnapping me, et cetera, if you find me a foster home, we can discuss further' - we didn't discuss, by the way. She loaded me into her car and presented me to you - 'Sign below; initial, initial, initial; date; sign.' It was all such a hassle, but I guess she didn't feel like getting an actual warrant for my capture or whatever, because she looked at me stupid. Yeah, like that," I teased. "And that was that.

"My sordid tale." I ended with a flourish, drinking my espresso and ordering another one.

Trace was gawking, and I wasn't really sure what to say or do. I had dumped the information, it was his turn now. "Fuck." He said eloquently. "So in the course of this story, I learn that you had a lesbian paramour - "

"I had a lesbian who thought she was my paramour!" I snapped. I guess I understood why boys on the bus hated being called faggots.

He grinned in a manner which made me unsure if he was agreeing or condescending, "you've told me that you're good at stealing, can identify real cops from fake - actually, you're willing to intimidate police officers - you like crime novels and act like you know your way around a crime scene, this girl came to your house to confess, and you had to knock her out of shock, and ran away from foster care twice in two nights, before writing up a contract on what sounds like less than half a night's sleep over two days combined with intense physical exertion?"

I nodded. That was pretty much all of it. "What in the actual fuck?" He asked, I assumed rhetorically. "I'm supposed to believe all of that?" I nodded again. Trace was staring. I told him so and was told, "Well yeah I'm staring. I thought - I mean, Heartsie didn't tell me a word of that. I thought you were living on your own with some weird social program or something. I don't know. I don't know, Annette." That was the most ominous thing I had ever heard. I got up, crossed to his side of the table, and gripped his forearm with both hands.

"Not 'I don't know'." I begged, "Please not that. I love you, Trace." I was suddenly on the verge of tears, and I didn't know how I could fix this. He had asked. He was just as bad as that stupid girl. Maybe I should have just gritted my teeth and gotten felt up by an annoying child. The gross feeling wouldn't hurt like the knife resting metaphorically between my ribs. "Please?" I asked, though I don't know what I was asking. Please love me, maybe? He was still staring, but his expression was getting softer the closer I came to crying. "You're the one who made me tell you." I accused tremulously. "You can't just decide you don't want me because of that...."

He put his hand on mine, and said, "Annette, I'm not going to stop loving you. You certainly need to be loved worse than I imagined." I felt the sting subside and a weight lift from my shoulders. "That's a lot to take in though. I have so many questions I don't know where to start." After a long, endless pause, he tried changing the subject with, "That, and it's time we think about getting to the theater. Don't be upset, my lovely." All of this garbage with emotions and vulnerability and love and affection was all stupid.

I managed to keep my composure while Trace paid the bill, had half a bottle of wine bagged in a clever little adhesive-sealed bag so we didn't get in legal trouble. Leaving the restaurant, Trace put his arm around me, holding me tightly to him in an embrace as we walked. My arm found its way around his back, and my head onto his chest as we walked through the parking lot. I was silent for the next little while. As expected, to house this incredible production, the theatre was huge and completely packed.

It was a four hour retelling of the creation myth of a dead country. I mean, I know metaphor got simpler the further back in history, but there was a lot of childish sexual and bodily humor. Also, one god-thing had been a pack horse, a sunflower and three slaughtered geese - like at once - and had made many pack horse and sunflower babies and fed a champion his solstice dinner. The production was flawless. The music was like nothing I'd ever heard live, and the acting itself was brilliant. I just didn't turn out to like the story. Trace had his arm around me from start to finish.

It was past one in the morning when we filed out of the theatre, due to a graciously long intermission. The "kind of crappy motel" we were staying in looked nice enough to me. It smelled and looked clean, the advertised amenities worked, and it's not like we were living here for any period of time. It beat the car. I wasn't really sure why the ride here had been so quiet, but I guess, really, I was getting tired and probably Trace was too.

"What did you think?" He asked, untucking his shirt, peeling off his coat and folding it on the one bed. There were two. I didn't really know why I noted this, since it was no different than any other night. I was thinking fondly of silk bedsheets more than the play, so it took me a few moments to answer.

"Um, it was good. The set was insane! And the music was so good, and the actors. Everything."

"You looked less than pleased for quite a bit of the show." He prodded.

"Well. The story was weird, and I didn't really get any of the subplot with the sunflower or the pack horse, and I really guess I just idealized the play too much. Either way, it was good."

"You hated it." He ribbed.

"I didn't hate it." I defended, "I'm having a wonderful night." I had stepped up close to him, wanting to be hugged. While I think he was aware of this, he just continued undressing, so rather than stare at him - at least for too long - I went to the bathroom and washed my face of makeup, and started pulling clips from my hair.

"Gimme your dress." Trace said calmly, though it made me tense for a moment to hear it. I turned and stared at him to see he was standing in his underwear, clothes neatly folded in front of him. I was blushing in my cheeks, realizing we hadn't brought anything to sleep in, and also that we would be driving home in our clothes from tonight. I untied the ribbon from around my waist, managed to step out of my shoes quickly, and unzipped and handed over my dress.

Trace folded up the ribbon and laid my dress out flat. I was in my underwear in a strange place with Trace. I mean, we had just been exactly like this about fifteen hours ago, but I felt so naked. I stood bashfully where I was, both of us kind of staring at each other, until he asked me, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I dunno." I managed at least to look kind of away from him.

"Not ready for bed?" I shook my head. That was at least a less inflammatory way to put it. "Neither am I. Want to see if something is on TV?" I didn't respond, but I did come closer, snuggling into the bed with no clothes on it. I wondered whether it was just because Trace assumed I would want to sleep by him, or because he wanted not to give me a choice - though this line of thought surprised me in its spitefulness. Crawling under the covers, which were kind of scratchy linen, I made myself comfortable and propped myself up on pillows.

Walking around the other side of the bed with a newly unbagged bottle of wine, Trace handed it to me and purred affectionately, "Here, you can finish it if you want." A lot of bad alarms in my head started to ring, but for some reason I ignored them and accepted the bottle graciously. "Since you're a grownup and all." He finished, teasing.

I wasn't sure if he was teasing me or not, nor was I sure whether I was glaring or gazing at him, but he shot a very warm look at me and stroked my hair once. He fished for the remote and found it shortly, turning on the television. Nothing was on, so we ended up watching raunchy cartoons. Specifically, an alcoholic mad scientist and his reluctant pubescent assistant trying to enslave an entire universe. It was tremendously funny.

I knew pretty clearly that all of tonight's weirdness was coming from me, but it didn't matter. Right now, I was drinking wine - which was a tart, light, fruity thing with spicy finish - holding and being held by a man, and watching "grownup" cartoons. However, I had never felt more like a beloved little girl than I did right now. Although I started to feel warm and embarrassed when Trace, cradling my head, started to scrub firmly and slowly through my scalp with his fingers.

I didn't care to look over at him, reasonably certain he wasn't paying attention anyway, but also not trusting something stupid not to fall out of my mouth. After the plot resolved in the first cartoon, we watched two more, and I had finished half a bottle of wine by the middle of the third. Trace yawned hugely, one arm splaying, the other hand clenching to grip my head firmly. He said, weariness sounding through affection, "I'm going to sleep. Goodnight Annette, I love you. I hope you did have a good time."

He squeezed me in a huge hug, and turned off the television in one motion. He left me there, laying atop his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I remained motionless for over five minutes - I could see the clock - in slight shock and utter bewilderment. Slowly, some kind of idea materialized in my head, though it was indistinct and strangely hard to grasp. Something about my behavior. Maybe something about his? Ours? Then, snapping into my head with the intensity of a torturer's whip, it clicked. You're in love with Trace. This statement I tried to deny for a few moments, before my unfiltered narrative kicked in as well. You've never been this stupid before. You've never whimpered or sniveled or begged for anything. You can't deny yourself forever.

And I guess at this point I was willing to admit that maybe my unfiltered narrative had, obviously, been my own thoughts anyway, and that for every ungracious or cruel thing I thought, a dozen more loving or needy thoughts replaced it. Listening to Trace's heartbeat intently, I started to blush. I knew I was a stupid girl, but now I was being dangerously foolish.

Waiting until Trace's breathing and heartbeat slowed until just before sleep (I did pay an awful lot of attention to Trace, anyway), I lifted my weight slightly... kind of...straddling my hips just above his, and putting my arms on either side of his head. I said, delicately, sweetly... as enticingly as I possibly could. "There's one thing that I may have liked tonight, else.... But we can fix it easily enough...." I paused for half a beat, and touched my lips to his. They were silken and tasted of vanilla and coffee. I subdued a shudder, for fear of disturbing Trace, but I did not stifle the low, cooing sigh or the breeze from my nose. I didn't think this was a great idea, but it felt so right that I didn't berate myself.