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You can't tell if you're dreaming when you wake.

You felt Rebecca's warm embrace the whole night. Sometimes you were in a bed, and others you were out in the sun. But every scene that you drifted through, it was you and her. Together.

The sensations are even more vivid when it's real. The little things make the difference, like the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The slight variations in her texture from sweater to jeans to fur, all backed by generous padding. The way she almost covers your entire body, to the point you feel her more than the couch beneath you. You sit there for a while, letting it all wash over you.

"Rebecca?"

She doesn't respond. The rhythm of her breaths doesn't change, her embrace doesn't falter. You reach up and grab her hand. The tigress hardly shifts. Her hug stays firm. You hold her hand and reflect, watching the morning light filter into her living room. You'll tell her you and Talia are reconsidering your relationship. If the two of you were truly in love, you would've gotten a CU to end the trial. It's not that you don't like her, or that she doesn't like you. It's that neither of you likes each other in that way.

You'll be telling the truth, kind of.

You'll tell Rebecca that every time you parted, you've looked forward to seeing her again. Yesterday was one of the best days you've had in a long time; you pray she feels the same. You know it won't always be like that, but it's worth it. Whatever comes up, you'll find a way through it. It's sappy, but it's how you feel.

She's worth it.

The only real debate you're having now is if you should wake her up or not.

You decide not to after a little more time. You'll just return the tigress' affections. Slowly, you turn yourself around in Rebecca's arms. The couch is almost as soft as her curves. If they weren't so plush, it might've been impossible. You're even more lucky her red sweater is a little loose, or you wouldn't have been able to breathe. She notices your shifting and tightens her grip with a sleepy groan, locking you in place. A deep hum rumbles through her when you go still, breaking into smaller chuffs when you hug her back. Or attempt to, anyway -- her torso is twice the size of yours. The way she squeezes you suggests she appreciates it regardless.

Rebecca's embrace is much more consuming when you're facing her. The one leg she threw over you now pulls you in, and the way the red-covered hills of her chest envelop your head is intimate rather than lusty. Even her arms across your back feel tighter than before, locking you in place. It's easy to let yourself fall deep into her embrace. You feel Rebecca twitch beneath her clothes when you stroke her side. She rumbles again, her low groan piteous as she sighs and presses into your hand. A similar sound escapes you -- though much more muffled. You nuzzle into her sweater, sliding a hand beneath her to hug her tighter. The red wool is soft and warm, and you're sure the knit pattern is going to be printed on your face. It takes a little effort to breathe, but you don't mind. She smells stronger than when she hugged you Monday, like flowers and new growth.

Eventually, the tigress' chuffing stops. You feel her shifting, trying to stretch without letting you go as she yawns. Her voice is deep and rich, a far cry from it's normal soft tenor.

"...mmmorning," she mumbles.

"Mm-mm," you reply, head still in her chest.

Rebecca squeezes you tighter, her hum making your spine tingle. Her paws trace over it as she shifts a little, preparing to get up.

"...haven't slept so well since --"

You feel her tense up half a second before the knives enter your back.

The two of you yelp at the same time. You try and push away, but Rebecca's paws are wrapped firmly around your torso. Her claws tear your flesh when she flings you off the couch. Your limbs knock together as you clip the coffee table, and you tumble across the carpet, ending up sprawled face-down in an aching heap.

"A-Anon!"

You groan, trying to orient yourself.

"Are you -- why did you --?"

You hear her heaving as the room comes back in focus. When you try rolling to your back, the gouges make you hiss.

The tigress' breath hitches.

It's painful getting to your hands and knees, your back aflame and everything else tender. Rebecca's claws are still out, digging deep into the couch. She's braced against it like you're the one who threw someone across the room. Her eyes are wide and her pupils small as her chest heaves; you don't say anything. You're wondering if you're bleeding on her carpet.

The two of you sit like that for what feels like minutes, eyes locked as your ragged breaths fill the air.

"A-are you okay?" she finally asks.

"Yeah," you lie. She can tell, but she doesn't care.

"Why did you do that?" She asks instead.

"Do what?"

"Sleep with me!"

"Because you forced me to! You fell asleep on top of me!"

Rebecca stiffens, her neck-fur poofing out. But the shock is only temporary. Her look of anger returns in moments.

"Then w-why didn't you wake me up?!"

"Because --"

You break into a raw groan, the bruises and punctures settling in fully now.

Her words don't help.

"Because I thought it was what you wanted!"

The tigress' ears flick up slightly, no longer plastered to her skull. She lets you breathe, her claws stabbing you again with every rise of your chest.

"I can't -- I can't figure you out. Every day since we met, you seemed so happy to see me, just like I was to see you. It didn't matter what we were doing, just that we were doing it together. Yesterday was the happiest I've ever seen you, and -- and you deserve it. You deserve to be happy."

She tries to stay angry.

"But I -- there's always something off, Rebecca. Every time I think you're getting close to me, that you're not just sweet, you freeze. You go cold, then act like it never happened."

You take a breath; her expression hardens.

"I know something happened, Rebecca. You can't hide it."

She bares her teeth.

"...And I want to know what."

The tigress stares at you, lips curled and hackles raised. She tries to talk, but all that comes out is a series of rumbling growls. Slowly, the wrinkles of her feline face smooth out and her lips go back to a thin frown. She closes her eyes, forcing a breath before standing up. Even from across the room, you're reminded of her size.

Rebecca's voice is barely even when she speaks, holding back both rage and sorrow.

"You want to know?" she asks. "You really want to know why I am what I am?"

You don't dare reply. She's wracked by another seizing breath; her green eyes glitter in the morning light. Rebecca turns around and scrunches up, her shoulders sagging. But you see her tail is straight and stiff.

The red sweater coming off gives you pause. You take her in, your eyes roaming over her bare fur unconsciously. It's a sea of orange, interrupted by her stripes and the thick back of her sports-bra. She lets the mass of red fabric drop; you realize it's not a sports-bra she's wearing, but a breast binder.

"When I was young," she says, voice still tense, "I dreamed of having a family."

There's something off with her stripes. Her legs aren't the same as her back and arms, the black lines highlighted by white centers.

"It's what the State said I should do," she continues. "But every day in the foster home, they said it wouldn't be easy. I was too big, I could hurt someone."

Her fists ball up.

"They were right."

The stripes on her back ripple as she forces herself to relax. Her voice is a little less teary when she next speaks.

"Still, I tried. I thought I'd done it when they let me teach, that I proved I wouldn't hurt anyone. But I was still alone, and seeing so many kids made it hurt even more. So I volunteered for Assignment. I knew someone from the agency, and I went to them first. They -- they asked if I wanted to help, and I said I did. I always did."

She hugs herself, still not facing you.

"I went into the Special Assignment pool."

Your breath hitches, and her ears flick.

"They had my match in less than a week. An anti-statist, specist, angry young man. They told me everything the foster home didn't: I was so calm and so sweet, he'd have to see the light. I worried it was a lie when we first met. He hated me. He hated that I was a school-teacher, I was 'poisoning innocent minds.'"

The tigress goes quiet for moment, her ears flattening even further.

"But what he hated the most was that I didn't fight back. Every time he yelled, every time he called me an irredeemable monster, all I ever had were soft words. That's all I ever used, all I ever did. I never forced him to do anything, never used my size. And after a while, it seemed to work. He started sleeping on the couch instead of the garage. Then in the guest-bedroom, then my bed, then my arms."

Her tail lashes, something between a whine and a growl slipping out.

"I was so... proud. I helped him. I made him happy. I got him to smile at me and hold me back. He said yes when I told him I wanted to have children, and he was with me right up to the ER."

She breathes slow, shifting her arms.

"When we got back, everything was perfect. The crib was already set up at the foot of our bed. I wished we didn't need it. I wanted to hold her in my arms as long as I could."

Rebecca swallows hard.

"I remember waking up in a haze and seeing it empty, feeling my wrists and ankles bound. He was standing there, holding her in his arms. He rocked her while he told me he couldn't figure me out. He knew anthros, he said. And somewhere deep down I was a monster like the rest. Just an animal."

Her fists clench again.

"Then he pulled out the knife."

The lines on her back seem to shimmer.

"When he was finished with her, he moved to me. He cut out my stripes. He told me he was wrong; I was no predator. I was just a housecat."

She's quiet for a long time. You don't dare move or speak, holding your winces in. She looks up and takes a normal breath.

"I don't know if he was going to kill me. They shot him before he could finish. For a long time, I wished they hadn't."

Rebecca finally turns, looking down at you. Tears wet her fur, but her expression isn't one of anger or sorrow. Not quite.

"I don't anymore," she says, voice firm again. "I want to move on, Anon. I like you a lot -- more than anyone I've met since then. But -- I don't know if I can do it. If I could go through that again."

It finally feels safe to breathe. You cringe at the holes in your back as you do, every breath making it feel like she's stabbing you again. Rebecca winces, almost taking a step towards you. You wave her off and struggle to your feet, everything ebbing.

"I thought you wanted to," you say.

"I -- I do!" she says. "But I can't just -- do it!"

You sigh. She stares at you before looking away, her ears flattening in embarrassment.

"Besides, you're with Talia," she says. Her voice falters as she says it, but her stance is still firm when she picks up her sweater and pulls it back on. You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the sticky spots on your back.

"If that weren't true," you ask, "would you still want to try?"

Rebecca's face wrinkles.

"No, Anon. Don't do that."

"Why?"

"Because it wouldn't work!"

The tigress' doesn't quite shout, but her tone still shakes you. It's a second or two before her ears and tail droop again.

"It wouldn't work," she repeats, quieter now. "I want it to, but... I couldn't."

You search her face, trying to process what she said. You think back throughout the week, and it begins making sense.

"I remind you of him," you say; Rebecca looks at you with anger and concern.

"Don't say that. You're nothing like him."

"But you're still afraid whenever I get close."

"It's not your fault, Anon."

"But it still happens."

She jumps when you lurch towards the door, baring her fangs for a second before hastily covering it up. You grab the door handle tight as a wave of vertigo hits.

"Anon --"

Her face is all you can see.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I -- I didn't know."

She takes another wracking breath when you slip out. The morning air is warm, and you realize you're light-headed. You hear the door open when you flop into the truck, keys shaking in your hands. You don't look back and stomp on the gas. You try to ignore the red figure in the rearview. It's not her fault; you hope she gets that.

You don't deserve her after everything you put her through.

The drive home is rough. Every bump sends a new wave of pain through your back, and the stoplights drag on as you bloody your seats. You can't tell if the truck feels sluggish or if it's you. When you get back to the apartment, the street's closed. It takes you a second to remember why. There's barriers up, but the few construction vehicles on site appear abandoned. There's no jets or puddles of water, so you take a chance.

Mounting the curb brings a small smile to your face, even if it shakes the aches anew. You doubt anyone will report you for bouncing into the parking lot, since it's Chutesville. The sound of peeling fabric fills the cab as you get out. You only realize how bad it is when your legs wobble and your hands can barely lock the truck. The thought of blood in the air forces you on -- it's Chutesville, after all. Someone might smell it.

Only when you make it to your room do you relax. You lean against the closed door and just breathe, trying to make your head stop spinning. You didn't think she'd clawed you bad, but your body says otherwise. Your shirt sticks to your back when you unbutton it in the bathroom, the gouges in your pecs deep. The sight makes your head spin again, and you have to grip the wall to keep focused. You pull out your phone and call Talia, putting it on speaker as you fumble for the sink. The ringing echoes slightly as you wet a hand towel and get to work. You growl when it goes to voicemail, dabbing harder at the marks on your chest.

"Talia, I need you," you say after the tone. You try to keep the grunts and winces quiet, but you know they'll go through. "I -- I got banged up, and I can't patch it all up myself. Please, just hurry."

You hang up, cursing as blood gets on the phone. The thumb-wounds seem to have slowed, but you hold a towel over your chest anyway. The first-aid kit accompanies you to the couch, and you slap gauze and bandages over your chest. You lay down; you can't reach the marks on your back, so the only pressure you can give is your bodyweight. The shirt will have to be gauze enough. All you can do now is stay focused, stay awake.

Even with the pain, it's not easy.

You think about Rebecca. How you asked her to be a witness. How you got closer to her each day. How you held her close because it was what *you* wanted.

It helps a little, like salt in a wound.

You don't know how long it is before you hear the she-wolf pounding on your door.

"It's unlocked!" you yell, weaker than you'd like. Talia practically throws it off its hinges. It's hard to focus on her face, but her paws on your skin are firm, pulling away your shirt and probing your crappy bandage-job.

"What did she do, dumbass?" she asks. Her voice is thin, forced calm.

"Nothing," you say, wincing when the she-wolf peels back a bandage. "She didn't mean to."

"Cut you pretty deep for not meaning to," Talia snorts. "Looks like you cleaned it fine -- you use alcohol on it?"

"My back," you grunt, motioning for her to roll you over. The quiet sticking noise when she tries says it all.

"Christ, Anon," she growls, letting you fall back. "Stay there."

You weren't planning on moving. You watch her scurry off, claws scraping the wood floor. She slams the door shut and goes to the kitchen, returning with water, booze, and pills.

"It was my fault," you say, reaching up for her. "It wasn't hers. It was --"

"Shut up and drink," Talia says, grabbing your head and putting the glass to your lips. You do it, letting your eyes close. She makes you empty it before starting on the booze. You hiss when she presses the vodka-soaked rag on your chest.

"Yeah, it's gonna hurt," she says, holding you down.

"Could you at least -- let me drink some?" you ask.

"No," she growls, giving one last push before pulling away. "You need water, you've bled a lot. Alcohol would make things worse."

"It'd hurt less," you grumble, letting her reapply the bandages. She pours out some painkillers and shoves two in your mouth, leaving you to swallow while she finishes her work. The she-wolf takes the glass when she's satisfied and fills it again.

"Drink," Talia says, handing it to you. "We need to turn you over, so drink."

The she-wolf doesn't force you this time and lets you hold the glass. When you're finished, she grabs an arm and a leg.

"I can turn myself over," you complain, but wince as she flips you. It turns to a hiss when she pulls off your shirt. She says nothing as she tears it off at the sleeves. The air feels cool on your shredded skin, a brief respite before the burning sensation of Talia's touch. You grip the cushions as she wipes away the blood.

"I did it," you say after a while. Talia doesn't respond, dabbing at your wounds.

"I fucked up. It's my fault, and --"

The burning of alcohol cuts you off. You yell, and Talia's hands tense. You squeeze your eyes shut; you think she whimpers.

"There, there, we're done," she says, wiping the rest off. "Just stay still."

It's hard, the fire set in your skin.

"Does it need stitches?" you ask. The she-wolf lets out a shaky growl.

"Probably."

You take a few breaths, trying to steady your back. The cushion is soft against your face as you turn to the side, looking up at her.

"Get the stapler, then."

Talia's expression is firm when she pulls it from the first-aid kit. She hesitates, looking between it and you.

"Do it," you say. She sighs, setting the stapler down and grabbing the vodka. You don't refuse when she puts it to your lips and gives you a shot.

It doesn't help much.

Each pinch sends a shock down your spine, setting your tender flesh alight. You bite into the couch cushion to hold in the cries of pain. Not for your pride, but for Talia. You can see her in the corner of your eye, her ears laid back and her movements shaky. You can feel it in the way her dull claws pinch your flesh together, hastily pulling away when the staples are in.

It takes a long time.

The pain loses its sting after a while, each punch of the stapler not scattering your thoughts. You think about the tigress' words. You think about the tremors in her voice, the way she tried not to cry. You think about the lines of white, rippling on her back and arms.

You should've just let her be a witness and nothing more. You shouldn't have tried to --

"Anon, stop crying."

Talia's voice pulls you to the present, her hands on your shoulders.

"I have to put on the bandages. Try and stay still."

You close your eyes; the fabric by your face is wet. You twinge as the she-wolf finishes up, your flesh still tender. Her touch is ginger as she taps on the sticky, sterile pads. They feel like a mold on your back when the she-wolf finally pulls away.

"There," she sighs, sitting on your coffee table. "That should do it."

You don't respond, just feeling everything stretch and rub as you breathe. You hear her claws on glass; the ragged breath seconds later tells you she took a swig of spirits.

"How much did you know?" you ask.

"About what?"

"About Rebecca."

Talia stays quiet, and you crank your neck to see her. She's staring at the bandages, looking through them with bottle in hand.

"Some," she finally says. "But not everything."

"What happened on Tuesday?" you ask. She looks at you, expression harsh.

"You talk first," she says. "You sent that text last night -- 'I'm gonna find out' -- what the hell did that mean?"

She motions to your back with growing anger.

"And tell me how this is your fault."

You sigh, letting yourself relax into the cushions.

"I stayed the night," you say. "We were just going to take apart her gun, but I ended up staying. I -- I wanted to, and when the water main burst, she told me I could."

You remember Rebecca's face when she said it, soft and motherly before it fell.

"I spent the whole night trying to decide if I should ask her to be together, Talia. When she fell asleep on the couch with me, I was so relieved. I -- I thought I wouldn't have to. It all felt so right. But the next morning, she threw me across the room when she woke up."

The she-wolf growls.

"It wasn't her fault, Talia. She didn't know I was there, she'd passed out. All she knew was someone was hugging her."

You swallow.

"And the last person she let get that close nearly killed her -- and killed her kid."

The she-wolf stays quiet.

"She had a State husband, Special Assignment. Didn't end well. She told me -- she told me she really cared for me. That if things were different, if you and I weren't together, she'd want to be with me."

You swallow.

"When I asked her why she didn't want to try, she told me she couldn't. And then everything from the past week made sense. I'm why she seized up, Talia. I remind her of him, any time I get close."

You look up to Talia. Her expression is unreadable beyond 'severe'.

"And I made her suffer through that the last four days."

You turn away, feeling like trash.

"I left. I don't think she wanted me to, but I did. And now I'm stuck deciding if I should ask her to be in the trial or not."

"...That's what you're worried about?" Talia asks after a moment. You turn to her, your voice raw.

"I drag her back to that night every time we get close, Talia. I'm not putting her through that anymore. But Lyons said she was our lynchpin, so I --"

Your words devolve into a groan, and your face sinks back into the cushions.

"She said she knew someone in the Assignment system," you say after a moment. "Maybe we could work something out, get the charges dropped somehow."

Talia sets down the vodka, and you hear her claws shifting on the floor. A paw is on your head when you turn to her again.

"You want to know what Rebecca was apologizing about on Tuesday?" she asks, stroking your hair. You nod as she brushes the hair from your face.

"She told me you were perfect. She said you were so kind, so helpful, so patient. And she told me she was so sorry she was thinking about you that way. But she couldn't help it."

"Shut up."

The she-wolf doesn't growl, but forces you to look at her; there's no lie in her amber eyes.

"I told her it was okay, but I couldn't convince her it was. She told me she'd fucked it all up. I'd hate her because she liked you, and you'd be afraid of her because she lunged at you. You want to know what I told her?"

You don't nod, but Talia sees it in your eyes.

"I told her you felt the same way about her, and that you wouldn't be afraid. You're too dumb."

"Fuck off."

"You know it's true Anon, you said it yourself."

"Yeah, *now*. I told you I was into her now, not then."

The she-wolf's eyes are piercing.

"I saw the way you looked at her, Anon. Right from day one, when you two first met. When you made plans with her Monday night, I wondered. And when you came to the range with her, I knew for sure. Before I let her out, I told her. I told her it was okay -- that with the trial going on, I was rethinking if we were serious or not."

You stare at her, unsure what to say. Her gaze is harsh, her paw on your head soft. "Why?" is all you can come up with. The she-wolf breaks, turning her head and scrunching her eyes as she grips your hair.

"Because I want you to be happy, dumbass."

It takes a second for you to process what she's saying. It only makes you feel worse when it hits. You hide your face in your elbow, clenching your fists.

"Great," you say. "I fucked that up, too."

"You can still try, Anon."

"I don't deserve her. It was selfish, trying to get close to her."

The she-wolf growls.

"So you're going to give up on everything?"

You pause, then get up on your side. It doesn't hurt as bad as before. Talia's eyes are wet as she stares down at you, her expression one of anger and disappointment.

"I'm not giving up."

"You love her, Anon."

"And that's why I should stay away," you growl. Her eyes go a little wide, but you don't budge.

"I don't want to hurt her, Talia. Asking her to stay on the trial would be selfish. Everything I've done this week has been selfish. If I have to make some backroom-deal with part of the Assignment Office, I'll do it. As long as she doesn't have to go through any more."

Talia's ears stay flat, her eyes on yours. She glares at you, willing you to say something, to understand. After a few moments, she looks away with a sigh and gets up from the table.

"Lay there, get some rest. Drink water, don't overdo it on the booze," she says. Her fluffy tail bobs as she makes for the door.

"What should I do, Talia?" you ask.

The she-wolf huffs, looking over her shoulder.

"Do whatever makes you happy."

"Neither will."

"Then think about it," she says, walking out. "You've got time."

She isn't wrong.

You lay there on the couch most of the day, passing in and out. The aches slowly subside, but your back stays tender. You're reminded of Rebecca's claws every time you get up for the bathroom or water. Food isn't a concern. What the hell you're going to do is. Your phone never lights up, providing you no easy answers from the tiger or the she-wolf. You don't ask them for any.

You're not sure if you're worthy of either of them, now.

Talia's words echo in your head, and Rebecca stares when you close your eyes. The she-wolf is right: you love the tigress. It makes her giving you an in -- one you squandered -- sting even worse. The bad actions pile up as you reflect, and it makes you consider just taking it to the chin. You don't deserve Talia or Rebecca, but getting thrown to the Special Assignment pool. Who knows, maybe it'd even work out.

Rebecca was in it, after all.

You try to laugh, but it only hurts worse. It wouldn't work. You can't throw the case and drag Talia down anymore than you have. At the same time, you're not going to ask Rebecca to stay on as a witness. Not after what you did.

Around 8 -- when you can't bare the hunger pangs any longer -- a memory hits, and an idea strikes. You fire up your computer and tear through your search history. The TV dinner you just heated can wait. It's cold by the time you find the article you were looking for, one of the many jargon-heavy legal documents you've looked over in the past few days. It's got your solution.

"...At any time, a member of a Relationship of Courtship may rescind their participation in said relationship. This member of the party has a duty to report to any person acting on State Authority the details of rescindment, including the reason(s) for doing so. If abuse or other illegal activity is cited, a full investigation will be held; the rescinding party will not be subject to any of the charges of their former partner. Conversely, if the reason stated for rescindment is suspect, the rescinding party will be investigated; their former partner will not be subject to any charges."

You read the lines over and over, spooning up cold mashed potatoes and corn. This might be your ticket, if you're reading it right. Declare that you're not in courtship with Talia anymore when the day of the trial comes, give them a bullshit reason, and you'll end up with all the heat. She and Rebecca won't have to deal with the mess you've made. You'll still need Lyons to look it over, but --

Your phone pings; it's an email from the lawyer himself, blissfully unaware.

"Dear Mr. Anonerson,

I have gathered initial statements from the majority of your witnesses. While I cannot guarantee your success on an innocent plea, I am willing to say your chances look good. Mr. Halbrooke and his associates have been working diligently on your firearms charges, and I have full confidence in their abilities.

Still, it is my duty as your State-Appointed Attorney to inform you that should you file for a Civil Union -- with Ms. Grilliz or any other eligible party -- your charges would all likely be dropped. I have attached the necessary paperwork if you are interested in pursuing a CU. Given the date of your trial, it would need to be submitted by Saturday. I would be happy to help you fill out the form if you require.

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to reach out.

-Steven Lyons, Attorney At Law."

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