Hello, all! Look at me, actually posting on time! Well, this is a longer chapter, and a rather fluffy one (Rosie needs some fluff after the crap I put her through last chapter). So, I hope you guys enjoy!

Oh, and I still don't own.

I fight off several nightmares, most of them about me being used like those men used to use me. I can feel their slimy paws on me, groping and fingering and squeezing and strangling. It's like I'm back there, with them, just trying to survive.

But then I'm shaken back to the real world, the comfortable world, where I'm all alone in a big, cozy bed. I shake off the terrible dreams and wonder where my mother is. I hear voices out in the living room. I yawn, do a few stretches, cracking my bones, and then carefully tread into the other room. I peek around the corner; Mom is on the phone, looking slightly worried. My stomach churns.

She turns her head, seeing me, then smiles. "I'll talk to you when you get here. Love you too. Bye." She steps over to me and strokes my hair. "Good morning, darling." She's all dressed up again. I like it when she dresses up. She seems happier.

"Morning," I mumble, still not quite up to carrying on a conversation quite yet.

"That was Grandpa. Your Nana had an emergency—something about how a friend of hers broke her leg or something—so he's coming by himself."

My upset stomach turns into full-blown sickness that I force back down. "Really? Huh."

"I think you'll like him. He's so gentle—he'll probably just watch movies with you all day."

"Huh."

"Are—are you okay with that? I mean, if you're not, that's fine—though he'd never hurt you. I promise that."

I shake my head, trying to pull myself together. "It—it's fine. I'll be fine. He can come."

She smiles, this wide, proud grin that's rather contagious. "Fantastic. You'll just—"

A knock on the door.

Mom rushes to get it, revealing my grandfather. He still looks the same as he did before, only this time he's not as disheveled. He's a graying blond with a rather noticeable nose. Must be where Mom got it from. He gives her a hug and then waves at me.

Mom looks so damned happy to see him. But then she looks at the clock, makes a weird, panicked face, and says, "I—I've really got to go. Rosie," she says, and gives me a tight hug. "If you want me to come home, just call, alright? For any reason. I love you and I'll see you when I get back." She gives me a kiss and leaves. She looks so happy to be rid of me.

My grandfather chuckles. "She's such a workaholic…Even when she was young, she wasn't cut out for the housewife life." His voice is smooth, almost melodic. He's be a good radio-person. He eyes me, grinning. "You look just like her, you know. Same cute cheeks and cheeky expression." But then he turns his head, like a confused dog. "You're really not comfortable with men, are you?"

I shake my head, slightly. I guess he knows about what happened to me.

"You wanna go out? Would that make you feel more comfortable?"

I blink. Out? I've only been 'out' twice since I got here: the hospital incident, and the police incident. "Mom hasn't done that yet."

"Your stitches are pretty well healed, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Then I believe she's being a little paranoid with you as of late. I think you'd do really well with a little fresh air. Well…as fresh as New York air gets." He laughs. "Where are your clothes at? Why don't you get dressed; I'll stay here and wait."

I do as he says, grabbing the clothes Mom had gotten me for yesterday. I guess it's okay to wear them twice—they're not dirty or anything. I change into them, brush my hair and teeth, and go back out. "Ready," I say, but it comes out as a murmur. I still don't like this guy very much.

He nods. "Great. You look cute. Come on. I know a nice place we can grab some breakfast at."

I follow him out of the building and onto the streets. As soon as I'm not in an in-closed space with him, everything lightens. I feel safe again. Okay, maybe I like him a little.

We walk(!) to a restaurant in a nearby park. It's peaceful and we sit on the patio, which I really like. We order, and he doesn't pressure me into eating like Mom does. I just get some fruit and a soda. He gets pancakes and coffee.

Once the food is ordered, he lets out a sigh. "You seem confused."

I wasn't aware I did, but he's right. I'm confused about this whole mess. I nod, hesitantly. "Yeah, I kinda am."

He straightens in his seat. "Well, I can try to clear some stuff up. I'm Oskar. Or Grandpa. Or Pop-Pop. Or you could come up with something new for me (I don't mind). You can call me pretty much whatever you like—I'm not picky. I am currently a private tutor after teaching high school and college English for thirty years. And I plan on buying you a bunch of books because I don't have a single grandchild who's a reader and I'd really like to have one that is (but if you aren't, that's fine too. I'm just saying that if you are, I will buy you as many book as you want)."

I grin at his rapid speech patterns. His rambling is kind of funny, to be honest. I nod. "I used to really like reading—though I haven't read anything in years. I'd like to get back at it."

He looks like a toddler on his birthday. "You will. Don't worry. We can go to Barnes and Noble after this, if you'd like."

Our food comes, but our conversation doesn't stop, even as we both eat.

"So, what grade are you in?"

"Grade?"

He closes his eyes, looking more than peeved. "Please tell me you were in school."

"I was taught privately—English, maths, music, and the like."

He relaxes. "Good. I thought I was going to have to have a very long, stern talk with your mother for a minute there. Do you know if she's planning on putting you in school this fall? I mean New York school."

"She hasn't mentioned it. I'd guess so."

"You've been away for three years, correct?"

"Yes."

"You might be a little behind—just a little, I'm sure. You seem very bright. But would you like to make sure? There's a few testing books that I can get—just to figure out what areas you'll want to study over the summer."

He's actually helping me with something trivial—none of that taking-on-the-world crap that Mom's been pulling. It's nice to have the focus on something non-traumatizing for awhile. "Yeah. That'd be great. Thank you."

"No problem. I think it'd be a good project for us both, since I think your mother is wanting to get back to working regularly. She's better when she's busy, otherwise she gets like a bored, little dog: destructive and annoying."

The thought of Mom being some obnoxious yapper makes me laugh.

"You think I'm kidding. I remember I once had to punish her—she decided it was a good idea to sneak out one weekend to go to a party—so I made it where she couldn't do anything for the rest of the weekend. No writing, no doodling, not even doing homework. I remember her, I kid you not, sitting on the floor and repeatedly bashing her head against the wall moaning about how much her life sucked. That was when I broke and made her go mow the lawn (she didn't mind doing that, but at least it got her to stop whining)."

My the end of his anecdote, I'm cackling. I really like this guy.

"You won't bash your head against a chair and drone on about how awful I am, will you?" he says with a completely serious face, but a funny glint in his eyes.

"No. I promise."

He makes a little hand gesture that I've learned means 'I win' or the like. It's just a little fist shake, but he does it with such pride. He's quite amusing.

My fork clangs against my plate, causing me to look down. It's empty. When did that happen? I swear, the plate was full about a minute ago. I somewhat remember picking at it as he was telling the story. I guess I did more than pick at it.

He smiles. "Want more?"

I shake my head. "No, thank you. That's enough."

He puts his dining utensils down on his empty plate and pays the bill. "You ready to go?" he asks.

I look around. To be honest, not really. While I'm excited about the prospect of being able to read again, I like this park. It's comfortable and safe. So, quietly, I ask, "C—can we walk around for awhile?"

"Of course. There's some swings nearby—why don't we head over there?"

I nod and we do. It's an empty, clean playground. He quickly teaches me how to 'pump' the swing, and then sits down on his own with a grunt. "You like nature, I'm taking it?"

"Yeah. We had a garden back when I was little—I guess they still have it—I loved playing in it. I used to hide in it when I didn't want to do something." I didn't really think that last part through. It's probably going to bring up questions, thus ending me and Oskar/Grandpa/Pop-Pop's awesome talking streak.

"Your mom did the same thing when she was in high school. She'd usually go hide up on the roof. For the longest time, she was the only one who was able to get up there—out of the kids, I mean—so that was how she got in her private time. Usually once she was out there for an hour, I'd go up there and we'd talk about whatever was bothering her."

"I can't really imagine that. She's never seemed like a hiding-type of person. She's not a coward."

"No, she's not. She's a very strong person. She's always amazed me. I remember when we got her—she was so pitiful-looking—but within the week she had it pulled together, for the most part. I remember saying to your Nana, 'I've never seen someone adapt so well'. Her entire life was thrown upside down, but she handled it like a pro."

At this point, my eyebrows are so scrunched up, they probably look like an unibrow. "I'm not sure I'm following you. 'When you got her'? What do you mean?"

He winces. "Eh. Your mother was adopted. I thought you knew—she's always been so blunt about it—but I guess she was trying to make things less complicated for you."

I feel a little upset, but not majorly. I've known several people who were adopted—it was part of royal duties to visit orphans and adoptees—and they seemed fine with it. "So…we aren't related? Like, bodily."

"I think you mean 'biologically', but no. We aren't—well, not that I know of. There's a slight theory that me and your mother are distantly related. However, it's most likely wishful thinking, so, for now, I'd say no."

"How'd she end up with you guys then?"

"Her biological mother kicked her out when she was thirteen—nearly fourteen. She was friends with May from an after school program, so once May found out that she was homeless…well, May is May, and dragged her to our place. I mean, once I heard the full story, I was more than glad to take her in—plus we needed another hand around the house. One thing led to another and next thing you know, we're signing the adoption papers. It was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made. You hear a lot of things about adoption when you have biological kids already, so I didn't know what to expect. There's a lot of, 'you can never love them like you love you bio kids'—that's kind of right, because the way I love your mother is completely different than the way I love the rest of them. Like, it was just there with them, but I had to work for it with Nancy. It was harder, but was almost more satisfying because of it. Actually, there isn't an 'almost'. It was more satisfying. Simply."

"Why was she kicked out? She's a good person and is smart and has a job and all that—who would do that?"

"Her biological mother—Sarah's her name, I believe—isn't the nicest person. She wasn't happy with what Nancy was doing—which really wasn't all that bad. She wasn't paying attention in class and was failing a few subjects—just small stuff like that. But she still told Nancy to either shape up or leave. She left. It turned out that what Sarah was doing as far as punishment—slaps hard enough to leave a bruise, not letting her eat for an entire day—it was enough to be called child abuse, so once we threatened to pull the police into it, Sarah left us alone. That was pretty much the last we had to deal with her. I think you mom has tried to get back in contact with her, but nothing has happened, as far as I know."

I rest my head on the cool swing chain, chuckling. "God, our family is dramatic."

"Yep. Though that's about the end of it. We haven't had anything major like that since then (though I think we're in the midst of another upheaval—we didn't even know you existed until a few weeks ago—but it's good upheaval, for sure)."

I sigh and sit up. I think I've had enough talking about this (though I think I'm going to ask Mom about it soon). "Can we go to the bookstore now?"

He smiles, looking as relieved as I feel to be off the subject. "We sure can." We get up and start exiting the park. "So, has your mother bought you any books already? Or are you starting fresh?"

"Um, she bought me a few, but I didn't like them. They were stupid and the only thing the girls wanted was boyfriends and I just…I didn't like them."

"Has she gotten you Harry Potter yet?"

"No. What's that about?"

He stops, dead in his tracks, his mouth open. Then he shakes his head and keeps walking. "You were really living under a rock, weren't you?"

"As far as this place goes, yeah. I don't really know anything."

"Do you know who the first president of the United States was?"

"No…Is it bad that I'm not sure what the United States are? I mean, I've heard it talked about a lot, but it hasn't really been clarified about."

He shakes his head. "We're getting you a very thick history book. And your mother's getting fussed at." He says it playfully. I don't think he's serious about it.

However, I do need to stick up for Mom. "No. It—it wasn't her fault—she couldn't help it—she—"

"Rose," he says, smirking. "I was kidding. The only thing I'm going to fuss at your mom for is getting you those silly teen-romance novels."

Okay, now I know he's not serious with this one.

We walk to a nearby bookstore—it's huge—and he pretty much goes crazy. He picks me out several bags of books, muttering to himself and me the entire time;

"Modern classic…Gotta have that one."

"Oh, this is such a good read…"

"No ones life is complete until they've read this one…"

It's pretty amusing. He also grabs me a bag-full of what he called 'basic studies'. Most of them are on history and culture, but there's also some of the other known basics, like science, math, and all that jazz (I like that expression). I have a feeling that the next few months will be intense, study wise, but I'm kind of excited about it. I've noticed that when I'm focused on good things, I'm not paying attention to bad things, so I think this will be very, very nice.

After we check out (he pays with this little card that somehow holds currency—it's rather fantastic, like many things in this world), he sees a stand that broadcasts: 'Summer Camps And Day-Camps For Kids, Tweens, And Teens'. We walk over to it and he tells me, "What do you think about doing one of these?"

"What are they?"

He quickly explains that I would go to a day camp and do activities with other kids my age.

"I don't really know. I—I haven't really been around many other kids, not in a long time. I don't really know if I'd fit in well enough."

"I think you'd be fine. I'll just grab a few of these brochures and we'll go over them with your mom later, alright?"

He does such and we leave, grabbing a taxi this time. He instructs the driver to go back to the apartment. Once we're riding, he asks me, "Do you think you're okay to be there with me? If you're not, we can stay at a cafe around the corner."

"No, I'll be fine. But…" I swallow hard, suddenly afraid my upcoming request will hurt his feelings. "C—can you not touch me? I just—I don't—I mean—It's not you—It's—"

"Okay. That's okay by me. No offense taken. We'll be in a no-touchy zone." He gives me a thumbs up.

I sort of feel bad for being so hesitant around him. I mean, if Mom trusts him, shouldn't I?

We head up to the apartment and quickly settle, me on the couch and him in the chair, away from me. We both get into the book stash (the first Harry Potter for me, since Oskar/Grandpa/Pop-Pop was excited about it, and some mystery book called, 'The Collective Sherlock Holmes' for him), but I only get a few chapters in before I'm hit by a sudden tiredness, like a cannonball smacking into me, full force. I mark my place, close the book, and set it on the floor. I flip on the TV and turn it to one of the movie channels. I only watch a scene before I'm knocked out.

When I come back around, there's a blanket on me, and someone's holding my feet in their lap. I groggily turn over and see Mom, smirking. "Good morning, Sunshine."

I yawn. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"A few hours. You looked like you needed it. Did you have fun today?"

I look over at my bags of books. "Yeah." I sit up. "He's really nice."

"He's one of the kindest people I've ever met. You ready for dinner?"

I nod, even if I'm not really interested. Mom likes it when I try.

She got take-out—pasta—and fixes us both a plate. She plops down. "So, why don't you tell me about your day?"

I do so, giving her a detailed recollection. To be honest, it's mostly for my benefit. I really enjoyed myself. But, toward the end, I decide to bring up the whole adoption thing. "So, he—Pop-Pop—he told me about something today…well…I just wanted to…you know…um…" My voice is really quiet. I'm not sure what I'm even asking. A confirmation? I don't know.

"About me being adopted? Yeah, he mentioned it to me. I'm not sure why I didn't tell you before—I wasn't hiding it—I guess it just never came up. It's not a big deal to me, so I didn't really think to tell you."

"Oh…so is it something that's okay to talk about? Are you okay with talking about it?"

"Yeah. At one point, when I was in my teens and early twenties, it wasn't, but I went to a psychologist—remember what those are? That's the same kind of thing I want you to go to—and that really helped me kind of come to terms with it."

"How long did it take? I mean—I just can't really imagine it."

"At first, I kind of pushed it down. I didn't think about it. I thought I was over it really quickly. But then I started hitting all of these big things—prom, senior year, graduation—and it started coming back up. Like, I started being really angry all the time and feeling worthless about myself. I mean, I just kind of thought that there was something wrong with me. I remember when I realized it had gotten out of hand. I was in my first year at college and had just had a terrible, terrible day in a terrible, terrible week. Nothing was going right for me. I had failed a few tests, my boyfriend broke up with me, and I had gotten caught with beer in my system. I just felt so horrible and useless…I had climbed up onto the roof of one of the college buildings—I liked to think up there—and I just remember sitting on the edge and wanting to jump. I nearly did—but then I realized what I was about to do. I got down, called Dad, went home, and made an appointment with a therapist as soon as possible."

"You almost attempted suicide?" I ask, shocked. I would've never thought that Mom, my poised, in control Mom, would ever get even close.

"Yeah. I was young and stupid. Fortunately, that was the lowest point. I got some help and within the year I had resolved it enough to function. Past that, it kept just getting better for me. Occasionally it would come back a little—the anger and rejection, not the suicidal part—but it was fleeting, for the most part. Pretty much the only time it lingered was right after you were born. I just—I would hold you and look at you and just think, 'Why would anyone reject their child?'. I still sometimes will think about you and how you're only a little bit younger than I was. I can't imagine ever doing that to you—I don't care what you do. You could kill someone or do drugs or decide to become a hobo—that wouldn't make me kick you out like that (though I'd probably try my hardest to talk you out of it or nag you to death to fix it). In a way, though, it kind of made it a little easier for me to understand. Like, it made it more obvious that it wasn't something wrong with me, it was something wrong with her. Still…it just kind of made me dislike her even more. But I'm happy now with my big, loving family and my angelic little girl and my nice job and—Life is just great. Well, not great, since there's a lot of bad stuff that has happened that shouldn't've, but as far as everything else goes…I'm good now."

I put my plate down, gently crawl over to her, and nuzzle into her, snuggling. "I'm sorry that happened. That's really sad."

"It's alright, darling. Don't worry about me. Like I said, I'm good now."

We stay cuddling for a few minutes, but she breaks the silence by saying, "Oh, Aunt May said, 'hi'. She also said she'd like to bring Polar Bear back soon. He really likes you."

"I'd like that. Maybe me and Pop-Pop can take him to the park with us one day."

"You two going to make that your 'thing'?"

"I think so. He said he's going to help me with my studies. I—I don't know very much about this place. I think I'm really behind."

"After what happened, you're allowed to be behind. I have no doubts that you'll be caught up by the time summer's over."

"You think?"

"Yep, I do. You're gonna be brilliant, baby."

I just hope so.

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