Of course, you have questions.

Back in Theresa's room, the atmosphere is very different than just a few minutes ago. With the lights on, you have a much better view of a space you almost never see. You recall there used to be lots of posters and framed t-shirts on the walls last time you checked, but now there's just pinholes where they once were. Seems someone's grown out of displayed paraphernalia. Theresa's shelf of trophies and medals continues to stir up jealousy in your stomach every time you see it. Accomplished in academics and athletics, she was almost nominated valedictorian for her graduation year. Pity such an esteemed young woman has to be such a sour, unpleasant person for you to be around.

Speaking of sour, your sister is glaring at you as you scan over the contents of her personal space. Her arms cross over her chest, turning partly away from you as if to protect her body from your leering gaze. She scoffs, trying to put up the tough front you're more used to getting from her.

"I guess you're gonna watch your sister get dressed, huh? Pervert."

"What? No, I'm not gonna do that, are you nuts??" You turn around and face the closed door, just to make it clear. This also helps hide the burning heat coming off your cheeks. Why even suggest such a thing?!

"...oh. Well, good!" You hear the robe fall onto the floor, making you blush even brighter and doggedly inspect the wood grain of the door. Theresa keeps talking to you as she rummages in her closet for an outfit. "So, what is it you need to say?"

"I have questions. Lots of questions." You cross your arms, not sure what to do with yourself until Theresa finishes changing.

"Do you mind if I ask one first?"

You almost look back at her, but catch yourself. It's so strange to hear her being polite to you. About as strange as her letting you in her room while she puts clothes on, so... par for the course.

"Yeah, go ahead," you mutter. Despite giving her the go-ahead, she doesn't say anything for a moment, focusing on getting some clothes on. Your foot starts to tap on the carpet, giving you something to focus on while you wait.

"Alright, I'm dressed." As you whirl around, you catch the hint of a relieved smile on her face. It quickly vanishes as your eyes travel lower, taking in what she picked to change into. "Is this okay..?"

Perhaps you can blame the weirdness you've endured in such a short amount of time today, but Theresa looks awfully nice in her casualwear. A soft white crop top stretches across her bust, putting a fair amount of strain on the buttons. It opens into a wide V, showing off a bit of cleavage and reaching almost to her shoulders. With her midriff exposed, you can see her toned abs beneath her top. A flattering pair of high-waisted jeans snugly grip her hips and thighs, adorned with a shiny belt that draws the eye.

No! Sister! Bad! Stop it!

Peeling your eyes away to look back at her face, you see that she's blushing brightly, swaying side to side a little under your gaze. She murmurs, crossing an arm behind her back. "I thought... y'know, since you own me, that you'd want me to look nice. I have a lot of making up to do, for all I've been doing."

You just stare, brain too fried to come up with a decent response. Instead, she continues. "Actually, that's what I wanted to ask. How long have you owned me? Since when? Why have you been letting me treat you so badly?" The indignant tone of her voice snaps you back into the waking world and you shake your head.

"Tess, honestly, how long is this going to go on? I don't own you! You can't own people! What do you even get out of a stunt like this?" Better still, how did she get Mom and Dad in on it? You're more than a little upset, but you still don't know how to process the absurdity of even humoring her. She looks put off by your answer, rolling up the sleeve of the arm you wrote on.

"I wouldn't make this up, Gavin. I don't want to be your property, but here it is, plain as can be." She points down at your signature. "See? 'Gavin Shaw.' What more do you need?"

You raise your voice, hands thrown in the air. "That's just marker! You could just wipe it off!" Theresa recoils from you a little as you shout, clearly worried that she's upset you again. Playing into this weird game, you take a breath and calm down.

"Go ahead. Wipe it off. Then I won't 'own' you anymore."

Your sister nods and smiles, grabbing some tissues from her nightstand. She starts wiping vigorously, seeming to be making progress. Not one easily grossed out, she even spits on her arm to get it wet, taking the ink up and off her arm. After a few moments, she stops, her smile falling away to a look of disbelief.

Not sure what the problem is, you take a look as well. Your eyes go wide, mouth going slack. Having just watched her scrub the hell out of her forearm, you know that the marker should all be gone. And, admittedly, most of it is. The message has been wiped away, only leaving a small, dark scuff on the skin. She could get that off easily with some soap.

The part that blows your mind is that your name is still as clear and dark as when you wrote it. It isn't smudged or faded, as if she hadn't even touched it.

With a long groan, Theresa flops back onto her bed, feet dangling off the side. "I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Good one, Gavin. Can't say I didn't deserve that."

"Wait, now hold on." You rub your chin, trying to parse what just happened. Stepping over to Theresa's desk, you rummage around until you find a notepad and a pencil. As you sit down next to her on the bed, she pushes herself up to see what you're up to. You hold up the notepad before writing anything. "Okay. Whose is this?"

Her pouty lips frown at you, confused. "Um... is this a trick question?"

"Just answer, please."

"I mean, it's mine. Technically, since you own me, you own my stuff by association, but I would still say it's mine."

"Okay." You nod to her as you write your name across the first page of the pad, showing it to her again. "And now?"

There's a moment of pause in Theresa's response, her eyelids fluttering a bit. "It's yours, of course."

"But you just said a second ago that it's yours." You'd forgotten about the headache you woke up with, but fear it's starting to come back. Tess might be feeling the same, struggling to find logic in this line of questioning.

"Yeah, but... now it has your name on it. So it's yours." Her eyes flick between you and the pad, unsure.

You hand her the pencil, eraser up. "Okay. Try to erase my name off the page."

She sighs, annoyed, not about to fall for the same 'trick' twice. Still, she does as you command, running the eraser over the page in an attempt to take your name off. Nothing happens. You see the rubbery flakes of the eraser wearing away, but the pencil lead doesn't fade.

"Oh wow," she grumbles, deadpan. "What a surprise. It didn't come off. Amazing."

Ignoring her, you take the pencil back and try erasing it yourself. With minimal effort, the letters of your name come up and away, leaving a scuffed but otherwise blank piece of paper. You hold up the notepad, bearing down on your sister with your intensity.

"Now whose is this?"

Theresa leans away from you, getting worried. "It's... mine?"

Exasperated, you throw the pad and pencil at Theresa's desk, making her gasp unhappily. "Hey!" She doesn't try to stop you or berate you, simply frowning hard.

You can feel your mind trying to unravel at the absurdity of these implications. Under the hypothetical assumption that Theresa isn't just a really good actor, and somehow got your parents to go along with some epic prank, then it's just like your dream. You own anything that has your name on it.

Anything... including Theresa herself.

You're still not convinced. There has to be a more surefire way to prove this.