Let Me In (12 page)

14

Kori

              I force myself back to class after Thanksgiving break.  Nothing is the same.  Everywhere I look reminds me of Tuck.  There’s the tree that we used to sit under to study.  There’s the classroom that I pulled him into so we could make out.  There’s the table that we always sat at in the cafeteria.  I quit listening to the radio because every song reminds me of him.  I don’t pick up my guitar because all I can think about is how I would sit on the bed and play Tuck’s requests.  I detest driving my Bronco because it forces me to remember Tuck helping me work on it.  Everything reminds me of Tucker Hayes, and I fucking hate it and love it.  How did I manage to ruin my life so quickly?
              Two weeks after our breakup, or “when Kori went all psycho bitch and threw away the best thing that ever happened to her” as Avery so lovingly calls it, my two best friends decide to stage an intervention. I’m lying on my bed staring at the white plaster ceiling, forcing my mind not to think about Tuck and how I heard that blonde bimbo from the cafeteria bragging about the blow job she gave him.  It hurts to think that he’s moved on while I’m stuck moping.
              Avery and Chelsea storm into my room and fling the door open.  I jump as it hits the wall and bounces back.  I’m too leaden and listless to tell them to get out.
              They both stand in front of me, hands on their hips and eyes blazing.  If I wasn’t so desolate, I would find the scene quite humorous.
              “Kori,” Chelsea calmly begins.  I can already tell they are going with the good cop/bad cop routine.  “It’s been two weeks.  Why don’t you get ready and we’ll go out?  It will make you feel better.”
              “No.”
              Here comes the bad cop portion provided by Avery.  “Dammit, Kori!  I’ve watched you mope around for the past two weeks.  You’re the one who left, so you have nobody to blame for this shit but yourself.  Quit feeling so fucking sorry for yourself and get dressed.”
              “Go.  Away.”  I really wish they would just get the hell out of my room.  It’s so much easier just to be miserable than to expend the energy to fake happiness.
                Chelsea starts up her good cop routine again.  “If you’re this miserable, why don’t you just give him a call?  I’m positive that he would love to hear from you.”
              And I’m positive that he won’t.  Why does he need me when he has Miss Blonde Blow Job Giver?
              “What are you talking about?” Avery shoots out.  Apparently I said that last part out loud.
                I sigh heavily.  “I heard a girl talking about the blow job that she gave Tuck the other day.  He’s moved on.  It’s over.”
              “When was the last time you turned your phone on?”
              I shrug my shoulders.  Who cares about phones when my world has officially gone down the shitter?
              Chelsea digs through my purse and fishes out my phone.  She turns it on and waves it in front of my face.  Holy hell, there are countless missed calls from Tuck.  There are even a few voice messages.
              Avery softens her voice and actually looks sad.  “Chase says that he’s miserable, Kori.  He still loves you.  There have been no other girls, so don’t use that as an excuse.  Give him a chance.”
              I nod my head and they both pat my leg sympathetically.  They exit my room and leave me staring up at the ceiling once again, wondering if Tuck really does still love me.

              I’ve managed to avoid Tuck for the entire month after Thanksgiving.  He has called every day, and I’ve been forced to take new routes to class just to steer clear of him.  I’m torn up inside; part of me wants to call him and beg his forgiveness, and the other part thinks he overstepped his bounds and I should stay away from him.  The letter he wrote me is falling apart from being handled and cried on so many times.  My heart hurts constantly, and I’m afraid if I show weakness and let him back in, it will never recover from the inevitable betrayal.
              It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m heading home from work.  I park my Bronco in the driveway and slowly make my way to the door.  It’s been a long day and I want nothing more but to let a hot shower wash all of my sorrows away.  Then I plan to drink a couple bottles of wine.  Nothing says Christmas cheer like a Christmas hangover. 
              I stop in front of the door and stare down at the beautifully wrapped present in front of me.  The tag on the box has my name on it.  I have a sneaky suspicion who it’s from, and I don’t know how I feel about it.  I’m certainly not over Tuck; I don’t know if I will ever be over him.  I think my love for him is the type that only comes around once in a lifetime.  We both were idiots, but after living a month of self-imposed solitary confinement, I’m starting to believe that all of this was my fault.  I overreacted to something that Tuck said out of love.  He wasn’t trying to hurt me; he genuinely had my well-being in mind.  Now I’m too proud and stubborn to admit that I was wrong, so I suppose it’s fitting that my punishment will be a life of misery and aloneness.
              I pick up the box and let myself into the house.  Avery and Chelsea are staying with their own families tonight.  They offered to stay with me, but I waved them away, insisting that they godo their yearly traditions.  There’s no sense in everybody being miserable along with me.  I go to my room and sit cross-legged on the bed.  I eagerly pull the wrapping off the box and lift the lid off.  I’m puzzled when I find a DVD inside.  I pop it into my computer and anxiously await its content.  Tears spring to my eyes when I see it’s a video recording of my open mic performance in Nashville.  The irony of my song choice isn’t lost on me; sometimes I wish that Tuck was the one that got away.  If I had never met him, I wouldn’t know the pain that I’m in right now.  Most of the time I’m thankful for the time that I did have with him.  Even though our love didn’t turn out the way I had envisioned, what we did have was beautiful.  What’s the old saying?  ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.  I have a new appreciation for the depth of those words. 
              I look in the box and see a note folded in the bottom.  I pick it up and read the four simple lines he wrote on it. 

This moment
with you was complete perfection. 
You are a beautiful miracle. 
Every day I think of you and love you.
I will never give up on us.

              What did I ever do to deserve the love of this man?  He is much too good for me.  Before I can over think it, I pick up my phone and send him a text.

I got the recording.  Thank you. 

              My finger hovers over the send button for at least thirty seconds.  There are so many other things that I want to say to him. 
I love you.  You’re the most wonderful man alive.  Please forgive me.
  But I don’t say any of those things.  Instead I press send before I can chicken out about the inadequate message that I am sending him.  My phone pings back almost immediately.

I’m glad you liked it.  How are you doing?

              I want to answer him honestly and tell him that I’m fucking miserable.  I’ve lost weight, and I can’t sleep.  My diet consists mostly of granola bars and alcohol, neither of which I’m proud of. Every song that I play is dark and depressing, much like the mood that I seem to be perpetually stuck in.  I want to tell him all of that, but I can’t reveal too much.  Instead I opt for something simpler, even though it is a lie.

Pretty good.
  How about you?

              I cringe at the lameness of my response.  It’s official, I am a loser.  I only wait a few minutes before his reply comes in.  I try to act like I’m not dying to snatch it up, but who am I kidding? 

Not so hot.  I’m in love with this beautiful girl who is super pissed off at me.  I keep trying to apologize and win her back with my charms, but so far she is immune. 
Any advice?

             
My heart is beating so fast and hard that I’m afraid it might pump right out of my chest.  I fight to keep the grin off of my face, but it’s an impossible battle.  I do an inner happy dance as I type my response.

Don’t give up on her.  She’s an idiot if she lets you get away.

              I don’t plan on running back to Tuck right at this moment.  I have shit in my own life that I must get straight before I can invite anybody in, but I’m hoping that Tuck will think I’m worth it and he won’t give up on me.

I’m glad to hear that.  I’m definitely not giving up.  Sweet dreams, my beautiful songbird.  I love you.

              I smile happily as I read his last text.  Maybe things will work out for the best.

              Christmas break is long over, and I’m attempting to drown my sorrows in my last semester of classes.  I have no idea what I’m going to do after I graduate.  I’ve played every open mic night around town this year (with the exception of the weeks post-breakup), and it makes me long for a career doing what I love.  I have immersed myself in studying and my internship in hopes that it will keep my mind from straying to Tuck.
              We’ve texted countless times since Christmas Eve.  Our chats stay light-hearted for the most part, but Tuck always makes certain that he ends every conversation by telling me that he loves me.  I long to type those words back, but I’m playing it safe. Our new friendship even evolves a bit when I agree to meet him for coffee. 
              I walk into the coffee house on campus, and my eyes immediately settle on Tuck.  He looks as good as ever with his tousled hair and worn blue jeans.  Instead of his usual band tshirt, he is wearing a hoodie.  I long to reach out and wrap my arms around him.  He stands up when I approach his table and gives me a slight hug.  I can tell that he wants to do more, but he isn’t sure how I will react.  His eyes flicker up and down my body as his mouth pulls into a frown.
              “You’ve lost weight, Kor.”
              I flush at his observation.  I know why I have lost weight.  Granola bars, vodka, and wine will do that to you.  If I make it through this year with my liver fully functioning, it will be nothing short of a miracle. 
              I shrug my shoulders as I attempt to be blasé about his scrutiny.  “I haven’t had much appetite.”
              His eyes look morose as I make that confession.  Then he shakes his head and tries to steer the conversation into safer waters.  “You still look beautiful.  Tell me about your classes.  This last semester is going to kill me.  What about you?”
              I sigh in relief as we spend the next hour filling the air with useless topics.  Never once do we get close to the incident at Thanksgiving.  Finally I have to excuse myself in order to make it to my next class. 
              “This was nice, Tucky.”  His face breaks into a huge smile at the use of my old nickname.  Dammit, so much for playing it cool.  “Thanks for coffee.  I’ll talk to you later.”
              He steps forward and wraps his arms around me.  I breathe in his familiar smell and revel in the comfort and security of his arms.  He slowly leans forward and presses a kiss on my lips.  Before I can respond, he pulls away. 
              “Thanks for meeting me, Kor.  I’ll see you later.”  With those words, I hurry out to my next class.  I’m not quite out of the door yet when I hear him call after me, “I love you, babe.”  My steps falter at those four words that I have heard him speak so many times.  I feel a few bricks in the wall that I have rebuilt around my heart crumble to the floor. 

15

Kori

              The most dreaded day of the year is here – my birthday.  This day represents the day that I lost everything, and I have never celebrated since my catastrophic sixteenth birthday.  I have plans this year, but they aren’t celebratory plans.  I’ve decided to make the two hour drive to the state penitentiary and confront my dad.
              This decision was extremely hard for me to make, but I feel like if I can do this, maybe I can begin to put forth an honest effort to win Tuck back.  I’ve thought back to our fight so many times over the past three months, and I feel as if part of him was right.  If I want to move on with my life, then I have to go see my dad.  I have no intention of forgiving him, but I suppose I’m looking for closure.
              Nobody knows my plans for today.  I knew that if I told Avery and Chelsea, they would want to come with me, and this is something that I need to do by myself.  My old Bronco eats up the miles between Alexandria and the state pen entirely too quickly.  Before I know it, the two hours have passed, and I’m pulling up to the maximum security gate, eyeing the tall fences topped with razor wire.   I take a moment to appreciate the metaphor for my life.  Hopefully this quest for closure will help knock down the razor wire-topped walls in my life. I sigh in hopeful resignation as I give my information to the officer at the gate and he directs me where to go.
              Nerves are eating my insides, and I’m positive that I will have an ulcer by the end of the day.  I tug nervously on my leather jacket as I make my way to the entrance.  The guard at the door instructs me to place my keys in a bowl and step through the metal detector.  Thankfully, I don’t set off anything and am instructed to pass through.  The same guard directs me where to go for visitation, and I set off in that direction.  I give the next guard the name of the inmate that I am here to visit, then I take a seat and wait. 
              After a short wait, I look up and see a man being escorted through the doors into the visitation room.  He doesn’t really look like I remember him; this man has gray hair and is skinny.  His skin is sallow, and his arms aren’t muscular like they used to be.  I feel my body involuntarily flinching as it remembers the pain that he used to inflict upon me.  He meets my gaze and his face becomes stony.  This definitely won’t be a warm reunion for either of us.
              His guard leads him to the table where I’m seated and pushes him into the seat.  We sit and stare at each other in silence. 
              “What do you want?”  He breaks the silence first.
              I tilt my chin up and meet his eyes confidently.  “I’m not certain.  Mostly just to see you with my own two eyes.  You’ve made my life miserable for as long as I can remember, and I just wanted to let it go.”
              He chuckled darkly and without humor.  “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?  You and your mom made
my
life miserable.  If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t be in this hell hole.”
              His words cause red to wash over my eyes.  I try to keep my voice low since I’ve been warned that yelling will get me escorted off the premises.  “
We
made your life miserable?  Who the fuck do you think you are?  You murdered her and shot me, you bastard.  For the past seven years, I’ve been labeled as a murderer’s daughter.  Don’t you dare try to avoid the blame.”  My body is trembling in rage, and I’m wishing that I had never come here.
              “A murderer’s daughter, huh?  That’s funny.  You’re a whore’s daughter, not a murderer’s.  You aren’t my daughter.”
              It’s funny how there are certain moments in your life that you know will alter the course that you’ve chosen.  This is one of those moments.  How do you react when you discover that your entire existence has been a lie?  His words make sense to me.  I had always wondered why I didn’t look a thing like him.  He never showed me any affection.  It doesn’t even occur to me to doubt that he’s telling the truth.  His words ring of honesty.
              Even though I know he is telling the truth, I am still shaken to the core.  “What?  What are you talking about?  If you aren’t my father, who is?”
              “You mom cheated on me a few years after we got married.  I didn’t find out about it until a couple years after you were born.  I was always suspicious of the fact that you didn’t look a thing like me, but your mother always denied it.  One day I found some letters that she had written to him, and I confronted her.  She claimed he had no idea she was married.  I wasn’t mad at him; I hadn’t made a vow to the bastard.  Instead I was furious at your mom.  I spent the rest of our marriage hating her and you.”
              As horrible as it is, a part of me understands where he’s coming from.  I would have been furious to find out that my child wasn’t mine.  However, that didn’t give him any justification to abuse my mother and me all those years, and it certainly didn’t justify him murdering my mother and shooting me.
              “So who is my father?”  I don’t know if I want to know who my real father is.  I’m still in shock over the revelation that my actual dad isn’t a murderer, but I’m conflicted about learning my real dad’s identity.  Has he known about me all of these years?  Why didn’t he save me from the hell that I lived?  Maybe he’s ashamed of me and wants nothing to do with me.  Before I can tell my father, I mean John – I no longer have to refer to him as my dad - that I don’t want to know, he tells me.
              “His name is Clark Powers.  He used to live in Monroe.”  He looks at me with the same stony expression that he had when I got here.  “Now leave.  I have nothing more to say to you.”
              I take this last chance to relieve my chest of some of what I need to say.  “It was never my fault that Mom cheated on you.  I’m sorry that she did that, but that gave you no excuse for everything that you did.  You’re a miserable man, and you’ll die alone.  I hope it was all worth it, you son of a bitch.”  And with those words, I turn on my heel and leave the building as quickly as possible.
              I’m willing myself not to break down before I get home.  My mind is reeling from everything that I’ve learned, and I don’t know how much longer I can make it before I crumple under the strain of it all.  I don’t remember any of the drive back to Alexandria as my thoughts whirl around in my head, trying to make sense of the clusterfuck that has become my life.  Before I know it, my Bronco has made its way into the parking lot of Sawyer’s.  I distantly wonder how I came to be here but decide not to overanalyze it.  Apparently my subconscious knew exactly what I needed.
              I make my way into the bar and find a seat in a booth as far from the door as possible.  I have every intention of getting absolutely shitfaced, and I want to do it far from prying eyes.  Sure, I could have gone home and drowned my sorrows in the privacy of my own home, but it just seemed too pathetic to drink by myself at home.  Maybe my sensibilities have been scrambled a bit.
              The waitress stops by to ask what I want, and I order three shots of whiskey and two rum and cokes.  I know I will pay for the fact that I am mixing alcohol, but that is not high on my list of priorities.  As soon as she brings my drinks, I slam the first two shots back.  Then I grab one of the rum and cokes and begin sipping it. 
              “I hate to see a beautiful girl like you drink alone.  Mind if I join you?”  I eyeball the guy who has interrupted my drinking.  I suppose he is attractive, but he doesn’t compare to my Tuck.
              “Fuck off,” I snarl as I continue to drink.
              He stalks off from my table, mumbling “Bitch” just loud enough for me to hear.  I shrug my shoulders as I continue to drink.  When I reach the bottom of my glass, I pick up the third shot and down it. 
              By this time, I am well on my way to being drunk.  I haven’t eaten anything all day, and four drinks within a thirty minute time frame apparently isn’t something to be taken lightly.  I am no lightweight when it comes to drinking, so I am not particularly worried about throwing up all over the place.  I am, however, worried about being able to stay vertical to go pee. 
              I wrap my hands around my last drink.  I am debating ordering another round of shots since my others were gone so quickly.  I gently place my head on the table as the day’s events tumble around in my head.  I quickly become angry – angry at my mom, at John, at myself.  Did my grandparents know of my mom’s indiscretion?  If so, that is two more people to be added to my shit list.  My anger becomes a monster that is clawing and chewing its way through my insides.  I don’t know if happiness is ever going to be obtainable for me.
              I can’t stop my mind as it drifts back to my childhood. I distinctly recall my tenth birthday. 
“What the fuck do you want out of me?” my dad screamed at my mom.  “Do you want me to say that I love you, that I want her?  Do you want me to lie to make you feel better?  God, you’re so pathetic.”  SLAP! I could hear my mother sobbing in their bedroom.  I cowered down under a blanket in the living room, reading the new book that I had gotten that day.  I started humming a song in an attempt to block out the sounds of their fighting.  I tensed up when I heard my father come storming out of his room.  He stopped in front of the couch and ripped the blanket off of me.  “You’re just as bad as she is, you little shit.  All you do is take from me.  You’re both ungrateful little bitches.”  He ripped the book out of my hand and threw it across the room.  I willed myself not to cry; I had learned long ago that tears just made him angrier.  SLAP!  My head jerked around as his hand left a burning spot on my face. 
              “You need anything else?”  My waitress, God bless her, interrupts my thoughts before I completely drown in the shithole of my childhood.
              “Yeah, two more shots.”  My tongue feels thick, and I am afraid that I am slurring my words.  Shit, I can’t let on that I’m drunk; they won’t serve me anymore alcohol.  I finish my rum and coke and sit up straighter when the waitress brings my other two shots over.  She looks so familiar, but in my angry drunken haze, I am unable to place her name.
              “You okay, Kori?  Do I need to call anybody for you?”  I wave her concerns away. 
              “Nobody to call.  I just want to drink.  I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, so please just let me drink.”  I am willing to get down on my knees and beg if I have to; I will do anything to keep the liquor flowing to drown my troubles.

              Two hours and several more drinks later, I am lying flat on my back in my booth staring up at the grease and smoke stained ceiling.  The day’s events are still in my head, but now they are doing a drunken stumble through my head.  I suddenly feel somebody shake my leg, and I prop up on one elbow and view my latest disturbance.
              “Tuuuckkyyy!  Whasyadoin, hotsuff?” 
              “Shit, Kori.  How much have you had to drink?”
              I shrug my shoulders which causes me to lose my balance and fall back onto the booth’s seat.  “Idonugh,” I drunkenly slur. 
              Tuck grabs my shoulders and sets me upright against the wall.  He grabs a bottle of water off the table and holds it up to my mouth.  “Drink,” he commands.
              I do as he instructs, relishing the cool water that flows down my parched mouth.  Who knew that drinking so much could make you so thirsty?  When I finish drinking the entire bottle, he motions for me to get up.  I attempt to focus on the Tuck in the middle since there are at least three of them standing in front of me.  I guess he notices my complete lack of cooperation, so he grabs me around the waist and lifts me out of the booth.  I am so drunk that I cannot feel my feet, and I am thankful that Tuck supports me as we make our way out to the parking lot.
              He gently lifts me into his truck, buckles me in, and hands me an empty bag.  “If you have to puke, please do it in this.”  All I can do is grunt my assent.

              The next thing that I am aware of is pain in my entire head.  My temples are throbbing, and my eyeballs feel as if somebody is gouging into them with a screwdriver.  My mouth tastes like ass, and a bunch of leprechauns must have been dancing on my bladder because I really have to pee.  I slowly pry my eyes open and look around me.  I am in Tuck’s bed.  Huh.  I look down at myself.  I am still dressed, minus my shoes.  I’m not quite sure what to think.  I look beside me and feel all the breath get punched out of me as I look into Tuck’s concerned eyes. 
              “Are you feeling okay?” 
              I close my eyes as I think about his question.  All of the events of the day come tumbling back to me.  My mom’s betrayal.  My old dad’s abuse.  My new dad’s existence.  My drunkenness.  “No,” I croak out.  I’m not sure if I will ever be okay again.
              I hold up my finger to indicate that I want him to wait a minute, and I stagger my way into Tuck’s bathroom.  After I empty my bladder that apparently has the capacity of an Olympic sized swimming pool, I chance a look in the mirror.  What I am met with isn’t pretty.  I look like the poster child for meth abuse.  My hair is gnarled up on top of my head, my eyes are bloodshot with mascara smudged underneath, and my clothes are rumpled and reek of alcohol.  I reach behind me and turn on the shower.  I give the water time to get hot, then I peel off my clothes and step into the cleansing spray. 
              My heart gives a lurch as I open Tuck’s shampoo and lather my hair.  The scent that fills the bathroom is a part of Tuck, and it hurts to be around it.  I finish cleaning my alcohol laden body and stand with my face tilted up to the warm spray.  I try to push all thoughts of my life out of my head and simply enjoy the moment. It isn’t long before tears are rolling down my face, mixing with the warm water from the shower head.  I haven’t allowed myself to cry all day, and the dam couldn’t hold any longer.  
              When I finally get myself under control and the tear tracks are washed away, I hear the bathroom door open. 
              “Here’s a glass of water and some aspirin.  I also grabbed you some clothes.  Do you need anything else?”
              “Um, yeah, a towel.”
              I hear Tuck rummage around in the bathroom closet as he gets me a towel.  He throws it over the shower curtain rod and quietly leaves the room.  I dry off and grab a brush off the counter.  I run it through my hair until it is snarl-free, then I squeeze the excess water out of it and dress in the clothes that Tuck brought me.  It is just a pair of his boxers and one of his tshirts, but it isn’t wrinkled or saturated with bar smells, so I’m thankful for them.
              I step out of the bathroom into Tuck’s room.  He is lounging on the bed with a worried look on his face.  He jumps up and wraps his arms around me. 
              “Kori, what’s going on?  What happened?”  His concern for me makes my heart swell.  He backs us over to the bed and sits down on it, leaning against the headboard.  He positions me so that I am resting on his chest.  It reminds me of the night that he begged me to take a chance on us.  That seems like a million years ago.
              I draw a deep breath as I prepare myself to tell my story.  Tuck is the only person who I want to share this with right now.  That lets me know that he is the person who I am supposed to have in my life to share all of my secrets and hopes and dreams with.  I want to share everything with Tuck, but I am so afraid that I have lost that opportunity. 
              “I went to see my dad today.”  My words have the effect that I had expected.  Tuck’s eyes widen and he squeezes me to his chest.
              “Why?  What made you want to do that?”
              I have to back up in order to explain everything to him.  “Tuck, I’m so sorry for what happened on Thanksgiving.  I never should have gotten so mad at you; you were just trying to help me.”
              He holds up his hand to interrupt me.  “Kori, you don’t have to apologize for that.  It was my fault.  I should have respected you enough not to push you to do something that I knew you didn’t want to do.  It’s none of my business whether you see your dad or not.  I never should have implied that you aren’t strong, and I’m so sorry that you felt that I wanted to cage you.  I never wanted to do that.”
              His eyes are full of sorrow as he gives me the apology that he’s wanted to give me for the past three months.  I feel like complete shit because I know that it’s my fault that he has suffered.
                “No, Tuck, you were right.  I needed to let go of my past because it holds me back.  I know I can’t change everything that has happened to me, but I can’t hide behind it or use it as an excuse either.  I have to let people in.  I want to let you in, Tuck.  Do you still want me?” 
              He tucks my hair behind my ears and brings my head to his.  Our foreheads are touching, and we’re looking into each other’s eyes.  All thoughts of my head killing me due to the copious amounts of alcohol that I ingested are gone.  Tuck brushes my lips with his, and I swear it’s like coming home after being away at war.  He teases my mouth open with his tongue, and I’m thankful that I rinsed my mouth with Tuck’s mouthwash earlier.  Our kiss is hot and sweet, desperate and soothing.  It’s everything I need in this moment. 
              All too soon, I pull away.  “I’ve really missed you, Tuck, but I have so much to tell you.  I want nothing more than to lose myself to you for the next twenty-four hours or so, but I can’t run anymore.”  He squeezes my hips to let me know that he’s with me, and I launch back into my story.
              “Like I said, I went to see my dad today.  Today’s my birthday, and it’s also the anniversary of the day that my dad killed my mom and shot me.”  Tuck’s thumb is making circles on my hip and is soothing me.  “I wanted to confront him about what he did.  I’ve been so angry for so long, and I’m tired of it.  I’m tired of not letting people get close, and I’m tired of pushing people away.  I’m tired of not having you.”
              “You never quit having me, Kori.  I was always yours,” he interrupts me.  I smile at his perfect words. He always knows just what to say to me.
              I continue on.  “It was horrible.  I got there and he just asked me what I wanted.  I told him that he had made my life miserable, and I just wanted to let it go.  Then he told me that my mom and I ruined his life.  I was in shock.  I didn’t understand how he could say that when he was the one who ruined our lives.”  I catch myself unconsciously rubbing the scar in my side that will forever be a reminder of all that I have lost.  I take a moment to compose myself before I continue.  “That pissed me off so badly, Tuck.  I asked him who the fuck he was to do that.  For the past seven years I’ve been labeled a murderer’s daughter because of him.”  My voice breaks as I recount my conversation.
              Tuck brings his hand up to cup my face.  “No, Kori.  You aren’t a murderer’s daughter; you’re a smart, beautiful, talented woman.”
              I smile weakly at him.  “You’re right, Tuck.  I’m not a murderer’s daughter.  My so-called father made certain that he pointed that out to me.  Instead he informed me that I am a whore’s daughter since apparently my mom cheated on him after they were married.  My dad found out a couple years after I was born.  That’s why he hated us all those years, and that’s why he abused us.  That’s why he ultimately killed her.”  I can’t hold back the tears any longer.  I thought I had gotten all the tears out of my system in the shower.  I don’t know how I have any tears left in my body.  Tuck holds me and lets me cry until I am once again dried up.
              “Damn, Kor.  I did not see any of this coming.  Does he know who your real father is?”
              I nod my head.  “Yeah, his name is Clark Powers.  He told me that he used to live in Monroe.  I don’t know if he still does or not.”
              “Are you going to look him up?  Do you want to see him?”
              “I don’t know.  How do I even begin that conversation? ‘Hi, my name is Kori O’Malley, and you had an affair with my mom.  You’re my father.  Surprise!’”  I shake my head in confusion.  “Do I even want to meet him?  What if he knew what my father was doing to us all those years and he never came forth?  He could have saved me.”
              “I understand that, but what if he has no clue that you even exist?  I just don’t want you living your life under a cloud of ‘what ifs’.”
              I contemplate his words for a moment and decide that he has a point.  “You’re right.  The whole point of today was to let go.  If I want to move forward with my life, I have to at least make an attempt to meet him.  But not right now.  I need a few days to come to grips with all of this.  And I need to get over the enormous amount of alcohol that I consumed.”
              Anger washes over Tuck’s face.  “What the fuck were you thinking, Kori?  You could have killed yourself.  I know that you were just wanting to forget, but please don’t ever do anything like that again.  It would kill me if something happened to you.  Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”  Tuck’s thumb brushes against my bottom lip as he pleas with me.  At this moment, I’m willing to give him anything in the world.  Need a kidney?  Take mine.  Need a warm body?  Please,
please
take mine.
              “I know I was stupid, Tuck.  But I didn’t know what else to do.  And I swear I wasn’t going to drive.  I had every intention of staying in that booth until I passed out.  I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to decide how I would get home.”
              I snuggle into Tuck’s chest and listen to the soothing beat of his heart.  This is the happiest that I’ve been in three long, miserable months.  I know that Tuck and I still have things to talk about, but I’m perfectly content with putting those things off.  For now I’m satisfied with being wrapped up in his arms; I don’t need anything else.