Truth

                                    

                                          

Niki
Things were going really well. That didn't mean that I couldn't feel myself fucking it up. He treated me like a princess, even after I made it clear that I wasn't. Most the time that's exactly what I needed, but at other times...
I've got a friend, a good guy, smart. He can only stay with girls that cheat on him. And he knows it,  he just can't help it. If a girl doesn't stomp all over his heart, he loses interest. Meanwhile, he's miserable all the time. 
I worked with a girl that got beat up all the time.  Even showed up with a broken arm once. Did she leave him? Call the cops on his ass? She stayed with him, tried even harder to keep him happy. It's like it was important to her, she had to prove she loved him by sticking with him despite the abuse. 
That's me, basically, except in my case it's being treated like trash, like I wasn't good enough. There's all this pressure to being good, to being worthy. 
Knowing this about myself barely helped. Tell me I'm too fat, I eat like a bird. I lose the three pounds, earn the good girl, I blush with warmth. But follow that up with doubt that I can keep it off? I'm yours. 
When I can look at myself objectively, which isn't often, I know I'm in great shape, know I'm pretty, know I can dance, and fuck, as and suck dick, and...you get the idea. The rest of the time I know I'm not good enough, and if the man I'm with can't see it, doesn't look down his nose at me, then he is either an idiot or a liar. Petre seemed to like everything about me, and it was quickly becoming a problem.
I needn't have worried. 
"Niki, I had one of my business associates look into your past. I'm going to need you to be a big girl tonight so we can discuss it."
"Ok," I said, swallowing. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment how many lies of omission hung between us. I told him how old I was in a rush. 
"Yes, that came as a bit of a surprise," he said, but with a bit of humor in it. 
"You're ok with that?"
He gave me a shrug. "Doesn't make a difference to me. This, however," he said, pushing a folder at me, "is completely unacceptable."
It was my academic record. He didn't have to contrive a reason to disapprove of me, find a way that I wasn't perfect. Even before I quit,  school was never a priority.
"You've been lazy. As pretty as you are, with your body, everything is easy. But in ten,  fifteen years, no one is going to care what you looked like as a teenager. I know you've been hiding, but that ended months ago and you've done nothing to better yourself. You will finish your education. You will go to college. Or you won't live here. Understood?"
"Yes, Daddy," I said automatically before remembering that he didn't want me to be a little. "Yes, Petre. I understand."
"Good," he said, pulling out a trio of envelopes. "These are for you. I haven't looked at them, you can share what's in them with me if you want,  you can throw them away unopened, too." He got up and left the room.
Three envelopes. One with each of my parents names, one that said 'save for last.
My hands shook. Did I want to know? Fear of the information contained inside had been no small part of why I tried so hard to hide from family services. If no one knew who you were, no one could tell you that your mother had died. I set that one aside.
Did I even care about my father? I felt so much resentment toward him. Fuck him and his life with no room for me. The only reason I opened it was the third envelope. I was too curious, but it seemed like I needed to have some clue what might be hiding inside before I opened it.
Inside, among some meaningless details of his current location and status, was a kick in my heart I was completely unprepared for. He. Wasn't. My father.
He'd married my mother because of me. He'd dropped out of college, given up on his dreams, for me. Then, when his daughters illness forced the wrong tests to be performed, my mothers lie was revealed. 
Pride, or shame, something kept him from telling anyone. But it had kept him from staying with my mother, kept him from loving me.
"Fuck you, John." That felt nice. Not fuck you, dad. John, some guy my mother married. 
This gave me enough bravery to open the one about my mother. The indiscretion of my conception just another reason to hate her, one more reason she deserved to be dead.
She wasn't. I hated the tears that ran down my face as I read. I wanted to hate her, too, but I didn't. She was out of prison, but living in a support facility, not quite free yet. It even included a full report from her probation officer. Drug free, doing well at her job, struggling socially. There was even a current picture. I pressed it against my chest and closed my eyes. 
Petre had brought my mother back to life and gotten rid of my asshole father forever. This only left the third envelope. I knew what it was now. My biological father, waiting inside to meet me. 
I pulled out my lighter and lit it on fire. I didn't need this sperm donor. I had a daddy.
I went to Petre and kissed him, long and soft, finding my nerve. This was so much harder as a big girl.
"I love you,  Petre."
"I love you too, Niki."