Chapter 2: That's a story for another wine party, Darlin'.

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(DAY 179) Phillip just left the house, so I decided to write. I'm leaving this place tomorrow, so I know I'll have a better chance to find Merle and Daryl. I know I never wrote about how I met the Dixon boys. I remember that day well. I happened to meet their shitty father that same day. Of course, I wish I didn't. He was such an asshole. The day Daryl took me back to his house, Will was drunk and in what Merle called 'the worst mood of his whole life'. I learned that day that my life wasn't really all that bad.

Here's the story: Denise thought it would be nice if I tried going to counseling at the church down the street. It was close enough that I could walk, so I couldn't make an excuse about it being a long trip or anything. I went twice in my whole life, but the first time was the only time that mattered. When I walked in the building, I tried to search and see if I recognized anyone, but of course, I joined a group of depressed people with extreme family problems AND I didn't know any of them. Then again, it wasn't like I had friends before the Dixons.

We did that cliché thing, sitting in a circle and telling everyone something about each other. For a group talking about personal issues, these people were really peppy. When it got to me, I said something a little less peppy. It was something along the lines of:

"I'm Cory, 22 years old, and I'm soon finishing college for Cosmetology, but I don't really enjoy it that much. It's just for the money so I can buy a car and a house and leave this Godforsaken place. I live in that yellow house at the beginning of Elm street."

Once I said those words, the lady in charge (we'll call her Peggy) looked at me differently than the rest. For the others, she nodded and smiled, giving a little comment of advice. For me, she didn't smile or nod. She stared at me with her face all twisted like she just smelt something bad. Instead of advice, I got: "I met your parents. They seem nice enough."

The word 'parents' really set me off. In response to that, I almost screamed at her: "They just take care of me. They're not my parents. If you wanna call them parents, then they're bad at it." To that, Peggy tried to tell me that they were legally my parents since they adopted me, but I just shook my head and refused. I also learned that day that I really did need counseling. She shared a word of advice that stuck in my head for the rest of my life.

"There's no such thing as a bad person. It's just a person with bad qualities, often misunderstood."

But that's not the part of the story where I met my boys. The man in the seat next to me seemed different than the rest. After Peggy finished interrogating me about my life, she pressured this guy, who really didn't want to talk about himself. It took a while before she got any info out of him. I still remember his sour tone and the snarl on his face as he sat back, his arms crossed.

"Daryl Dixon, 31, unemployed."

Peggy was unsatisfied started asking him stuff: "Do you live around here? Why did you come to counseling? What's happened in your life?"

Daryl really didn't want to give out his life story, and I later learned that he wanted to get up and walk out of the building that very second, but he answered her because he knew he wasn't ever coming back to the group meetings: "I live in the shit-hole with the water tower with my brother. My mom died a good few years ago from a house fire, and my dad's an asshole with a drinking problem. My brother started following a dark path and just got back a month ago from the military, so I moved out of my dad's place and in with him. I'm literally only here for the free food."

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