Addiction

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

His shirt collar felt as though it were choking him as he propped a foot on the nearest tombstone – a squat round thing, the etchings long since faded from view. A piece of moss, dislodged by his dress shoe, floated to the ground below as he watched, pulling deeply on a cigarette clasped between his lips. It was a beautiful day for a wedding, he had to admit. And though the little boy inside him was angry with his father for never having married his mother, he also had to admit, it was good to see the old man happy. Not that he'd ever say it, of course.

The last handful of years had seen them both drift further away from each other until they'd become little more than strangers – the odd phone call here and there had been all that had kept them connected. That had all changed when the old man had suddenly offered to pay his tuition to a top university, in return for him settling closer to his father and new stepmother. And stepsister, don't forget. He frowned. A new stepmother being almost more than the could stomach, the thought of a stepsister tagging along made his skin itch.

He'd been an only child for so long that he had no idea what to do with a sister. Maybe he should pull her hair and call her pizza-face. He shrugged. He'd figure it out, and besides, it wasn't as if he'd be a regular visitor in any case. His studies would take up most of his time, and he was sure he'd find other ways to entertain himself. College life. He grinned, pulling again on his cigarette before lowering his foot and crushing it into the fallen piece of moss. Damn, he really had to quit smoking.

The wedding bells had begun to ring, and for a moment he thought about taking off. He wasn't supposed to arrive until later, when the reception was in full swing, and he didn't know if he'd be expected to choose a seat or a side or whatever. A white stretch limo pulled up at the side of the church, a short but pretty woman emerging all in white, with a smile hiding the panic in her eyes. Logan snorted. So this was his new mother.

Behind the bride, two others climbed out, their dresses a dark red. The three of them stood for a moment, like two red roses propping up the petals of a white one between them, the breeze lifting the floaty material of their dresses. He studied them from his vantage point in the adjoining cemetery. One woman was approximately the same age as the bride – early fifties – but the other, the blond, was younger, eighteen maybe.

His breath caught in his throat as she presented him with her perfect profile, her cheeks rounded in laughter, and her blond hair where it had come loose from the pins holding it up, flying in soft curling tendrils around her face. Her scarlet lips drew the eye, and he found himself wondering what they would taste like. Cherries, perhaps. Or strawberries. Certainly, she was a thing of beauty – he was turned on just watching her move, her hips swaying with a gentle grace as she trailed after the bride.

These were strangers. All of them, his father included. He should have just stayed in his hotel room and let them get on with it without him. He was the black sheep here, wasn't he? He wondered where his new sister was. According to his father, she was a sixteen year old kid, fresh-faced and happy-go-lucky. She was probably already inside, he decided, lighting up another cigarette and drawing the smoke into his lungs. He felt a nervous laugh gather in his lungs.

What if he didn't fit in, as he suspected? What if his old man didn't even recognize him after the intervening years? What if his new stepmother was a stepmonster? He could always live in the dorms, true, but the thought of sharing a room with some asshole was not appealing in the slightest. At least if he lived with his father, he would have his own room, his own space and could keep his own hours. College dormitories had curfews. He wasn't down with that, preferring to come and go as he pleased.

Once again swallowing his nerves, and deciding he would deal with whatever came his way, he strode toward the church, slinking through the side door just as the first notes of 'Here Comes the Bride' began to play on the old organ. With all eyes on the bride, he slid into a seat at the rear with little or no fuss, the guy next to him shuffling to make room. The church was jam-packed, which was not surprising. His father always did like to show off. Looked like he'd finally found a wife he thought worthy of showing off.

The old resentment stirred, forcing him to remember some of the worst fights between his parents in those last bitter months.

“You never dress up anymore, Laura. How can you expect me to take you places when you don't even put the effort in?”

Logan shook his head, dislodging the memory. That had been a long time ago. Maybe the old man had changed. He got his first clear view of the woman who would be his new stepmother as she glided past, her chin raised and her color high. Then again, perhaps not. The woman was definitely worthy of showing off. His father was nothing if not materialistic. He supposed this woman would be the same. They usually were. All the girlfriends he'd had since he'd left Logan's mom shared the same sense of self-worth and arrogance. He'd begun to dub them all Ms. Perfect. Well this Ms. Perfect had finally attained that most coveted of statuses – Mrs. Perfect.

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