Weddings (Chapter 1)

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(NOTE: This is the sequel to "Flickering Shadows". I would highly suggest that you read it before reading this.)

Chapter 1: Weddings

            Weddings-I don't like them very much. I don't quite understand the point. People all over the world spend thousands on these big, extravagant weddings, when all they really get out of it is a piece of paper that says, "Yep, you're legally together now." Complete waste of money if you ask me. But no one does; I'm one of those lonely single people you see all the time at weddings. You know, the ones who get totally hammered and sleep with an equally lonely and, usually, single bridesmaid or groomsmen.

            I doubt I'll be getting any tonight though; it is my mother's wedding-her third wedding to be exact. All the bridesmaids will be all old and shriveled up. She threw the whole thing together in about a week and a half, because that is just the kind of person she is. She finds a man she likes and she goes after him. My mom is 55 now, and her soon-to-be-husband is 45, I think. His name is Hal (short for...something, I hope) and that is about all I know about him. That and that he has some weird obsession with trains. I'll never fully get why she likes him. But, hey, if she's happy, I'm happy for her.

            My mother had a succession of bad marriages. She first got married when she was nineteen and a "reckless, young thing" as she says. That marriage lasted a few years before he left her for a younger girl. Her second marriage came at the age of twenty-seven. I was born three years later, and my sister, Heather, five years after me. My dad was abusive, towards us and toward my mother. When I was sixteen, I snapped and fought back. I hit him in just the right spot in the neck, and he died then and there. That is why I was sent to a mental hospital in the first place anyway; a jail alternative. Hal seems nice and all, but I just do not want to deal with having another crappy dad to deal with.

            I also thought I would be married by now. I am 25 years old, currently unemployed but I've got a good résumé, and not bad looking if I do say so myself. Whenever I think of being single, I think of her. It is so hard not to-her departure from the world was so sudden, and so preventable.

            Lucy Arnold was the love of my life. I was seventeen when I met her in a mental hospital. She was there for murdering her family, and was seen as unfit to stand a trial. Not much of a dream girl, right? Well, you did not know her. I was an undercover journalist for the Denver newspaper. I was writing about her; I needed to get the inside scoop. And as luck would have it, I fell for her, and she fell for me. But she found out what I was writing and was furious; she dumped me then and there. Five years later-when I was 23-I found her in Buffalo, Wyoming. Turns out I had a daughter I never knew of. Her name was Reagan and she was a beautiful six year old girl. Tragically she died from a broken neck from falling down the stairs. Lucy blamed herself and committed suicide after...after I left her too. I'll never forgive myself for leaving, ever.

            So that is my story. I lost it all two years ago, and only now am I trying to regain some of my life. I am not actively looking to date, but if the right girl came along I certainly wouldn't object. But would anyone even want me? Since her death I have become angry. I am becoming more like my father everyday-his rage, his alcoholic tendencies. Whenever I start feeling sad again, and not numb or angry, I pick up a bottle and start drinking again. And, in all honesty, I have not moved on from Lucy at all. Even though I saw her cold, lifeless body lowered into the ground, her death is still hard to believe. I'm still as in love with her as the day I first met her.

***

            "Excuse me," called a voice from the stage. I turned to see Hal, my new step-father, and my Aunt Hannah standing side-by-side behind the microphone. Oh God, here comes the depressing speech about my father. "Thank you all for your attention," said Hannah. She was my prudish aunt; very religious and stuffy.

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