Chapter Three-Hundred and Forty-Three
Claire walked through the lines of wedding dresses; anxiety gathered in her chest as the fact that she was getting married in three weeks. Why was she so nervous while John seemed to be calm and collected about the whole thing?
"This one's nice." Clarissa smiled, pulling a silk and lace dress with a sweetheart neckline out.
Claire nodded, biting the little scab on her lip as she looked at how low the neckline was. "I'm not sure John would like it though." She ran her fingers along the flowery lace, thinking about how simple John was and how much she loved flare.
Mary chuckled, placing a diamond tiara on the bride-to-be's head. "Baby, this is your day to shine." She turned her to look in the mirror, brushing a lock of fiery hair behind her ear. "The honey-moon is for him to enjoy."
Claire let the moms dress her up and turn her into a wedding doll. Her heart jumped when she saw the finished product. The dress was perfect, showing off just enough cleavage to make her look like a real woman without leaving too much on display, the tiara sparkled like sparks above her red hair, the veil framed her face perfectly, and the silver locket around her neck tied in amazingly. "I love it." She whispered, twirling like a little girl.
Clarissa wiped her eyes, taking in the sight of her youngest child in a wedding dress. "You're beautiful." She cried.
Thomas flipped through the paper, freezing when he read the headline 'Wrong Side of the Tracks Lead Singer Meth Relapse?' "Shit…" He hissed, looking up as Carl appeared from the basement. "Kemp must've gone to the press." He showed him the paper, praying that John and the guys wouldn't be back for a while.
Carl cursed under his breath as he read the article. "You don't think he has relapsed, do you?"
Thomas shrugged, rubbing his temples as he thought of how many hiding spots John had and could have in the house. "I don't know…" He sighed, thinking of how thin John had become, the way his skin had lost color, and the dark circles under his eyes. "I want to believe he hasn't relapsed… but it's hard to say…"
"I haven't relapsed." John stated, moving to stand before the men. "I promise. I'm clean." His dark eyes landed on the paper, the article going into his head in bare seconds. "Who wrote this?"
"Barton." Thomas supplied, watching as John's eyes turned black as night. He knew that John was on edge, the lack of sleep, hunger, anxiety, flashbacks; it all added up, building behind a dam that was cracking with every passing day. "John-"
"Fuck off." John growled, starting for the backdoor and out to the garage.
Thomas hung his head, sighing as he heard the garage door slam shut. "Goddamn it…"
Carl nodded, stepping to the backdoor where he watched as John opened the big door and started moving stuff out so that he could have more room to use his heavy bag. "It's good that he's doing this." He turned back to Thomas, pouring a glass of water and handing it to the other man. "Maybe he'll beat the shit out of his demons and be able to sleep." He chuckled as Bianca stepped into the back-sitting room, gently kissing her lips as they took a seat across the room from Thomas. "How was the dress shopping?"
She smiled, pulling a polaroid out of her purse. "Take a look."