Addicted

Prologue

The new house was smaller than their old one. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. A descent sized kitchen that would undoubtedly feel cramped if everyone occupied it at the same time. The living room seemed fairly large, but the second floor felt closed off and confined (the small halls and windowless walls created a sad, cave-like atmosphere). There was a two-car garage that connected to a small laundry room. The backyard wasn't small, but the task of mowing it wouldn't be daunting (unlike the large, decidedly not flat backyard at the old house). The front yard was small, but it was home to a beautiful flower garden. Mrs. Anderson would enjoy maintaining the enclosure.

All in all, the new house was very different from the old one but far more Anderson-like. The residence had what the family absolutely needed and nothing more. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson didn't like to have more than what was truly necessary. It's wasteful, they would always say whenever Blaine asked. That was only one of the many ways Blaine differed from his parents.

The day before they moved out, more than a few of their neighbors appeared to say goodbye, how much they would miss the family, what a wonderful edition the Andersons were to their community. Blaine tried to hide away in his room while the neighbors came by, but his parents weren't having his "rude behavior".

"Our neighbors, people you've known for so much of your life, have come over to say goodbye and wish us well in our new home. Your hiding away and sulking is downright disrespectful," Mr. Anderson scolded his son as he marched him downstairs. Blaine had rolled his eyes and bit back the comments sitting on the tip of his tongue. Blaine may have lived on the block for twelve years, but he didn't actually know any of his neighbors. Sure, there were block parties and dinner parties thrown by his wealthy street-mates (and, on occasion, his parents) but that didn't mean they knew Blaine or his parents. It didn't mean that every person on that street didn't talk about everyone else. Blaine heard what the others said about this parents. They were below them, completely bland. Blaine wasn't much like his parents, and he certainly didn't agree with them on a lot of things, but he didn't like to hear others belittling them.
So excuse Blaine if he didn't want to hear any "heart-felt" goodbyes from his neighbors.

While Blaine wouldn't miss his old neighbors, he would miss the house. He did live there for twelve years, after all. He remember playing hide-and-go-seek with Cooper (until Cooper decided playing games with his little brother was un-cool) and finding the perfect crevices in the large house that he could fit into and Cooper couldn't. He remembered waking up to the scent of his grandmother's cinnamon pancakes on sunny Saturday mornings. He remembered flying down the spiral staircase on Christmas morning and into the large family room with the high ceiling and 15-foot, ornately decorated Christmas tree. He remembered exploring the surrounding woods in their large backyard, pretending to be an adventurer in another world.

Blaine had a lot of memories of his old house, memories he didn't want to lose. He had told his mother that one evening, a week before their impending move. She had laughed at him, telling him that he'd make new memories in the new house if he really cared that much.

Blaine wandered through the new house, inspecting all of the empty rooms, picturing the next four years of his life here. He lingered in the smaller bedroom, imagining the lay out of it once everything was unpacked. He imagined what the red walls would look like in the dark with only one lone lamp for illumination. He wondered what it would look like if he ever got a dog, his duvet and sheets covered in fur and toys littered about the floor. He pictured having friends over, watching a movie on the TV he would hang on the wall in front of his bed. He imagined lying on the bed, cuddling with his first boyfriend.

"Blaine!" His father hollered from downstairs, snapping the fourteen year-old out of his reverie. Blaine hurried down the stairs, out the garage and into the driveway where his father and the movers were unloading all different sizes of boxes from the moving van. He grabbed the first (of many) labeled "Blaine's Clothing" and headed back into the house. After numerous trips, spanning a few hours, the boxes and furniture that would go in Blaine's room had all been moved inside and upstairs. His dad allowed him a break, so Blaine trudged up the stairs lazily and flopped onto the bare mattress on top of his bed frame. He closed his eyes for a few moments, breathing the scent of his new home. He felt his limbs melt with exhaustion and hoped the movers were capable of taking care of the rest. When he opened his tired eyes, he spotted an envelop on top one of the boxes.

Mom must have brought in the mail when we were bringing in the boxes, Blaine thought to himself. He reached out and plucked the envelop from it's place on the cardboard and flipped it over. He ran his index finger under the seams, opening the white package. From it he pulled a letter as well as a few other sheets of paper, one with a class schedule printed on it. Blaine unfolded the letter and scanned the first line.

"Dear Mr. Blaine Anderson, welcome to William McKinley High School!"