Misery Loves Company
By: theinkslingerr
Track 3: Hello, Old Friend
Blood and Sour Patch Kids- definitely not a winning team.
The coppery, sour and sweet combination exploded on my tongue, causing me to gag and stop biting my nails. Not that there were any left to bite. Just calloused skin, hardened from years of playing my guitar, Dennis.
Yeah, I'd named my purple Fender: Dennis, and right now even he was judging me from his spot in the cleanest corner of my room.
Still in the bathroom, I turned around to confront my reflection. Besides having "Misery" for a name, the second thing most people noticed about me was my hair. It was wild, curly, and purple. The darn thing pretty much had a life of its own (a job, a mortgage, probably a gym membership) so I'd given up on telling it what to do years ago. Large brown eyes sat under all that trouble, followed by what Enid playfully called a "button" nose and rich umber skin.
I held up shaky hands, the critique of myself taking a harsh turn.
The only thing my Mom hated more than her daughter having purple hair was her daughter being a nail-biter. A few years ago she actually snuck into my room in the middle of the night and painted my nails with this clear, disgusting polish that claimed to "shock away the dirty habit!" When morning came, I woke up worried about general teenage girl things, chewed a nail, and almost vomited. The stuff was bitter, but once I got over the initial shock it hardly slowed me down. The next day I had gotten low enough to draw blood again.
So between the guitar playing, nail-biting, and skin peeling, my hands were pretty gross. Raw and ragged like they'd been attacked by angry squirrels.
I threw band-aids on the most offensive fingers, peeked at my phone, and sighed.
Seven minutes.
Seven minutes and my resolve's rocky foundation shook. I'd never been very good at staying mad at Enid Concepción Diaz. I tried once, and for a week I was alone with Dennis, the same Radiohead album on repeat, and my thoughts.
Pure torture.
I never wanted to do it again.
It's not that I couldn't function alone- as an only child with a weird name and one friend, I did "alone" exceptionally well. Heck, I enjoyed it to a certain extent, but Enid's friendship meant everything because... it was one of the few normal things in my life. Something I got to have despite the ugly brand my parents seared into my skin.
My stomach suddenly lurched, threatening to send Rocco's Sour Patch Kids back up. With Enid out of the picture, did that mean I was incapable of having relationships of any kind?
If I let her use me for whatever she planned to do during Misery Loves Company, then normal would be completely out of reach- I don't think I'd ever see it again. It was bad enough that most of the kids at my school knew my real name; could I really handle millions of strangers knowing too? Could I handle reading the comments on that YouTube video?
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe and I felt light-headed. Was I having a panic attack? I'd never had one before, but I imagine they would feel like this. My lungs fought for air while my brain struggled to remain rational. Maybe I could help Enid without revealing I was Misery? Blur out my face? Claim to be an actress?
No, people at school would blow that wide open. They had nothing better to do.
My throat tightened and I couldn't stand the sight of my own deer-in-the-headlights expression anymore, so I turned away from the mirror, the sound of rushing water in my ears even though the sink was off. I walked out of the bathroom, past my bed, and froze right in the doorway.
If I didn't do this, it was quite possible Enid would never speak to me again. Never spend the night again, put flexirods in my hair, or go to concerts with me again...
She definitely wouldn't hide random boxes of animal crackers with silly sticky notes on them all over my room. A lump formed in my throat. I loved finding those stupid things.
The other option was exposing my biggest insecurity to the world.
Either way, I'd be losing something. It was like having to answer one of those awful hypothetical questions people sometimes asked: would you rather go blind or deaf? Would you rather lose an arm or a leg?
The problem was: I could never make up my mind.
~~~
At some point over the course of the next forty-eight hours, I wanted to go missing.
Just to avoid the crushing awkwardness that developed between Enid and I. Normally, I was pretty comfortable with awkward- I lived it daily. But awkward with my own best friend? That was a new level, a new plane.
Enid and I had three classes together. We usually sat in the back and goofed off, opting to use our brain power for Everything Enid instead of school work.
Today, however, was Day 2 of "New Level Awkward," so I poured my nervous energy into various class assignments while Enid talked and talked like it was all ok. I mostly tuned her out. I couldn't make myself listen when every word felt insincere, every joke a cheap veneer masking the hurt.
She'd been the worst kind of inconsiderate and I'd been willing to let her down in her time of need.
The other day, after I'd ventured downstairs, Enid glared at me. Hurt, irritation, and...dislike evident in her dark eyes. "Clear out, fellas. Misery's here to send us home," she said.
I flinched, ignoring a second glare from Dominic. He was hovering over Enid protectively like I was going to attack her or something. Jae, Blue Vendetta's lead singer glared at me too, but probably for different reasons. He was rumored to be extremely hard to get along with. Eli remained impassive, and Rocco stared at me, perpetually amused, still munching on his stupid Sour Patch Kids.
Ackerman's gaze swept over me, no doubt calculating how much money I'd make him.
With all eyes on me, including half a dozen cameramen and other random people, I wilted, second-guessing the choice I'd made on my turbulent journey downstairs.
Was Enid worth this?
I sighed, a mental slideshow of everything we'd been through over the past 6 years going through my head. I swear, it even had sappy music. Every time she stuck up for me, helped me, or was just there in general made an appearance.
Tucking a stray purple curl behind my ear, and looking down to peel loose skin from the corners of my already mangled fingers, I murmured, "What...what's Misery Loves Company about?"
Enid's arms were around me in seconds. Her shrill excitement almost drowning out the other voices in the room.
"She came through!" Dominic exclaimed, clapping as if I'd been putting on some kind of performance.
I looked up and caught Rocco's piercing stare. He was the only one that wasn't smiling or begrudgingly murmuring some form of approval. Just that unreadable expression again, his hazel eyes speaking a language I failed to understand.
It was now Thursday, and I got to our usual lunch spot first; a little table at the back of the busy cafeteria. I sat down, munching on a hard chicken nugget, waiting for Enid to join me, so we could eat awkwardly and pretend everything was fine. I saw her walk in and glance my way. We exchanged tight-lipped smiles once our eyes met.
But what happened next stretched out that smile until it felt like my face was ripping in half. Jessica Paoli, the girl Enid spilled punch on at Homecoming, tapped her on the shoulder and struck up a conversation. It looked like she was complimenting Enid's outfit: tight, high-waisted bell-bottoms, red crop top, black choker.
My jaw dropped, causing part of the chewed-up nugget to fall out and land on the table. Jessica Paoli never talked to us. In fact, I was pretty sure she put a hit out on Enid for ruining her $400 dress. She even left snide comments on some of Enid's videos, but now they were talking animatedly, and Jessica was pulling the girl she supposedly hated toward her table! And the girl that supposedly hated her back was going- Enid was actually going! She threw me a pleading look as she sat down with our mortal enemy.
For six years, we sat together. Enid and I. Me and Enid. Sometimes others joined, but they were extras, never regulars. Now she was sitting and laughing with a girl who tortured both of us routinely. I shoved my tray away, appetite gone, the thought of eating food disgusting. Had Blue Vendetta brainwashed my best friend? How'd they manage to screw up our relationship and change Enid in two days?! We hadn't even filmed anything yet!
I picked at my skin then resisted the urge to sit on my hands. They were already grotesque, at this rate I'd need plastic surgery! Or gloves for the rest of my life like Michael Jackson. I wasn't Michael though, so I couldn't pull off gloves in warm weather!
What was I supposed to do? I couldn't seek advice or confide in anyone, because Enid was that person for me! I pushed my tray farther back, crossed my arms over the table, and lay my head down. A moment. I needed a moment.
After a few, I heard the thunk of a lunch tray hitting the table, and the scrape of a chair being pulled out. My head shot up, heart beating wildly. Had Enid gotten tired of sucking up to Jessica already? Had she realized the error of her ways?
I stared at the cute ginger sitting in front of me. A hesitant, confused smile on my face.
Josh Henderson stared right back, a big grin on his.
I froze, cold adrenaline rushing through my veins. The nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifying.
Soldiers that experienced the horrors of war often came back with PTSD.
Whereas, I left elementary school with PTSD thanks to Josh Henderson.
I hadn't seen him since 5th grade, because his family moved across the country to California. Sure, sometimes I saw him in my nightmares, and every once in a while Instagram or Facebook would recommend I follow him, but his profile pictures were always stupid memes, and everything was private. (Hey, a girl could be curious)
But seeing my elementary school abuser in the flesh was a different story.
Josh had always been short, so I suspected that's where his evil came from. Honestly, if it weren't for his kid connections back then (vicious older brother, cousin/bodyguard) and, well, money, I think he would've been teased too. Even when you're little, money has its value, because bribing kids with toys and iPod Nanos went a lot farther than animal crackers- even frosted ones.
From 2nd to 5th grade, Josh had been scrawny, gap-toothed, and homely.
Now? He was Boy-Next-Door beautiful, and that sent a new kind of hate surging through my system. This wasn't fair! How dare his outer-appearance lie about the monster hiding inside? He'd sent many little girls and even some boys home in tears, but I seemed to be his favorite target.
And with a name like "Misery," why wouldn't I be?
I blinked at the young man Josh had become. His gap was still there, but smaller. Apparently he'd grown into it. I didn't know how tall he'd be standing, but he looked rangy, and dwarfed the plastic chair he sat in. Josh's hulking shoulders ate up the air around him, dark auburn hair, shaved stylishly on the sides and longer up on top.
He still had those big, blue eyes, and they were sparkling with laughter.
Devil eyes.
A patch of freckles dotted the space above his pert nose, making him look guileless and kind.
A lie I bet his face had been telling for years.
Josh (aka Evil Incarnate) leaned forward, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. He tilted his head like some puppy, and murmured, "Misery?"
I jerked back when my name left his lips, echoes of it in a higher pitch ringing in my ears. Echoes of him shouting my Mom should've gotten an abortion, echoes of him taunting me, telling me to kill myself, and throwing sticks at me like some kind of animal.
He belly-laughed. "It's you, isn't it? You remember me right? We went to elemen-"
I poured my chocolate milk all over his head.
The whole cafeteria went quiet, everyone's eyes on me and Josh. Enid and Jessica were staring too. A snarl on Jessica's face, and a puzzled look on Enid's.
"Yo, she really just dumped milk on that guy!"
"She must be crazy."
"He better smack her!"
Josh stared at me, stunned; the dark liquid bleeding down his face and neck, staining the white henley he wore. Then to my utter surprise...he started laughing.
I stumbled back. What had I just done? Was the stress of the past two days and possible future finally hitting me? I wasn't thinking straight. My head a jumbled mess of Blue Vendetta, Enid despising me, and every mean thing Josh Henderson had ever said.
Enid stood up and I could see Jessica asking where she was going. She ignored her, visibly concerned.
I probably looked like a cornered rat.
Josh stood up too, his deep chuckles dying down. He stepped forward, and my immediate reaction was to step back. If he punched me it would hurt way more than it did in 5th grade, but as he came closer his eyes were...soft? "I...probably deserved that, didn't I?" He took another step, brows furrowed, and I fled the lunchroom.
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