Misery Loves Company

By: theinkslingerr

Track 43: Landfill

I wasn't one of those people who hated hospitals.

I mean, my mom was a nurse, so I was used to the antiseptic smell and the stark white spaces.

Beechmill's hospital was on the small side, but made up for it with cleanliness, edible cafeteria food, and medical professionals that actually cared. Well, except my mom of course. She somehow slipped through the cracks, and I was desperate to avoid her tonight.

After dropping a disguised Rocco in front of the emergency room, I went to park the car. For most of the ride, I hadn't been thinking about the fact that I was driving to my mom's place of employment. I'd been too busy replaying everything that had happened earlier. Golf clubs and broken windows, Alzheimer's, Hazmat, and holy crap Rocco's dad was Niccolo Segretti!!!

I was also freaking out over his arm. If it was broken or horribly fractured, I'd never forgive myself.

Inside the emergency room, I slipped the hood of my jacket over my head and scanned the waiting area for Rocco. He was slouching in a chair at the far corner of the room holding his arm and staring off into space. A black beanie hugged his skull and encouraged the other people waiting to look past him instead of lingering. No one here felt good, so even if they thought the guy in the corner looked a bit like Rocco Alden from Blue Vendetta, they didn't voice it.

When I plopped into the empty seat next to him, he did a double take. "What's with the hood, Assassin's Creed?"

"Uh...my mom actually works here so..." I couldn't find the right words.

"So...you don't want her to see you. With me. Because she hates me," he finished wryly.

"She doesn't hate you!"

He quirked a dark brow.

"She's just...overprotective...after sixteen years of pretending I don't exist. Look, I don't wanna talk about her. How's your arm?"

"It's fine," he replied. "This probably could've waited until tomorrow."

"But Lillian said to get it x-rayed ASAP. You're a guitarist. You can't mess around when it comes to this stuff," I argued.

Rocco slid further down in his seat. "Yeah, yeah. Guess there's no arguing with a nurse's daughter." He looked exhausted and on-edge at the same time. I didn't know if he'd ever planned on introducing me to his grandparents, but it was obvious that he wasn't happy about the way it had gone down. He was open about certain things, but fiercely private when it came to his family.

He was like an open book...if that book had a section you could only access with a key. And after tonight, I finally understood why.

"Mitchum?" A nurse that fortunately wasn't my mom called.

A girl clutching wadded up tissue to her bloody nose got up to meet her. "It won't stop," she whined. The nurse made a sympathetic expression she probably used hundreds of times a day, and led the girl through a pair of white double doors.

Rocco bit his full bottom lip and spaced out again.

I left him to his thoughts for a few minutes, but at the end of the day I couldn't help myself.

Curling an index finger, I dragged the knuckle under his nose. There was nothing there, but I figured it'd still get his attention. I was right. He jumped and looked at me like I'd lost my mind. I bit back a smile, raising both eyebrows as if to say: You started it. Can't I return the favor?

Just because he wasn't crying with snot dripping down his nose, it didn't mean I couldn't comfort him.

Rocco rolled his eyes once he caught my drift, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. I smiled back. Take the win, Misery.

My hand returned to the arm rest, but now my fingers twitched, yearning to touch him again. Someone had written "This life is a scam" on the arm rest with blue ink. Rocco's uninjured arm was right next it, his hand resting on his knee. I inched my own toward it.

I was kind of a wuss. Rocco knew it and I knew it. I always left it up to him to make the first move. But I could do this. It was just holding hands. My calloused fingers brushed the top of his hand, then slid under it palm up, so our fingers were laced.

The smile on my face spread as I squeezed. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't for Rocco's eyes to widen and his Adam's apple to bob convulsively. He yanked his hand away and I stared at him confused and more than a little hurt. So, pretending to wipe away imaginary snot was OK, but holding hands wasn't? He seemed to catch himself and reached over to pat my arm with a stilted smile. I didn't understand what was going on. We'd touched and kissed many times, so something like this should've been nothing.

He's hurt and upset, the rational part of my brain whispered. He probably doesn't want to be touched right now.

He probably doesn't want you here at all! A bigger part of it shouted.

It must've been written all over my face, because Rocco opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by another nurse. "Alden? Mr Alden?"

He hesitated, then tucked more of his hair under the beanie and got up. After a second glance at me, he followed the nurse through the double doors. I sighed and pulled my hood lower. It was going to be a long night.

Forty-five minutes later, I was on my phone losing a puzzle game while "Landfill" by Daughter ruined what was left of my hearing. I had it turned up loud, the constant slow-moving drum beat along with my heart, and Elena Tonra's melancholy vocals settled over me like a damp blanket that would get me sick if I didn't take it off.

The song depressed me on a good day, so listening to it when I was already down was asking for it.

I looked around the room and turned the volume up even louder. People probably broke down crying in the emergency room all the time. No one would pay any special attention to me.

When "Landfill" ended with my eyes surprisingly dry, I tried to focus on the puzzle game instead of Rocco's x-ray results. I still couldn't believe he'd taken a golf club to the arm for me. What had he been thinking? Without the proper use of his arms or hands, he couldn't play in Blue Vendetta. And without Blue Vendetta, he couldn't afford to fix broken windows or pay Lillian overtime to help Giuliana with Soren.

I started massaging my temples, but froze when the familiar chords of a Hazardous Materials song blared through my headphones.

Of course. What great timing you have, playlist.

My second thought was to skip "Trajectory" out of loyalty to Rocco, but when Samuel Isaac's voice kicked in, I found myself opening the music app to stare at the album cover.

The song about catapulting yourself into what you loved was from their second album. Self-titled when their first hadn't been, the cover displayed all four members hanging upside down over vats of...well, hazardous materials. It was black and white, but each member's personality shined through.

Samuel Isaacs, the goofy but talented lead singer, had his tongue sticking out, long limbs spread wide. One of his hands partially obscured drummer Luis Espinosa's serious face. Both men had dark hair, but Samuel's was a little longer while Luis's curled around charming ears that protruded.

Johnny Karlsson was the only blond in the group and his hair and eyebrows were so fair they almost looked white. The lean bassist's eyes were closed, mouth opened in a silent laugh as he hung right next to Niccolo Segretti. I ran a thumb over the familiar face. He looked just like Soren. The deep-set eyes, the prominent nose...

Niccolo was grinning beside Johnny, but his eyes were dull and his body looked stiff. I left the song playing and launched Safari. I'd googled him before out of interest, but knowing what I knew now would be like looking through a pair of glasses. The details would be clearer.

Hazardous Materials had never gotten big, but the fans they did have were voracious. I easily found music videos, interviews, and behind the scenes footage of the guys throughout their short run in the music world. Niccolo was magnetic. He was passionate and charming and a strong candidate for ADHD medication. I hadn't thought Rocco looked like him at first, but the more I watched, the more similarities I found. They both had thick eyebrows, broad shoulders, and the same lop-sided grin. Some of their mannerisms lined up too. In earlier videos, I could see the mischief in Niccolo's dark eyes— something frequently present in son's. But as time wore on it disappeared, replaced with the same dullness I'd spotted on the album cover.

What put it there?

It wasn't that hard to guess.

A child.

Pressure to settle down from Soren.

I clicked on one of the last interviews the band had done before Niccolo overdosed. His normally bright skin looked muted and there were dark circles under his eyes. He fidgeted even more than usual and couldn't keep a steady train of thought. I didn't know if it was exhaustion, drugs, or both.

The man interviewing them asked, "How would you describe Hazmat's third studio album? Do you think long-time fans will dig the new sound?"

"What long-time fans?" Niccolo grumbled. The reporter looked uncomfortable while Niccolo's bandmates threw him warning glares.

"I think people'll like it," Samuel said. "We uh...really got out of our comfort zone."

Johnny and Luis nodded, but Niccolo just sat there glaring and fidgeting.

Oh. I knew what this was about.

There weren't many things the Hazmat fandom agreed on, but the third album sucking was one of them. It was generic, uninspired. An obvious attempt to get more radio play by sounding like what was already on it. The critics were unimpressed and the fews fans they had at that point were disappointed.

The interview was coming to an end, and Niccolo had remained quiet for most of it. The reporter was asking Johnny what made them change their sound when Niccolo interrupted him.

"You like your job, man?"

He blinked before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. It probably seemed like a trap. "Yes," the reporter answered simply.

"Be real. When you weren't getting your head shoved in toilets during middle school, you'd sit around thinking about interviewing no-name bands all day?"

The man turned bright red. "I thought about interviewing the next Nirvana or the next Hendrix, but this industry's about connections and my dad's a plumber, so no-name bands'll have to do."

Samuel, Johnny, and Luis's mouths dropped open, but Niccolo just laughed. "Right on."

The plumber's son was not amused.

Niccolo's lop-sided grin faded, and I felt a pang in my chest. "All I've ever wanted to do was play music. I'm not good for much else— even when I try to be."

That simple admission triggered the tears "Landfill" hadn't. I wanted to hate Niccolo for dumping Rocco with his parents— and part of me did— but I saw the defeat in the shape of his shoulders, the guilt in his eyes.

Niccolo had known he'd failed his son.

I remembered Soren's voice, filled with anguish and disgust as he went on about Rocco eating spoilt food. Imagining a young Rocco staring into an empty fridge before drinking milk that had been sitting out for days made the tears flow faster. I didn't even want to think about the kind of babysitters Niccolo had saddled him with. It was possible they'd been good people and only strange from Soren's point of view, but the alternative was still there and it made me sick to my stomach. I stopped the video with a trembling hand, then got up to find a bathroom. Crying in front of strangers was one thing, but letting them see your heart break was another.

After splashing cold water on my face, I hit the vending machine. With everything that had happened tonight, I'd forgotten to eat and my stomach wasn't happy about it. My eyes glazed over as I stared at the selection of junk food. Rocco and I were similar in more ways than I'd imagined. Neither one of us had dads. But while mine was off somewhere living a Misery-free life, his managed to be six feet under and painfully present at the same time. Rocco was constantly confronted with Niccolo's memory. It probably wasn't a surprise since he'd essentially chosen to follow in his father's footsteps, but it couldn't have been easy. In fact, I knew it wasn't. The look he'd get on his face every time Hazmat came up was proof enough.

I groaned, thinking about how careless I'd been in the past. I can't believe I wore their shirt to his concert! Sure, I hadn't known, but that didn't make me feel better. I stabbed the combination of numbers that would lead to a Kit Kat, and waited.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of red. I turned around in time to catch a tall ginger exiting the hospital.

Josh?

I forgot all about my candy bar and walked toward the automatic doors. I peered outside, but he was gone. Choosing to ignore all the weird looks from the people in the waiting room, I headed back to the vending machine. Between my tears and mad dash to the exit, they probably thought I'd escaped from the psychiatric ward. I struggled to reign in my embarrassment.

Had that really been Josh? What was he doing here?

I hadn't talked to him or run into him volunteering at Beechmill Elementary lately.

It was funny how my childhood bully being back in town had consumed my thoughts for weeks. But now, with Enid blackmailing me and trying to navigate my relationship with Rocco, my issues with Josh seemed inconsequential.

I glanced at the vending machine and sighed. My Kit Kat was wedged between the first metal ring and the glass.

"I think these things are rigged to withhold your candy at the worst possible time."

Rocco's reflection appeared behind mine in the vending machine. His arm was in a black sling.

I gasped.

"It's OK," he said quickly. "Just a stress fracture. My grandpa kind of pulled the golf club up at the last second. He didn't use all his strength."

"What about the album? Are you gonna have to push back the release date?"

"No." Relief flooded my body. "But we were supposed to play 'Safety in Numbers' on the last episode of MLC. I might be OK by then, but if not we'll have to delay it. And the show in Philly."

I rubbed my dry eyes. So we weren't completely out of the woods. "I'm so sorry."

"I should be the one saying that. My gramps almost hurt you. I promise he's not a bad guy...he's just..." Rocco raised one shoulder. "You know."

"Yeah, I do." I turned toward the exit. "Ready to go?"

He nodded then looked at the vending machine. "Don't you want your Kit Kat? We never got you any food."

I hit the machine and the candy bar wobbled, but stayed stuck.

"Here." Rocco rammed his uninjured shoulder into the machine and the Kit Kat tumbled down. He pulled it out of the slot and handed it to me.

"Thanks, but maybe you shouldn't have done that. If something happens to your other arm Ackerman really will go on Craigslist and hire an assassin to take me out," I mumbled.

We walked to the automatic doors, almost home free when the person I'd been avoiding the entire night walked in.

"Mom?"

She looked from me to Rocco, anger visible in every line of her body. "I just had a very interesting conversation with Paula."

~~~

Author's notes: And there it is! I know some of you expected Misery to run into her mom at the hospital, but how many of you expected her to be coming back from a conversation with Paula?

Honestly, it's about time. What do you think the two women talked about?

And now that you've gotten even more of a glimpse of Niccolo, what do you think of him?

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to COMMENT, VOTE, and SHARE.