Misery Loves Company

By: theinkslingerr

A special thanks to Nika_11 and lethologicas for keeping me laughing over the past two days with their witty and hilarious commentary. Thanks for reading :)

I hope everyone likes the picture of the merry-go-round Misery, Rocco, and Eli sat on as they ate their ice cream, basking in the September sun. I also included the song that set the mood for that whole scene.

Track 5: Boston

And that's how I found myself at a park with two famous guys and a chocolate waffle cone.

"Shouldn't you like, put on a disguise or something?" I wondered, tongue catching renegade drops of chocolate ice cream.

Eli sipped his butterscotch milkshake and glanced at me, before glancing at the deserted playground.

"OK, fine," I mumbled.

Like the rest of his bandmates, Eli Owens was stupidly beautiful. Which fueled my theory that Blue Vendetta's fame rested on their looks not musical ability. Shorter than Rocco and Dominic, Eli was closer in height to Korean-American Jae, and sported short hair, even brown skin, and the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen on a man. Which really said something, because guys always seemed to have longer eyelashes than girls anyway.

He emanated a calm, steady energy, and had been decent to me throughout this insanity; first exposing Rocco's gag about them being exotic dancers then helping me up when Dominic made me fall. He definitely seemed light-years ahead of the others in the maturity department.

Eli caught me staring and smiled a little, digging one foot in the dirt and pushing off, propelling the rusty merry-go-round the three of us sat on. "Your friend's selfish."

That caught me off guard.

My first instinct was to agree, but the loyal part of me hesitated, wanting to defend Enid's behavior even as I struggled to understand it.

I sighed, continuing to lap up ice cream, "Can I get kidnapped more often?"

Rocco's laugh shook the trees in the empty park and Eli's smile widened. Something about this moment felt light. Maybe it was the temperate September air, the rich chocolate on my tongue, the fact that I was having a good time with strangers...

Or maybe it was weight lifting off my shoulders. Dead weight I'd placed there myself, thinking that if I didn't give in to Enid's demands I was the selfish one- the bad friend.

Strands of Rocco's thick, dark hair danced in the breeze as he stood up and began spinning the merry-go-round gently, relieving Eli's foot. He'd long since finished his green tea ice cream and stolen a couple sips of Eli's butterscotch shake.

The steady motion was soothing and further tempered the anxiety that had been building for the last 48 hours. Pleasant weather coupled with an easy atmosphere breached the security of my high walls, and I blurted, "The boy that tortured me when I was a kid transferred to my school."

Eli's straw left his full mouth, but Rocco kept on spinning, possibly guessing the continuous motion was what caused me to lower my guard in the first place. "What'd you do when you saw him?" He asked lightly.

My face heated even though the question was expected, and wide blue eyes, a freckled nose, and laughter free of malice flashed in my mind's eye. "Poured chocolate milk on him."

This time Eli laughed for real, almost choking on his milkshake, while Rocco leaned against the merry-go-round for support. "OK," Rocco said in between bursts of laughter. "Remind me to never mess with you!"

I crossed my arms, quirking a brow.

All he'd done was mess with me!

From the moment I opened my front door and he uttered the phrase: "We're strippers."

I think Rocco could read minds, because he stopped chuckling, looked at me pointedly, and added, "Much."

God, I think my eyes bulged. Bulged. And my face grew hotter as I examined the ground. I didn't have to look up to know he'd be grinning.

"A calcium-infused revenge," Eli quipped, "I wouldn't mind running into my old bully again."

My head snapped up, "You were bullied?" It was hard to picture anyone ruffling his feathers.

"Ed Sicowski," he responded, contemplating something far off in the distance. "Beat me up all the time and stole my lunch money."

"Until me and Dom kindly suggested he find a new hobby," Rocco said brightly. His smile was full of teeth and reminded me of a shark. I felt real fear for Ed Sicowski.

"Rocco and Dom's kind suggestions tend to hurt," Eli whispered conspiratorially.

I stared at Rocco, "When was this?"

The question was directed at him, but Eli replied, "Sixth grade...I think? A couple months before we got the band together."

My chest warmed despite the ice cream, "You guys've been friends that long?"

"It's been me, Eli, and Dom since first grade," Rocco said, making a face at his bandmate. And friend. "Jae came along in seventh grade. Jerk always takes his sweet time."

I couldn't stop the smile blooming on my face. Their bond was palpable. Part of the reason I disliked Blue Vendetta was because I believed their friendship was created for the sake of the band. Fabricated and exaggerated like their instrumental prowess, down-to-earth image, and self-penned lyrics.

Sure, Ed Sicowski could be made-up, but here under the rays of the bright sun, everything seemed genuine. Honest. Real. Besides, even though Rocco and Eli knew I had some reservations about their band, they didn't exactly know why, so it made no sense for them to lie.

"Think that's the first time I've seen you smile," Rocco observed.

"Shut up," I grumbled, focusing too hard on my ice cream. I opened my mouth again, wanting to admit that maybe I'd been wrong about them when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I wrestled it out, took one look, and felt my lungs shrivel. It was a text from Enid in all caps: WHERE ARE U?!

Sent at 4:03.

I gasped, horrified that I'd completely lost track of time. Another text came through.

Enid: Ackerman wants to know if Rocco and Eli are with you. I swear Misery you better not screw this up for me!

I'd been having a good time with Rocco and Eli, but I also suspected they were doing this to help Enid. To calm me down before the shoot then transport me safely back to her place.

Like a package that read "Fragile: Handle with Care."

Totally insulting.

But if both Enid and Ackerman where in the dark, the boys had taken me out for ice cream without a motive.

That made Enid's harsh text sting a little less.

Brazen Rocco suddenly glanced at my phone, face hardening as he said, "About that. You don't have to."

"Huh?" I replied, heart hammering, mouth dry.

"That whole Misery Loves Company thing? Forget it. You don't have to."

"Hence, the kidnapping," Eli added softly.

My head swam and I could feel ice cream dripping down my hand, slipping in between my fingers, sticky and cold. My mouth opened and closed several times before I stammered, "B-but I...but I thought you wanted-"

"No," Rocco cut in. "This is our fault."

"Your fault?" I repeated.

The boys looked at each other and said, "Boston."

"Boston? As in Boston, Massachusetts?" I was so confused.

Eli nodded gravely, taking out his smart phone and searching for something. "This is because of what happened there."

"I don't under-"

"You will," he said simply, pushing the phone in my free hand. A video started playing, but instead of watching it I looked up at Rocco. His strong jaw was clenched and he nodded sharply, indicating that I needed to pay attention.

It was a Youtube video of one of their shows, uploaded by a fan a couple weeks ago. The title read "Blue Vendetta at Brighton Music Hall," and faded into a sweep of the intimate venue. It was packed. Rows and rows of dancing, moshing, undulating bodies from wall to wall! Bright lights dyed everyone blue, the band's signature color, and the sound of the roaring crowd was deafening, almost competing with the instruments! The video circled back to a startling close-up of Jae's face, his cold charisma cooling off the sweltering stage. His voice was a low, rich tenor and crescendoed into a gut-wrenching shout of triumph as the words, "Long live you! Long live us! Long live the underdog," filled every space.

"Long Live the Underdog" was Blue Vendetta's anthem; the song fans cried, screamed, and bled for.

Seconds later Eli's lithe silhouette came into view, a serene look on his face as he lay the groundwork with his bass. The footage got a lot shakier when Rocco slithered up to Jae and launched into his guitar solo. Whoever was filming clearly had a favorite.

I watched Jae rip the mic from its stand then kick it over, throwing an arm around Rocco as he led the audience in a frenzied chant.

They were beautiful with their wicked smiles and dark hair plastered to their faces. Sweat-slicked and virile; one a black stallion, the other a razor-edged raven.

I brought Eli's phone closer to my face, practically breathing all over it. The passion was palpable, the raw energy filled the little screen.

I wanted to be there. God, I wanted to be there.

Because they were perfect.

Until a drumstick came sailing through the air and clobbered the person filming.

The camera went haywire, catching a shot of someone's shirtless back and many sneaker-clad feet before hitting the floor. I heard the chaos, and it was ugly. The steady drumming that had kept everyone on beat disappeared when the wooden stick hit the audience, Rocco's melody faltered, and even cool and collected Eli lost his rhythm. Suddenly, the dirty floor came back into focus, then legs, and shoulders, and finally the stage!

A red-faced, wobbly Dominic crossed it, one drumstick in hand, screeching about the one he'd lost.

He looked drunk. Very drunk.

Eli approached him gently, bass guitar strapped behind his back, said something to him and got shoved over the drum kit!

The audience sounded like a volcano erupting as Rocco grabbed Dominic from behind, caging him to avoid any further destruction. Dominic struggled violently, yelling and cursing. I covered my mouth in shock, not wanting to see the rest of this video. A roadie helped Eli up, and Jae stalked over to Dominic and...started shouting, agitating him more.

The video ended with Ackerman and eight other guys trying to salvage something that was unsalvageable.

I scrolled down to the comments under the video. I was afraid to look at them, but a larger part of me deemed it necessary.

They read:

BforVendetta: omg, Dom was totally drunk!

bluvenfan97: who cares?

jaeshinsbabymomma's reply to bluvenfan97: they're underage!

iwannabeElisbass: HOW DARE HE PUSH MY BABY ELI!!!! >:-O!!!

vendettasandtheguyswholovethem: i was there! he was definitely drunk or on something! he started screwin up halfway through the song then just THREW his drumstick. threw. his. drumstick.

iluvdom: least he got up to look for it!

blackstallion88's reply to iluvdom: yeah, sooo responsible. -_-

BradLuvsBlueVendettaInANotGayWay: they put some random dude on drums for the rest of the show! it sucked!!!

musicislife72: waste of 50 bucks, man!

vinylissuperior: never seeing them live again.

The video had tons of views and mostly dislikes. I looked up at Rocco and Eli's strained faces, now understanding. "Boston," I said quietly.

"This whole thing with Enid is to help fix that. Our fans are pissed. Ackerman's pissed. The label's pissed. The only one not pissed is TMZ," Rocco explained.

Come to think of it, I think I'd seen something about this on TMZ, and probably heard people talking about it too! But who paid attention to gossip about celebrities they weren't into?

I had to ask, "Dominic. Was he- was he really drunk?"

"Something like that," Eli answered with a tight smile. "I don't know if we'll ever play Brighton Music Hall again."

Rocco held my gaze, expression serious, "Don't do Enid's show."

I stared back, momentarily speechless. This was better than my Mom saying no. This was Blue Vendetta saying no! Well, half of them anyway. I swallowed hard, a concern presenting itself. "What about you guys? Won't Ackerman be pissed?"

"Let us worry about him," Rocco shot back. "I don't like being the reason someone does something they don't wanna do."

That struck a chord, and once again I was rendered speechless.

Meanwhile Eli slurped the rest of his butterscotch milkshake. I could feel his eyes on me as he got up and said, "I get why you don't wanna do Misery Loves Company. I don't even know you, but I get it. If your friend can't though? Maybe she's not your friend." He shook his empty cup and wandered away. "Gonna go find the trash."

Eli went to go find the trash while I sat on the rusty merry-go-round trying not to fall apart.

Right now, Enid was not acting like a friend.

That was finally clear.

But what was I supposed to do about it? Throw away everything? Throw away six years?

Rocco had stopped the merry-go-round when I was watching the video, but he started spinning it again, falling into an odd pattern. After every rotation, he stopped it in front of himself, stared at me, then nudged my foot. Spin, stop, stare, nudge. Spin, stop, stare, nudge. Spin, stop, stare, nudge.

I was definitely in shock.

On the fourth turn, Rocco stopped the merry-go-round, but didn't nudge my foot. Instead he stared for a really long time before crouching down, and saying, "Gimme some ice cream."

That jolted me from my conscious coma. "What? Why?"

"Because I want it," he said simply.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Rocco's large hand reached up and covered mine around the ice cream cone. I hadn't touched it since "Boston," so quite a bit of it was melting. His hand was like everything else on his body; wiry and strong. I shivered violently, all too aware of the friction pervading the sticky mess.

Like me, he had callouses- a lot of them. Rough and hard-earned, battle scars from his guitar. I could feel my stomach turning on itself around the same time a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I struggled to pull free, but Rocco wouldn't let me.

No, instead he squeezed my hand and tugged it closer to his lips, pink tongue darting out to lap up the creamy chocolate. The whole time he kept his green-ringed brown irises on me. "Mmm...good."

He squeezed my hand again, chocolate ice cream oozing through the spaces of our entwined fingers. He leaned in for another lick, but this time I yanked my hand back hard. Too hard, actually, because the cone grew wings and flew away while my entire body jerked back, spine hitting the metal column that ran through the center of the merry-go-round.

"Save the ice cream!" Rocco exclaimed, diving for it. Sadly, his heroic efforts weren't enough and the ice cream cone met its demise on a patch of nearby grass. He hauled himself up and the pout he threw my way was nothing short of adorable, "First water, now this? You wasting things is becoming a serious problem."

No, Rocco Alden was becoming a serious problem, and if he kept up these unwarranted assaults, he was going to be the death of me!

"Why do you do that?" I wheezed after recouping major brain and motor functions.

"Do what?" He asked innocently, eyes widening.

I gestured to him wildly, "That!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I pushed off the merry-go-round, angrily, flustered and frustrated just as Eli returned. He looked from me to Rocco, an unreadable expression on his face. "Want us to walk you home now?"

I faltered. Home?

These two were putting my feelings before their own, and in a way they were putting me before their career.

Something my own best friend couldn't do.

"Come on," I said abruptly, purpose renewed. "Let's go."