Misery Loves Company

Track 1: Murder & Male Strippers

Misery Loves Company

By: theinkslingerr

Track 1: Murder & Male Strippers

I'm going to kill Enid Concepción Diaz!

My homicidal inner voice took great joy in screaming this over and over again until its little lungs were raw.

"Um. Hello? If you're-" the deep voice paused. "Misery Hayes can you please open the door?"

Unfortunately, I was Misery Hayes. And my parents had clearly hated me since that positive pregnancy test sixteen years ago.

I hated them now too- especially dear ol' dad, who'd taken one look at me at the hospital, and split. Both him and my mom topped the list of things I couldn't stand, along with:

-being called on in class.

-official documents that had my name on them.

-MEETING NEW PEOPLE.

Normal things that normal people with normal names took for-granted.

When I met someone new, I introduced myself as "Melissa Hayes" and lived in fear; quietly waiting for the day they discovered the truth.

When that day came (and believe me, it always did) eyes welled with a mixture of distaste, sympathy, and obvious curiosity. Then the inevitable: "What were your parents thinking?" A question I found ridiculous, seeing as my name clearly described their thoughts about me.

Believe me, it was that kind of dysfunction that landed me in the craziest situations.

It was that kind of dysfunction that landed me in this crazy situation. I was currently leaning against my front door, wondering why Blue Vendetta impersonators were on the other side of it.

Blue Vendetta was an insanely popular Alt. Rock band. One I didn't like, but I only gave my opinion when needed. Besides, my sense of self-preservation told me it'd be suicide to piss off the millions of rabid fangirls (and boys) that worshipped them and wanted to have their sweaty rocker babies.

"Call Ackerman. That Enid chick's a dirty liar. You'd have to be mentally ill to name your kid Misery," another muffled voice grunted.

"Jae!" The first voice hissed in disapproval.

There was another short pause and then, "Whatever, Eli. Sorry."

He didn't sound sorry at all.

I pulled open the door just as a tall blond with shoulder length hair grinned and exclaimed, "Watch your mouth around us pretty Bipolars! We could snap and eat your brains!"

"Um...that sounds like a zombie- not someone with bipolar disorder," I interjected, cracking open the door. "And your Blue Vendetta costumes suck. Like, really suck."

I think my opinion was needed in this moment.

The blond impersonating Dominic, the drummer, burst out laughing while fake Rocco Alden, who fans called 'Black Stallion,' scratched his chin and said, "They're that bad huh?"

I nodded. They needed to know.

"Who are you guys anyway? And what do you want? I'm guessing Enid put you up to this because I called Blue Vendetta 'One Direction with instruments?'"

"Ouch!" Dominic grabbed at his chest and pretended to stumble back.

"We're strippers," Rocco said suddenly, his voice husky.