Misery Loves Company

Track 3: Hello, Old Friend

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.