Her name is Misery, and she does NOT want company.
***
It's not every day sixteen-year-old Misery Hayes finds a rock band full of pretty boys on her door step.
Actually, it's not every day Miser...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
In celebration of Misery Loves Company reaching 100K reads, I will be hosting a joint giveaway with the lovely MeiSummer !
This giveaway is to thank everyone for being so supportive. From the people who've been on this journey with Misery and the gang since Chapter One to the new readers whose fresh take on things continue to amaze and delight me.
Thank you for your reads, votes, and comments! If everything goes as planned, the giveaway should start next Saturday. It will be added here as a chapter.
Misery Loves Company
By: theinkslingerr
Track 37: Your Favorite Weapon
Sometimes I wondered what had gone through Enid's mind all those years ago when she saw Josh holding my head under that puddle.
Had she hesitated, thinking that getting a teacher would be better? Or had she started wailing on the kid hurting her best friend without a second thought?
I'd never asked her, because I hated talking about it.
But for me, it was instinctual.
I saw Enid hunched over the toilet with her fingers down her throat, and forgot about all the mean things she'd said and done to me in the past few weeks. The fact that she'd used me to benefit her brand, the lack of empathy, and all the accusations of trying to steal Dom dissipated like smoke over a dead campfire. I rushed into the bathroom, and fell to my knees by her side. Enid gasped and jerked away; so absorbed in what she'd been doing, she hadn't noticed me come in.
"What're you doing here?" she demanded. Her voice was hoarse, and a bit of saliva dribbled down her chin. She wiped it away self-consciously, unable to meet my eyes.
I didn't know how to answer that. My hands were still shaking for crying out loud. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out except an embarrassing warble. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Why— why would you do this?"
Enid struggled to her feet, slammed down the toilet lid, and flushed. Without saying a word, she went over to the sink to rinse her mouth out with water.
I got up too. "Enid—"
"A better question would be why you think I owe you an explanation," she snapped. "We haven't talked in weeks."
"Because you said you were sick of me. You wanted me to make other friends!"
She turned off the faucet and stared down into the sink. She had no leg to stand on, because she knew I was right. Enid had been the instigator in the demise of our friendship, and the only reason I jumped ship was to avoid getting hurt.
