Misery Loves Company

Track 44: One-Eyed Dogs & Silver Linings

Misery Loves Company

By: theinkslignerr

Track 44: One-Eyed Dogs & Silver Linings

"Paula?" It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. "You don't talk to Paula."

Throughout my entire friendship with Enid, I'd only seen my mom talk to Paula once.
That's why I was surprised when she'd signed the contract for Misery Loves Company simply because Paula's name was on it too. I didn't think she cared enough to remember who my best friend was— much less her mother.

Apparently, I was wrong.

I looked down at my hands. When I was nine, it had snowed and schools closed down. My mom was stuck at the hospital, because other nurses couldn't get there to relieve her. I'd gone out to play without any gloves, because no one had been there to make me wear them. By the time she got home I was in the kitchen crying, my palms red with superficial frostbite. Most people associated the word "burn" with heat and fire, but that day my hands truly did burn. It was a cold, blistering sensation I could feel right down to my bones. Growing up, I'd never forgotten it, because it felt the same as my mother's apathy.

Now she was trying to become involved at the worst possible time. There was a special place in an Alanis Morissette song for this.

I looked back up to see my mom hoist her utilitarian tote bag higher on her shoulder. She was wearing street clothes, so the bag probably contained scrubs and crocs. "Oh, Paula and I check in. And tonight we had a lot to catch up on." She examined Rocco closely, gaze lingering on his injured arm before examining me. She probably thought we were in a fight club or something. "Not too long ago, I thought I had a dream. In the dream I was on the couch and you walked in and said—"

"Rocco's hurt!" I interrupted, eyes wide. I knew exactly what dream she was referring to— except it wasn't a dream. The evening in question was when I'd caught Enid throwing up and she threatened to upload the picture she'd snapped of me and Rocco. I'd trudged home to find my mom asleep on the couch and vented as I removed her stinky crocs. I'd done it because I thought she was sleeping, dead to the world after one of her long shifts. But she must've been half awake; conscious enough to register me saying the girl she thought was my best friend was bulimic and blackmailing me.

I didn't want Rocco to hear a word of it. Not tonight. We'd been through the ringer, and had taken both emotional and physical hits. "He's hurt," I repeated. "And he's got a long drive ahead of him. Can we talk later?"

"No one's stopping him from leaving. It's you I want to talk to."

"Mom—"

"My first mistake was signing that contract and my second was trusting that sleazy manager and PR rep. They don't care about what happens to you."

For a while there, I thought that was something you three had in common.

"And neither does he," she continued, turning on Rocco. So much for her only wanting to talk to me. "I get it. You're young, you're famous, and after a while the groupies get a little stale. But that doesn't mean you can prey on my daughter. I won't—"

"We're not even together!" I cried.

Rocco stiffened, hazel eyes surprised as he stared at me. I felt bad for saying it, but it was the truth. In my head sometimes I slipped up and called him my boyfriend, but that didn't mean he was. We hadn't talked about what we were to each other or exactly what would happen after the web show.