Someday I hope to make it clear to you that success is

Not determined by leather bound books and ink on paper

But rather the passion that I have found out of heartbreak and anger

See, I'd rather die at my fullest, poor, but free to roam

Than let an office drain me slowly for the sake of a home

'Cause I watched your endless intermission

An actor trapped in mediocrity, gave up on your ambitions

And your convictions compared to mine

What a rigid dichotomy

I am not who you were at nineteen

I am not the man you want me to be

I'm not a warrior, I am fragile, I am weak

I'm not a warrior, I am not you, I'm barely me

I am not who you were at nineteen

I am not the man you want me to be

I am not, I am not

I am not my father's son

-Nineteen x Movements-

Misery Loves Company

By: theinkslingerr

Track 42: Nineteen

Off the narrow two-lane road, the houses were few and far between; their driveways long and winding like black snakes made out of asphalt.

Beechmill had an excess of well-lit roads compared to Lakeside. If it weren't for the full moon and some of the houses' lights, I wouldn't be able to see a thing. I glanced at Rocco, who seemed to be navigating the area just fine. I guess he came here often, but how often? Did he get panicked calls from his grandmother every week?

What if she was the mysterious caller he was constantly hanging up on? I frowned at my train of thought. Unlikely.

My stomach roiled as my hold on the grab handle tightened. Rocco's nonna had been hysterical. Afraid. And that was always unnerving to witness— even if you didn't know the person. It stirred something in me, so I could only imagine how Rocco felt. He hadn't uttered a single word since the call ended, and his jaw was perpetually clenched as he ran red lights and disregarded the speed limit.

I wanted to say something useful. I wanted to comfort him the way he'd just comforted me. But since I didn't know what was going on, I didn't know where to begin.

Rocco sucked in a breath and held it before turning onto a particularly long driveway. I guess I was about to find out.

The car slowed in front of a cobblestone house with burgundy shutters. It was two stories tall, had a garage, and was surrounded by naked trees and bushes that probably looked beautiful during springtime.

"I'll be right back." Rocco fumbled with his seatbelt, practically jumping out of the car before the engine was off.

My hand moved to the door handle. "Do you want me to—"

"No." He didn't let me finish. "You're staying here."

"I— I might be able to help."

"The more people around, the more agitated he gets."

I could only assume the "he" was Rocco's grandpa. That was the only other family member he'd ever mentioned.

"Just stay in the car. Please." Then he took off toward the front door, disappearing inside the house. The door swung forward on its hinges, but didn't fully close. Maybe that's why I was able to hear the emotional storm brewing within the walls.

A masculine tirade erupted, overpowering a woman's pleas and Rocco's attempts to deescalate the situation. They were all trying to talk, but no one seemed to be listening. I couldn't make out every word of the argument, but the fury and dread were so potent, I felt them all the way in the Range Rover. After a few seconds, the terrifying symphony of breaking glass started up again and I pulled out my phone, ready to call the cops.

The only thing that stopped me was Rocco's possible reaction.

I'd never been in this situation before, but clearly he had. If calling the cops was the answer then he would've done it. Especially since Eli's uncle was on the force and had helped us in the past.

The more people around, the more agitated he gets.

I put my phone back in my pocket. I didn't want to do anything to make this worse. Rocco was in the public eye. Flashing red and blue lights and sirens would only attract attention. And TMZ coverage.

So, I sat there and listened; flinching at every shout and loud noise.

Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.

I gripped the handle of the car door tightly, felt it digging into my palm. My brain knew I needed to stay, but my body didn't want to listen. All I could focus on were the sounds coming from the house.

If this were the city, I would've had plenty of distractions. Loud horns, casual road rage, dozens of languages in a twenty-foot radius. The sights and sounds and smells of most cities made it easier to pretend. Made it easier to ignore other people's pain. But in the country, against the quiet backdrop of trees and scurrying wildlife and neighbors over an acre away, there was no mental escape.

You were confronted with everything. And for someone who already spent way too much time in her head, it was torture.

I imagined fists, tears, shards of glass, and words you couldn't take back. I sat there and visualized it all, creating portraits that matched the vitriol seeping into my ears.

But there was one thing I didn't think of.

A loud crash exploded around me, ripping a scream from my throat and another from somewhere inside the house. I ducked down in my seat, threw my hands over my head, and tensed. I was expecting pain. I was expecting someone to come barreling outside. But nothing happened. Slowly, I lifted my head and peeked over the dashboard. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary...until I looked to my left.

I blinked owlishly, tempted to rub my eyes.

Was that a window with a golf club through it?

A nervous, incredulous laugh slipped past my lips.

A golf club. Through a closed window. People were throwing golf clubs through windows in rural Pennsylvania. Like we were living in medieval times and the window had behaved offensively, so jousting was the only option.

All bets were off. Completely off. I wanted to slide into the driver's seat and back out of this suburban nightmare.

But Rocco.

Rocco was in that house. What if the golf club had been meant for him? What if his grandpa was one of those old dudes whose strength hadn't diminished with age?

I flung open my door, running around the front of the Range Rover and up the path leading to the house. Glass crunched underneath my boots, and since the arguing was at a standstill the sound cut through the quiet night; jagged little noises that matched my jagged little heartbeat. My legs felt wobbly as I shot up to the front door. I was so frantic and disoriented my foot got caught on the top step, and I lurched forward into the partly opened door. It slammed against the wall like crackling thunder and I landed in a dim entryway on my hands and knees.

There was no time to react.

As soon as I looked up, a hulking man holding a golf club launched himself at me.

Shock kept me rooted to my spot. I couldn't even scream. All I could do was brace myself.

"Soren, no!" A feminine voice cried.

It happened so quickly. I was telling myself getting hit with a golf club wouldn't be so bad when Rocco materialized in front of me.

"Gramps—"

Soren's momentum led him into a swing, and because he had nothing else, Rocco threw up his arm to block it.

I hadn't screamed when I thought I was the one getting hit, but I screamed then. I screamed for Rocco.

My eyes closed, but I couldn't shut off my ears. There was no escaping the dull thwack of metal hitting something softer or the grunt of pain Rocco couldn't quite hold in. I opened my eyes and watched him struggle to disarm his grandpa, who was every bit as tall and broad as he was.

And strangely familiar.

Where had I seen that face?

The thought fled as soon as Rocco yanked away the golf club and tossed it clear across the room. He turned and bent down to help me up, flinching when he moved the arm that'd been hit.

"You OK?" His voice was ragged.

I nodded even though I was shaking.

Someone flipped a switch and more light flooded the entryway. Once Soren's eyes adjusted, he asked, "Who is this, Niccolo? And what is she doing in my house?"

At this point, I could identify the reason for his behavior, but without context, I was still lost. Who in the world was Niccolo?

Rocco positioned himself between me and his grandpa again. "She's my guest. You just tried to club my guest to death. Aren't you going to say sorry?"

For a second Soren looked remorseful, but ultimately the answer was, "No. Why should I apologize to someone who was sneaking around my house in the dark? She's not welcome here. Neither are you, for that matter!"

An older woman appeared by his side, and it struck me how much Rocco resembled her. She was tall and willowy, and the fine lines on her face added to her beauty instead of detracted from it. Her dark hair was shot through with gray and rested on top of her head in an artful bun. She touched Soren lightly, shoulders hunched in case of violence.

"Soren, please," she whispered, hazel eyes damp. "Please. Look at me."

He obeyed begrudgingly, but after a moment the scowl on his face began to fade. There was a spark of recognition. "Giuliana?"

"Yes! Yes, darling, it's me."

Soren looked around the room in confusion, his dark eyes taking in everything. When they landed on me and Rocco, the anger returned. "Why did you let him in?" he asked his wife. "He moved out to pursue his music." Soren said 'music' like he was talking about flesh-eating bacteria.

Giuliana shook her head. "Rocco came because I—"

"Rocco?" He looked at her like she was the confused one. "It's late. Rocco should be upstairs sleeping." He glared at us. "Are you here to take him back? Because I won't allow him to step foot in that cockroach and bed bug infested hole you call an apartment. I'd wager you don't even have any food in the fridge. Do you know how many times your mother has stopped by to find Rocco filthy and hungry? Or sick because he drank spoilt milk that had been sitting on the counter for days?"

I winced. I think I understood what was going on now.

"Soren..."

"And let's not forget about all the times you've left him alone with strange women. Strange women that could've done anything to him and convinced him to keep it a secret from you!"

Tears streamed down Giuliana's guilt-ridden face as she looked from me to her grandson.

During the course of Soren's rant, Rocco's back had stiffened like a plank. His voice was tight with emotion when he said, "I'm not here to take Rocco. I just stopped by to see him and mom."

My heart ached. He was playing along to keep his grandpa from blowing up again.

"Why?" Too bad Soren was relentless. "You love your music more than you love your son— more than you love us. Don't waste your time coming around."

Rocco deflated, and now he was the one shaking as he clutched his injured arm to his chest. I inched closer and rested my forehead between his shoulder blades. My breath warmed his jacket, causing him to tense up at first then visibly relax. I wanted him to feel me. To know I was there. But I needed to feel him too, because I had a niggling feeling at the back of my mind. It felt like my brain was trying to pull up grainy photos from archives that were long forgotten.

"Why don't you go to the bedroom and rest? You're worked up," Giuliana pleaded.

"I'm worked up, because our son is worthless." The anger and disappointment in Soren's eyes was overwhelming, and even though they were meant for Rocco's father, I knew it had to hurt him too. "That noise you play will never amount to anything. Hazardous Materials? You should've called yourselves Hazardous Waste, because that's exactly what you and those no good friends of yours are. Rocco is your son. Your flesh and blood. He's the best thing that's ever happened to this family despite how he came about. He needs you. He cries for you. But instead of taking care of him, you're galavanting around the country like you have no responsibilities. Like your actions don't affect anyone else."

I jerked away from Rocco like I'd been punched in the head. The grainy images that had been trying to take shape in my brain suddenly became high-def.

The "Niccolo" Soren thought he was yelling at was Niccolo Segreti? Hazmat's genius guitarist who'd overdosed at 27?

But how?

When I'd first started listening to the band, I googled everything there was to know about them, and sure enough some of the members had kids, but there'd never been anything about Segreti having a son or daughter. Even in the articles and interviews that had come after his death.

Him and Rocco had different last names, and that could easily be explained, but they didn't even look alike for crying out loud. On the other hand, Niccolo's resemblance to Soren was uncanny. I knew he'd looked familiar.

It felt like my stomach was being filled with cement as I stared at the back of Rocco's head. Every time a Hazardous Materials song came on or someone talked about them, he was thinking of the man who chose music over him.

And yet...

The way he played guitar and the lyrics he wrote with Jae were reminiscent of his dad's band. Blue Vendetta's style, their earnestness, their passion for music felt like a subconscious nod to predecessors that had worn their hearts on their sleeves only to be rejected by the industry they loved.

Now that I thought about it, Hazmat hadn't garnered a cult following until Niccolo was found dead in his apartment.

I felt a massive headache coming on. The clues had always been there, I'd just been too distracted to connect the dots.

Because I wasn't directly behind his grandson anymore, Soren's attention flickered to me. "You don't even know who Rocco's mother is, but you have the audacity to bring one of your whores into my home?"

My mouth dropped open, but Rocco stood up straighter. "Don't talk about her like that. It's the one thing I can't give you a pass on."

"You know he doesn't mean it," Giuliana whispered.

"Of course I do!" Soren's booming voice cracked. "Your mother and I spoiled you. Let you do whatever you wanted. We bought you that guitar and watched while you put it above everything else. We ruined you, made you selfish."

"That's right," Rocco replied hoarsely. "And I'm going to ruin Rocco too. I'm going to teach him to be selfish like me."

Soren's eyes bulged and he lunged at Rocco so quickly, I think I screamed again. Giuliana was between them in seconds, and thankfully avoided getting hurt during the scuffle.

"Soren, stop," she sobbed. "Please stop. You'll wake up Rocco."

That was the only thing that seemed to calm him down. His face softened and he stopped trying to grab who he thought was his son. Soren took a deep, shuddering breath. "Get out." He looked like he wanted to spit. "I don't want to look at you anymore."

Giuliana kept her arms around him and began pulling him away. She was tall, but Soren still dwarfed her. How had she survived until Rocco and I showed up? "Go and lay down. I'll show Niccolo out after he checks up on Rocco."

"Just keep an eye on him. He can't take my grandson," Soren grumbled, letting his wife herd him into their bedroom.

Her look of determination was very convincing. I guess Rocco wasn't the only one that had learned to act. "I won't let him."

After Giuliana got Soren settled in their room, she came back out and took Rocco in her arms. He melted into her as they were whispered private things and sought strength in one another. She rubbed his back and gently prodded the arm that had been hit with the golf club. The moment felt so intimate, I almost looked away.

I was just an outsider, standing by the open front door, shell-shocked. When the remainder of the golf club fell through the window it made me jump, and pulled Rocco and Giuliana out of their hug.

"I've got to clean that up," she murmured, dazed. "I don't know how he found those golf clubs. I thought they were in the attic." She was pinched and pale, not quite steady on her feet.

"I got it, nonna. Just...sit." Rocco turned toward me as if remembering I was there. "Can you sit with her while I clean up?"

But...your arm...I wanted to say.

He was already walking into the other room. Giuliana and I stared awkwardly at each other while he was gone. After a few seconds, she sighed and slumped onto a leather sectional, then patted the spot next to her. I hesitated, but eventually sat down.

"You must be Misery," she said.

I blinked, surprised that she knew my name.

"Rocco talks about you."

"He does?"

She smiled gently. "I was hoping to meet you but...under different circumstances. My husband is a good man. He loves me and he loves— " she swallowed. "Loved Niccolo, but I'm afraid there are some things he can't forgive him for, and sometimes those things float to the surface when he's not himself."

I replayed everything I'd witnessed from the phone call in the car to the near brawl. The violence, the confusion, thinking Rocco was his father..."Alzheimer's?"

Giuliana bit her lip and nodded slowly.

I fidgeted, looking anywhere but her. I had a giant headache and my nerves were shot, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil Rocco and Giuliana had to be going through. He had lost his dad and she had lost her son. It didn't seem fair that they were losing Soren too.

"Soren has his good days and bad days. And today was a particularly bad day. When he woke up he didn't remember who I was. He was scared and...angry. He must've found the golf clubs while I was on the phone with Rocco."

I listened intently. Aside from movies like the Notebook, I didn't know much about Alzheimer's. I knew that over time people with the disease forgot how to take care of themselves and worst of all, forgot their loved ones. But I didn't know their minds could take them back in time or confuse family members.

Soren had honestly thought Rocco was Niccolo, and I shuddered thinking about what would've happened if he'd found out his son was actually dead.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Giuliana said.

I shook my head. "No...it's...." I stopped. I couldn't say it was OK, because it wasn't. Nothing about Alzheimer's was OK for anyone involved. I stared into Giuliana's hazel eyes. They reminded me so much of Rocco's. It was amazing how he'd taken after her instead of his dad or grandpa. And yet he'd inherited his dad's passion for music. The very thing that had kept him out of his life and tore the family apart.

The sound of the golf club hitting Rocco echoed in my head and I frowned.

I really hoped his arm was OK.

Blue Vendetta was months away from releasing their second album. What if it got delayed all because I hadn't listened to Rocco, and literally nose-dived into his family drama?

Once again, I'd made everything worse. Ackerman was going to skin me alive, the fans would be livid, and Eli and the rest of the guys would be disappointed.

A sliver of panic snaked its way up my chest, but I shut it down. I couldn't entertain 'What ifs' right now. I had to remain present in case Giuliana or Rocco needed anything.

He suddenly trudged back into the living room with a broom and dustpan in his uninjured hand. His expression was shuttered, mouth set in a grim line. He swallowed convulsively. "I called Lillian."

"You didn't have to do that, cucciolo," Giuliana said.

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone with him tonight. I'd sleep better knowing a professional was here to help if something else happened." Rocco set the dustpan on the floor and used the same hand to sweep glass into it. Beside the window, I spotted other things that had been broken in the domestic dispute.

"She was here earlier today. Our insurance won't cover a second visit."

"Don't worry about it," Rocco replied gruffly. He picked up the broom and dustpan and disappeared. When he came back he was still holding his right arm against his chest. He tried to straighten it, but flinched in pain and held it back up.

"Are you sure you're OK?" Giuliana looked as worried as I felt.

"I'm fine."

A tense silence filled the room, shortly followed up by a chilly breeze. I looked at the broken window. "Um...we should probably cover that right?"

Rocco and I gathered empty trash bags and tape. He seemed reluctant having me around, but I stuck to him like glue. He couldn't shake me.

We taped the trash bags over the window to keep out the cold air and Rocco mumbled something about calling someone to fix it tomorrow. He took the second golf club back inside the house and swept more glass off the walkway.

By the time we were done, Lillian arrived. She was a high-energy nurse in her thirties that had been helping Giuliana with Soren every afternoon and evening for years. She had a good rapport with Rocco too. The three of them talked quietly among themselves with Lillian making sympathetic noises here and there. She put a consoling hand on Rocco's arm and scowled when he flinched.

"Are you hurt? Why didn't you tell me as soon as I got here?"

He shrugged, and she began poking and prodding him while asking questions. "Could just be bruised. Or it may be a fracture," she surmised. "I don't think it's broken, but I'd suggest getting an X-Ray as soon as possible."

"Great," Rocco muttered.

"The closest hospital is in Beechmill." Now that Giuliana knew her grandson was indeed hurt she was looking him over for other injuries.

"I know. I'm headed back there to drop off Miz, so that works."

He stood around talking to the two women a few minutes longer before hugging his nonna and kissing her forehead. He mouthed a thank you to Lillian then met me at the door.

I was conflicted. After weeks of wanting to meet Rocco's family, it had finally happened. It just wasn't what I expected.

I turned to open the front door, but Giuliana's sudden presence by my side stopped me. She was so graceful I could never hear her coming. To my surprise, she hugged me and kissed both of my cheeks. "This wasn't the way I wanted to meet you, but now that I have, I hope that despite what you've seen you'll come again?"

I glanced at Rocco, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. That was up to him, right?

Giuliana smiled, patting his uninjured arm. She leaned in and whispered just loud enough for me to hear, "She's lovely, mi cucciolo. Bring her back soon."

For maybe the third time in the weeks I'd known him, Rocco actually blushed. But he didn't respond, and it kind of hurt.

Outside, I noticed that the trash bags we'd taped over the window were holding up against the wind. Between it and Lillian's impromptu visit this was going to be a very expensive night for Rocco. He was still favoring his right arm, his leather jacket bunched up at the elbow.

"I can drive," I offered.

He just shook his head. "I'm gonna drop you home then head to the hospital."

"Rocco, you're hurt." I was starting to think that wiping my nose with his bare hand was easier than letting me see him like this.

"It's probably just bruised. My jacket kind of cushioned the hit." He walked to the driver's side of the rover, but I pushed past him and leaned against the door to block his entry.

He frowned. "Come on. Move, Miz."

Now it was my turn to shake my head. I held out a hand and wiggled my fingers. I didn't have a car, so I didn't drive often, but I'd passed driver's ed with a solid B minus. I was more than capable.

Thus a battle of wills commenced. Rocco tilted his head and fixed me with a glare so powerful my eyebrows had to be singed. I hesitated a little, but didn't back down. Man, I'd come a long way. When I first met Rocco, I could barely look him in the eye. He was too attractive and his eyes were too pretty. I mean, what guy had eyelashes so dark they put girls wearing eyeliner and mascara to shame?

A few weeks ago I would've wilted under this glare, but now I just returned it full force.

Rocco was stubborn, but I could be stubborn too. And right now he needed to let me drive, so he could decompress.

He moved closer, but that just made me lean against the door harder. If he wanted to get in the driver's seat, he'd have to pick me up and move me. And part of me expected that, so I was surprised when he sighed and dropped the keys in my hand before going around to the passenger's side.

"Drive slow. I'm used to the area, but you're not, and the last thing we need to do is hit a deer tonight. They practically own Lakeside."

I nodded. Just because we'd had a rough night didn't mean the deer had to suffer.

I climbed into the Range Rover and started the engine, a little nervous now that I was actually in the driver's seat. I didn't want to crash Rocco's expensive ride. After going twenty-five miles per hour for the first few minutes of the drive, I got comfortable and sped up. I glanced at him periodically. This time he was the one with his body turned away, head resting against the window. He was quiet the whole time, and I was too much of a coward to reach out and touch him.

~~~

Author's notes: And there it is! Rocco's past. Some of you guessed it, but I hope you still enjoyed the chapter :)

How do you think this discovery will affect Miz and Rocco's relationship?

Alzheimer's is a monster of a disease. Thankfully, no one in my family has it, but I was able to ask a friend whose father had it. I learned a lot, and my heart goes out to anyone who is dealing with it.

Since Niccolo isn't around to defend his life choices (whether they were right or wrong), the song and lyrics at the top are how I would interpret his feelings toward his father and life in general.

In a round about way, maybe they fit Rocco too.

Don't forget to VOTE, COMMENT, and SHARE!

Please excuse any typos.