The Bad Things (Book 5)

Chapter 9. Stormy

"Yeah," I said. I pecked Abigail on the lips and left the room. Going home could have waited, but I could feel myself losing it. The image of Stormy lying in a hospital bed, intubated with wires sticking out of her, burned in my mind. It wasn't something that would ever go away. I wouldn't wish what I saw on anyone. How could I forgive myself for this?

When I walked into the foyer, there wasn't anyone around. The pink tricycle sat at the foot of the stairs. At first, all I could do was stare at it. The memories of every time she got hurt on it played through my mind, including on her first tricycle, the time she nearly got hit by a car.

Anger bubbled up inside of me in a way that it hadn't in years. My body trembled. My temperature rose. There weren't any rational thoughts left. Everything went black.

"Andrew!" The voice pulled me from the darkness and anger that consumed me.

Only then did I realize what I was doing. "Stupid son of a bitch!" I screamed as I came to. The anger that I felt knocked the wind out of me. I was vaguely aware of hands trying to restrain me as I collapsed to the floor and sobbed. The little tricycle was no longer a tricycle—I had destroyed it without any recollection or desire of doing so. Tears rolled down my face.

Dad kneeled in front of me. "Son, are you okay?"

Mom kneeled beside Dad and stared at me with worry. Angel, Sean, and Ademar were behind me.

"What happened?" I whispered. Somehow, I knew what I had done, but I couldn't remember.

Andrea sat down beside me. "You blacked out, didn't you?"

"Um. . ." I trailed off and swallowed hard.

"I do it too sometimes when I get really upset or angry," Andrea said. She grabbed my shoulder, and concern distorted her features.

"I'm okay," I mumbled. I started to stand up but swayed and fell back again. Andrea caught me.

"I'll get him some water," Mom said.

"Let me talk to your brother," Dad said to Andrea.

Andrea and the others left the foyer without a word.

Dad turned to me as soon as we were alone. "You really don't remember?"

"I barely remember driving back home."

"Sometimes, when something bad happens, people blackout from it. Not that they can't remember, they choose not to. You've been through too much in your life. Maybe you should stay home tonight. I can call Abigail—"

"No," I snapped. "No. I'm going back." I jumped to my feet and stumbled slightly. My vision blurred. I groaned and held my head in my hands to make it go away.

"Andrew," Mom said.

I looked up at her.

She handed me the glass and gently rubbed my back. "Maybe your dad is right."

"No. I need to be there with her. I'm fine. I have to go back. I just came to get a few things. The tricycle just freaked me out or something. I'm sorry you guys saw that. It's just that Stormy has had a lot of incidents with tricycles. . ." I trailed off. "And I'm the one who bought them."

"Andrew, you can't blame yourself over it just because you bought the tricycle," Mom said.

"Have you ever seen a four-year-old laying in a hospital bed with needles and wires all over her and a breathing tube down her throat?" I asked.