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Vandal
There’s no escape from this nightmare I’m trapped in. Sleep brings no relief. I see her in my dreams, smiling at me, reaching for my hand. I can hear her tiny, sweet voice, her innocent giggle. Then I wake and reality rushes into my veins, washing her away, taking her from me over and over again.
“Maybe you should stay at my place for a few days?” Lukas suggests, watching me cram my shit into the plastic bag the nurse gave me for my things. My clothes are covered in blood, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s mine, Katie’s, or Renee’s. Today I get to leave the hospital, and tomorrow I bury my five-year-old daughter. All I want to do is find a scalpel in this hospital and hide in the bathroom and cut myself.
“No,” I say.
“You can come stay with us,” Storm offers, putting his arm around his fiancée, Evie. I smirk at my cousin. Like I really want to stay with these two disgustingly happy people who can’t keep their hands off each other and smile fucking non-stop. That scalpel is calling my name.
“We’d love to have you stay with us, Vandal. I’ve got homemade chili cooking in the crockpot. Storm said it’s one of your favorites.” Evie smiles up at me, but shrinks back from my cold stare. Blizzard Chick is her nickname. Now I remember. I step closer to her and she sinks into Storm’s side a little.
“I hafta bury my fuckin’ kid tomorrow. You think I want to sit around with you two fucks and eat chili?”
I enjoy watching the smile disappear from her face and the way she looks down at the floor. That’s right, honey, don’t even look at me. I will fucking eat your soul. Storm glares at me, torn between saving his girlfriend from the big bad wolf and letting me expel my rage a little. Someday he’ll learn he can’t love everybody.
Lukas touches my arm. “Vandal, take it easy. We’re all just trying to help.”
I shrug him off. “I don’t want any help. I don’t want anything.”
Except my daughter. And if I can’t have her, I’ll take that scalpel now so I can cut this pain out of my body.
I grab my bag. “Can we go?” Lukas is supposed to drive me home since my new Mustang is now a mangled mess of metal, glass, and death.
“No, we have to wait for the doctor to come back and discharge you, and there’s some other stuff that needs to be taken care of. I told you this already, did you forget?”
I roll my eyes and sit on the bed. I need to get home and get away from everybody. They’re smothering me with all their good intentions and attention, and I have no idea how to accept either from them, thanks to me coming from the fucked up side of this family—meaning the father I haven’t seen since I was five. I only just found out I had a brother and a clan of cousins a little more than five years ago. Needless to say, I am adjusting to the whole family thing a lot slower than they are.
“Get out of my way.” A familiar female voice snarls.
I turn toward the commotion at my door to see Deb pushing her way past Storm into my room. I knew she would show up eventually.
“You,” she says, pointing at me, barely standing up straight. I don’t know if she’s drunk or just mentally distraught. Possibly both. “You killed my daughter,” she chokes out. “You’re a fucking murderer.”
I rise to my feet, grab the IV trolley, and step towards the woman who gave birth to the only person I’ve ever loved. “You made me do this, Deb. Your fucking selfish, crazy control-freak tantrum caused this.” I punch the wall next to her, and my fist goes through drywall. “She’d be alive right now if you had just let her stay for one more night. Really, Deb? You had to fucking threaten me and force me to drive in the middle of the night when I told you I was fucking exhausted?”
“I hate you! You killed my baby!” she shrieks, and starts to smack and kick me.
Storm grabs her and pulls her off me. “Deb, please. This is not the time or place for this.” His voice is low as he holds her back.
“He should be in prison! He’s a murderer!”
“No one’s going to prison, Deb,” Lukas says, stepping between us. “It was an accident. A horrible fucking accident. You should just leave. Nobody needs this. We’re all upset.”
She glares at me over Lukas’s shoulder as Storm tries to drag her out the door. “I’m going to make you suffer for this, Vandal! You fucking baby killer!”
“I’ve been suffering my whole life, you cunt. Don’t ever come near me again. We have nothing more to say to each other.” A security guard enters the room and yanks Deb out as my doctor comes in right behind them. “I know this is a stressful situation, but can you people please remember this is a hospital? There are sick people here,” he scolds, as if we’re all stupid.
I can’t hold back my sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, one just got dragged away.”
“What happened here?” He points to the hole in the wall. “You’re going to have to pay for this damage, Mr. Valentine.”
“Fine. Whatever. Can I just go home now?”
The good doctor eyes my hand. “I’m going to have the nurse come in and get your hand cleaned up first. And might I suggest you talk to the psychiatrist on staff? I think you are going to need some anger and grief counseling, Mr. Valentine.”
Lukas nods in agreement. “I think that’s a good idea, Van. Someone to talk to …”
“Fuck. No. I don’t talk.” What I really need is to go home and talk to my good friend Jack Daniels for a few hours.
“Your brother is right,” Doc says to me, and hands Lukas a business card. “This is her information. Maybe when things … settle a bit, he can give her a call.”
“He’s still in the room,” I say sarcastically. “And he’s not talking to a shrink.”
I sit impatiently on the bed as the nurse cleans and bandages my bleeding and swollen knuckles. Apparently only one nurse and one doctor are allowed to treat me while I’m here to diminish the chances of hospital staff who could be fans of the band swarming in here. I have a feeling my aunt and uncle somehow paid for that to happen.
“Mr. Valentine, I’m hesitant to give you a prescription for sedatives in your current state, although I do think you need something to help you calm down,” the doctor comments. I didn’t even hear him come back into the room.
“Don’t worry, Doc. I’m not going to take the whole bottle. Been there, done that.”
“Vandal … come on, man,” Storm voices from his corner of the room, his fiancée hanging on to his hand as if she’s afraid she might get lost if she lets go.
“What, Storm? You don’t want to talk about all the stuff that me, you, and my little bro here have in common?”
I watch him look uneasily at his fiancée, Evie, and I know that he hasn’t told her about his own little trip to the psych ward years ago. Of course I wasn’t part of the family when that happened, but I know all about it thanks to Google. And my younger brother, who I actually kinda like, has deep, telltale scars on both his wrists that even his tattoos can’t hide from my knowing eyes.
Funny how much we all have in common, how parallel our lives were, even though we didn’t grow up together.
***
Just when I think I can leave, Aria, Asher, my lawyer, Sam, our band manager, Don, and our publicist, Helen, all parade into the room.
“What the fuck now? I want to get out of here.”
“Vandal, we have to talk about the incident and damage control so you and the band and your family don’t get dragged into all sorts of gossip and bad press,” Helen says, taking the chair next to my bed. She pulls out an iPad and starts tapping away on it. Bitch is probably updating her Facebook status. “For once, one of your fuck-ups has actually helped save your ass. You forgot to change your birth certificate back to your biological name of Vandal Valentine like you were supposed to do. So, legally you are still Alex Dawson.” Well, at least my adoptive parents did something right. Helen continues, “Therefore, all the accident reports have that name because all of your identification still has it.”
“Vandal, next week I need you
to come into my office so we can get all this straightened out with you using your biological name again,” Sam says.
“Okay … I’ll call you and set up a time,” I reply. I completely forgot about changing my name back legally. Once Gram found me and told me what my real name was, I started using it right away and wasn’t worried about filing paperwork. I just wanted a new beginning with the name that was given to me.
“Deb is not doing well emotionally, which is understandable,” Aria says. “We’ve offered her a large sum of money to not speak to the press about Katie’s accident, or to mention your name, or the band’s, or anything of that nature, and have had her sign nondisclosure agreements and other legal documents that I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered with. The bottom line is, she’ll be quiet.”
“So that bitch is making money off of our daughter’s death? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Aria touches my shoulder. “Vandal, it’s fine. If it keeps her quiet, so be it. We can afford it. Don’t worry about it or waste time thinking about it, please.”
