LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED VOL. 10 (THE FERRO FAMILY) (3 page)

I
try to stand up
, but the stabbing pain in my side intensifies. My vision goes white, and I feel my flesh being torn and twisted. Muffled sound surrounds me as if I were underwater. Men are yelling and then I hear Gina’s terrified voice.

“Peter!” Her voice shatters the foggy bubble threatening to pull me down, and my senses come back sharp with adrenaline. I hear a metallic clinking sound next to me, as my attacker drops the blood-covered knife to the ground. He grabs the ring from my hand and disappears into the shadows.

I can’t move. The pain in my side is crippling, and my muscles won’t follow orders from my brain. My now empty hands go to my side and put pressure on the gash. I need to protect Gina. There are two men left. I can take them both. One of them is standing between Gina and me, blocking my view of her. He’s talking quietly, saying things I can’t hear, and she's shaking her head frantically, her eyes filled with fear. The other man stands next to them, watching over the exchange underway.

Ignoring the intense pain in my side, I stand and step toward Gina, but I stagger and almost fall. When she sees me stumble, Gina gasps and takes a running step toward me. "PETER!"

The guy in front of her stops her and her eyes go wide. The fucking coward glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes filling with fear. Gina looks like she's in shock, her face white and her mouth gaping open. The attacker backs away from her and runs off.

Anger. Pure rage courses through my limbs as I watch him disappear into the distance. I can’t catch the son of a bitch. The cut in my side will bring me down if I try to run after him, but I can get to the third guy who hasn’t bolted yet. I round on him, going in for the punch, but he points a knife straight at my throat. I don’t flinch.

Instinct takes over, and rage obliterates all thought and reason. I fake a move to the left, and he stabs the air. Grabbing his arm, I twist it so that his hand is behind his back. Taking the knife from his hand is easy and I hold it firmly by the handle. I let go of his arm and point the knife toward him. He reaches behind his back then lunges toward me, another knife in hand. I lower my blade close to my hip, and grip the handle tighter. He’s too focused on my throat and doesn’t protect the lower half of his body.

I avoid the slash at the very last second and jab the knife into the front of his hip. The force of his incoming lunge makes the blade go in deeper. I pull up and in with one forceful tug and feel the blade tearing flesh and snapping tendons.

Gina screams. Her cries are laced with panic. “Pete! No! Stop!”

Those three words snap me from my fit of rage. I pull my hand back, leaving the knife still lodged in the guy’s hip. I take a step back, hands shaking with the realization of what I’ve just done. The attacker crumples to the ground clutching at the knife, pulling it out but unable to get back up. He’s not dead, but he’s losing a lot of blood fast. It comes out in rhythmic gushes with every heartbeat. It’s a deadly wound and I caused it.

“Pete.” Gina’s voice sounds scared and weak. Something’s wrong. My Gina is never weak. She should be yelling at me, her arms folded over her chest, her foot tapping, and ready to give me shit for what I’ve done. I turn around.

Instead of seeing her tough-as-nails stance, she’s kneeling on the ground, hands on her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers. So much blood. Her hands are covered. The blood seeps through her winter coat, running down the length of her skirt and covering the ground below. She turns her glassy eyes toward me.

No.

No, this can’t be happening.

I’m frozen. My body can’t move.

When her eyes drift to my side, her face pales even more and a panicked expression takes over her delicate features.

“Oh, God. Pete, you’re hurt.” She struggles to get up. I can't feel myself move, but somehow I end up kneeling by her side on the cold, hard sidewalk. The pain in my side is excruciating, but it’s nothing compared to seeing her like this.

“Gina, baby, keep still. I’ll get help. Don’t move.” I place a kiss on her forehead and try to get up, but she pulls me back down to her.

“N-no. Don’t go, Pete. S-stay with me. I’m s-s-so cold.” Her whole body is shivering. I know what that means, what’s happening. The fight within me screams for me to get help, but I already know it’s too late. Her breath comes in gurgled spurts as tears streak her cheeks.

Sitting down, I gently lower her onto my lap and cradle her in my arms. I open up her coat to see if I can stop the bleeding. The wound is deep and too much blood is flowing out of her too fast. I close her coat to try and keep her warm and try to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

My bloodstained hands leave red trails everywhere I touch her. I feel so goddamned helpless! All the money in the world, all the strength in this body, all the power my name commands and I still can’t fix this.

I scream for help, and most bystanders pretend not to see us, while others pause to take pictures. A few good people pull out their cell phones and call 911. They stay close by, offering their help. One man even takes off his coat and places it over Gina to keep her warm.

I push her hair out of her face, and leave a trail of crimson on her pale skin. "Stay with me, Gina. Help will be here soon. You can do this. Hold on for me, please."

A trembling hand touches my cheek, and I lean into the touch. I place my hand over hers and close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking down. Her delicate pale face is solemn, and her soft voice sounds choppy with gasps between her words.

“Stay strong for me, okay? Don’t leave me.” She takes in a sharp breath, like a gasp, and I can see the pain etched on her face.

My fists clench, wanting someone to pay for this. But someone did pay, someone still lying on the ground a couple of feet away from us, barely alive. It’s not enough. His miserable life is not enough for what they’ve done to her. Strangers still huddle close by, some tending to the man on the ground, some on the phone with 911, updating them on the situation. It's all a blur around me.

“You'll be all right. Please. Stay with me.” I try to comfort her and get her to save her strength, but my girl is stubborn. She never listens. In between rapid, short breaths she tries to talk, her teeth chattering.

“N-n-no. Listen.” Against the pain, she manages a proud smile. “I did it, Pete. I lived boldly. I loved p-passionately. I made my life my own. I even proved you wrong.” She takes in another painful gasp, her face scrunching up in agony, but her weak smile quickly comes back and she places a trembling bloody finger to my lips. “Peter Ferro, in love. You know what? It’s the most b-b-beautiful thing I've ever seen. I wish we had more time.”

I grasp her finger and bring her hand back down. “Stay with me. I can’t do this without you. I need you. Hold on, baby.” I’m half talking, half yelling. My throat feels tight. I pull at the collar of my shirt, and a button goes flying. I can’t breathe.

She shakes her head and licks her pale lips, her breathing sounds worse—too shallow, too weak. I’m losing her. I notice drops of water falling on her face, only it's not raining. I realize tears are running down my cheeks and wipe them away.

"You're not going anywhere without me, Gina. We're getting married. Stay with me, baby. Help is coming. I can hear the sirens. You’ll be okay. You have to be. You're going to be my wife. I can’t do this alone.”

“You’re not alone. You'll never be alone.” Her eyelids seem too heavy to hold open, blinking in slow motion as her gaze becomes more vacant.

The lump in my throat makes my words stick, and losing her hurts so goddamned much, so I nod, sniffling. She places her cold, trembling hand on my chest, and I quickly cover it with mine, holding her as close to me as I can. Her face is ghost white, and her lips are turning blue. She looks like an angel, and the sight sends a cold chill down my spine. She has to live.

“Pete, your heart is who you are. Don't lock it up again.” Her words sound choppy, coming out in between rapid breaths. She closes her hand, gripping my shirt in her delicate fist. Her grip on my shirt loosens.

She whispers a faint “kiss me,” almost like a breath. I lean in and gently brush my lips against hers, scared I might break her. Her lips press into mine, and we kiss through my sobs until she sighs her last breath, her mouth motionless and her lifeless hand dropping down to her side.

A
loud sob
rips me back to reality, where possibly a different hell waits. Sidney sits next to me on the swing, crying and wiping tears away from her face. Thinking about the night I lost Gina in such vivid detail is like losing her all over again, making my past failures all too potent. I blink my past away with my tears, trying to shove the memory back into the deep recesses of my mind where it belongs.

I'm torn. I want to hold Sidney. I want to comfort her, and I need her to comfort me, but she hasn't told me yet what her intentions are. If she's wary of me now, any touch of mine will send her running and never coming back. Most people can't touch her. After the hell she's lived through, even the simplest touch can revive her worst nightmares. Who knows what she thinks of me after what she's read? I don't want to push her. I waited for her once, and I'll patiently wait again. With Sidney, each touch is a gift.

She sniffles, still wiping tears from her face with the backs of her hands.

"Sorry. I feel like I just lost a friend. Crazy, isn't it, considering I've never met her? She was a wonderful person." Sidney looks down to her hands, twisting a rolled-up document. I want to place my hands on hers, to try and ease her nerves, but I won't touch her without her consent. I'm probably the one making her nervous. I stuff my hands in my pockets instead, resisting temptation.

"It's not my favorite memory. I've had time to deal with it but, most of all, I had you to help me heal." I let out a sigh. The wait is unbearable, and the troubled look in her eyes isn't reassuring. "You're holding something back from me. I'm dying here, Sidney. Please tell me what you're thinking."

Sidney's gaze stays downcast, never leaving the papers in her hands. She can't look me in the eye anymore. "I'm trying to put everything together. The orphanage fundraiser occurred the night she died?"

I nod.

"That means she never told you. Oh, Peter. I'm so sorry to do this, but Gina wanted you to have this. According to her journal, she planned to give it to you after the fundraiser, but never had the chance."

There was no day after the fundraiser. Not for her, not for Gina. My life seemed to have ended that night, too—until Sidney walked into that little restaurant in Texas and brought me back to life.

I open my mouth, but words fail me as my past and present crash violently into one another.

Sidney holds her hand out, passing me the papers. I take them from her, our fingertips brushing together briefly. Sidney doesn’t flinch or pull her arm back, giving me a sliver of hope.

I unroll the papers and recognize them immediately. It’s my criminal file. “I don’t understand.”

“Gina stole this from your mother. She wanted to repay you for destroying her file, but she discovered some information she couldn’t bring herself to destroy—at least not until you saw it. Please, just read it. All the way to the end.” Sidney places a hand on my knee and my head snaps in her direction. That small gesture speaks volumes. Despite what she knows, she’s not repulsed by me or afraid of me.

My eyes reluctantly scan the document, flipping through the pages, one after the other: assault, disorderly conduct, speeding, disturbing the peace, DUI, indecent exposure, reckless endangerment, public intoxication, destruction of private and public property, parking violations. The list is long and mirrors just how angry I was back then.

Sidney chews nervously on her bottom lip, and her fingers twist her engagement ring in agitated circles. Whatever she found in this file makes her nervous and I have this sick premonition it’ll mean the end for us. Something in here has her spooked. Maybe it spooked Gina, too, but she never got a chance to tell me. I thought Gina was going to accept my proposal that night. What if I was wrong? I get to the last couple of pages. It’s the charges for the rave...

My eyes go wide, and I whip around to face Sidney.

“This can’t be real.” I place my hand over my face and lean back against the swing in disbelief. “I’m guilty. I killed him.”

Sidney’s voice is light, careful. “Peter. I’m so sorry. You’ve been living with this weight on your shoulders for so long, but it was a lie.” Sidney leans in and puts an arm around my shoulders, resting her head on mine.

I can’t move. I’m too stunned.

According to the file, I didn’t kill the guy at the rave. The autopsy report concludes the cause of death was an aneurism due to chronic cocaine use and overdose. There were signs of concussion due to my punch, but not sufficient enough to send a healthy man into a coma. The redhead tried filing for manslaughter charges after her boyfriend’s death. The cops had me in their line of sight for a while, but once the autopsy results came back, the charges were reduced to a minor assault.

The man overdosed.

It wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t my punch.

As for the fire, the witnesses all say the same thing. After I left, the redhead and her boyfriend continued yelling at each other. He collapsed during the argument, knocking a table to the ground as he fell. That’s when the candles fell into the drapes. That’s when the fire started. It was officially ruled an accident.

I stare at the page and see nothing. A cascade of emotion and regret pool within me so quickly I’m ready to split apart at the seams.

“Peter? Talk to me. Say something.” Sidney takes one of my hands in hers and squeezes gently. She looks into my eyes, her gaze laced with concern.

I swallow hard, and my confession comes out for the first time since the events of that night, so long ago. “I had no recollection of starting that fire. When my mother came out with the police reports, it was easy to believe I’d caused it all. I lived in an angry and frustrated daze most of the time. I was doing whatever I could to piss off the people around me, just to feel something, anything but numbness. I was in no state of mind to recall any of the specifics. This all happened around the time of Sean’s trial. Amanda and their baby had just died so horrifically, and my brother, a man I looked up to, was suddenly believed to be a callous, cold-blooded murderer. I was a mess.”

Sidney’s fingers trace reassuring circles on the back of my hand.

I try to give her a smile, but it’s weak. “All I remember from that night is leaving once I’d knocked that brute to the ground. When I got to my car and heard the screaming, I looked back and saw what was going on inside. I remembered seeing Gina run up those stairs. I needed to make sure she was okay. She’d intrigued me, and I’d sent her off running scared. She didn’t deserve to have her life endangered because of a stupid shit like me, so I went back in to make sure she got out.”

“You risked your life to save her.”

“Don’t make me into a hero, Sidney. I wasn’t a good person at all. I was a fuck-up.”

“Very few people would consider putting themselves in harm’s way to save a stranger. You did more than think about it—you ran inside a burning building. That doesn’t sound like a bad person to me. That guy sounds a lot like the man I love, actually.”

“No, there’s no way to overcome who you really are. Who I was then is who I am now, and who I am will damn our future.”

“Peter, you’re right. People don’t change, but you don’t seem to understand the mask you wore then wasn’t you—the guy with the heart and poems, that’s you. It’s still you.”

“No, it’s more than that. I’m afraid more ugly skeletons will just keep crawling out of the woodwork. What if I fuck up again? What if a couple years from now you realize I’m more of a bastard than you think I am now. I don’t want you to waste your life, only to be blindsided by something horrible later on.”

“You don’t see it, do you? You have this notion in your head that darkness lives inside you, that you ruined Gina’s life, and that you’re on your way to ruin mine. You’re wrong. You are the kindest, bravest, gentlest, most caring man I’ve ever met. You saved her, just like you saved me.”

“Gina died because of me.”

“No. If Gina hadn’t met you, she’d be married to that horrible douche, Anthony, being cheated on repeatedly and trapped in the box her father built around her. Maybe she’d still be alive, but she’d be living as a miserable trophy wife. You freed her and made her happy. Her last moments with you were the happiest of her life. I know if I had the choice, I’d rather live a short life of happiness than live a long life of regret. I read about all the things you did for her, and it confirms what I already knew about you. Pete Ferro and Dr. Peter Granz are all the same person. I wish you could see that. Skeletons and all—the player, the fighter, the lover, the friend, the English professor, the swing dancer. I love all of you, even more now because of your imperfections. We can’t move forward if you’re forever stuck in the past.”

“You’re not leaving me?” I glance over at her, not allowing hope to flood me—not yet.

She laces her fingers with mine, her grip firm on my hand. “No,” she smiles and laughs lightly. “Although the Ferro family should be the example on the Wikipedia entry for dysfunctional family dynamics.” One of the corners of her mouth pulls up into a lopsided grin.

“You don’t want to get mixed up in all this mess. I don’t want to drag you into my family’s mayhem. There’s always one last thing with them. We’ll never be just us.”

“Peter, no one is going to care about me. I’m nobody with no desire to change that. I have no power, no money, no secrets.”

“But my family has enemies. One day they’ll come looking for me, and you’ll be there. I can’t do that to you.”

She tips her head to the side and catches my gaze. “Peter Granz, you need to get this through your thick head—I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever, and nothing you can say will scare me off. I love a poet with a flare of kickass ninja hidden beneath the surface. No one screws with him or his family. His heart is always in the right place, and I hope he realizes that he’s holding my heart in his hands.”

I press my lips together and close my eyes. Clearing my throat, I look over at her. “You still see the same man, don’t you? The journals didn’t change anything.”

She shakes her head, making that long hair fall over her shoulders. “No, I know who you are, and I know we’ve both lived through hell. We have this little house, and it’s perfect. You’re perfect. And if one day some asshole comes knocking on our door, I know you can take him.” She smiles and kisses me on the cheek, before throwing her arms around my shoulders and holding on tight. “If you want to leave, you’re going to have to pry me off.”

Her thin arms are trembling trying to hold me in that bear hug. I can’t help it, I smile and hope fills my chest. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Dude, we deserve each other. We’re both totally messed up. I mean, look at our family pet.” She releases me and points to Mr. Turkey, who’s sauntering toward Sidney as she speaks.

He looks like he wants to bite something. He stretches those massive black wings and flaps a few times, before turning and showing me his butt. It’s like a fuck-off from a buzzard.

I can’t help it, I laugh. Sidney leans into me, and suddenly all the hurt and worry fractures into dust. It’s just me and my wife-to-be, and that’s better than I ever expected.

Sidney pushes off of the swing and takes my hand. Pulling me up, I reluctantly join her. She steps closer to me and reaches up for a kiss. It’s soft and chaste, but it’s all Sidney—and all the more meaningful, considering I thought I’d never get to kiss her again. I was so sure she was going to run away screaming. She starts to walk back toward the house, tugging on my arm and smiling devilishly. “Come on, Peter, let’s go.”

Taking the extra step to catch up with her, I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close to me. “Where are we going?” I say into her neck. She shivers in my arms and turns to face me.

Her smirk softens into a look of peaceful happiness. Her hands slide up my chest until her fingers can play with the hair at the nape of my neck. “I need some coffee. What about you?”

My lips twist into a crooked smile. “What kind of coffee are we talking about here, Sidney?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” She giggles and speeds up, glancing over her shoulder at me as she runs.

At that moment, I’m happy beyond comprehension. Most people never find love, and for some reason, I was given a second chance.

Sidney turns on the ball of her foot when she notices I’ve stopped moving. Her face lights up with a huge grin as she reaches for me. Tugging me by my shirt, she whispers, “It’s hot coffee—very hot, naughty coffee.”