Life Before Damaged, Volume 6 Read online

“There’s nothing to figure out. What’s done is done. I caused this mess, I’m the one who tipped the whole mess into motion, and I should be the one to take the blame. The thing is...” I pull away and let out a rush of air before shoving my hair out of my face. I sit down hard and stare at my hands as I speak. “I’d take all the blame, but I can’t. It would leave you with nothing. At least this way your livelihood remains intact and—”

  Mom rushes toward me and falls to her knees. She rests her hands on top of mine and then tips her head to the side to catch my eye. When I look up, she’s smiling. It’s that maternal smile, the one that is invincible, even in the darkest times.

  “Dear girl, don’t you know that you’re the greatest treasure I could have possibly hoped for? This means nothing to me.” She waves her hand around the room, motioning to the exquisite things and lavish décor. “I’d sell every last thing I owned if it could save you from this. I should have realized we were smothering you. It’s just that, I knew you were growing up and I didn’t want to see you leave. The results were the exact opposite of what I wanted. I’m so sorry.”

  I squeeze Mom’s hand before standing up. I pull her to her feet and wrap my arms around her.

  “It means a lot to me to hear you say that. And please know, by no means was this your fault. I did it and I’ll have to live with the consequences.”

  I release her and step away, before wiping the tears out of my eyes.

  “Now, will you help me pack?”

  My mother nods and follows me out of the room and up the stairs. I’ve morphed somehow and I suddenly understand the strength in her silence. Outer calm reflects nothing about a person's inner state. In these moments, every inch of my insides is in turmoil, twisting and screaming in agony.

  I betrayed my family.

  I took everything from them.

  And yet, my mom is still at my side.

  THE GOOGLE

  August 17th, 5:05pm

  “Where will you go, Regina?”

  My mother is calmly folding my slacks and placing them into a suitcase. I pulled out every bag I own and most of them are already stuffed to the max. I know I can’t come back here, so I try to take as much as possible. Odds are I’ll have to sell some of this stuff to bridge the gap between now and marrying Pete. The mental image of me standing at the altar in a wedding dress, waiting for Pete to stop sucking face with his latest conquest and get his ass down the aisle pops into my head. I close my eyes and take a breath. It doesn’t matter what he does.

  Marriage can be for different reasons. Not everyone gets hitched for love, especially not people like the Ferros. For our kind, marriage is more of a merger. Anthony had been my family's choice--a merger of knowledge and money. I was destined to be an unlucky bride on both paths. More knives tear through my stomach, gutting me further.

  Shove the emotions aside, Gina. You have to keep it together until you beg Erin for a bed. Clearing the tightness in my throat, I plaster on a plastic smile.

  “I'll move in with Erin for now. She’s been asking me to live with her for years. I’ll be fine, Mom. Don’t worry about me.”

  She gives me a smile only moms give. It’s one of those "you'll always be my baby" smiles.

  “Yes, well, one day you’ll have children of your own and you’ll see that worrying about them will be your full-time job long after they’ve left the cradle. Just because you’re grown doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”

  “Mom, it’s okay, really. It's time I moved out anyway. Besides, if you keep worrying you’ll have to get Botox and sit next to Mrs. Ferro the whole time. From the looks of her expressionless face, she’s been flash frozen to be forever thirty-five.”

  I toss a few more pairs of panties into a suitcase and shut the lid.

  “Be careful, Regina. A jaded woman can’t think clearly and with Constance as your mother-in-law, you’ll want a clear mind.”

  I have a cami in my hand, but toss it onto the bed instead of the suitcase.

  “I thought I’d be on my own for a little while before getting married. Instead, my every minute is planned until the wedding, which is in,” I glance at my watch, “exactly nine months, four days and two hours. Save the date. Or better yet, I’ll add it to your Google calendar.”

  Mom’s lips twitch and then her gaze instantly returns to the bag on the bed.

  “Yes, the Google. Excellent idea. I use it all the time.”

  I stop and stare at her.

  “'The Google?’ Mother? Darling?” I walk over to her and bump her shoulder with mine. “You can use Google, right?”

  She folds a shirt and tries not to smile.

  “Of course I can. You showed me. I get onto AOL and then—”

  I blink at her.

  “What? Why are you on AOL?”

  “Because it’s the Internet. Then I go to the Google and the calendar is right there.”

  “Right, and your phone messages, your reminders…”

  “Yes, of course.”

  We both stand there for a moment and then start laughing.

  “You’re still using paper, aren’t you?”

  Mother giggles and then spins around and sits on my bed.

  “I tried, Regina, but it’s too complicated. Besides, I don’t use a cell phone that often.”

  “Mom! You’re supposed to keep your phone on you. That’s the whole point.”

  She waves a hand at me.

  “A pencil and paper does just fine.”

  “In that case, here.” I grab a sticky note out of my desk and write down the date. I walk back to mom and stick it on her forehead. “Don’t be late!”

  Mom laughs and takes the note. She flips it over and sees what I wrote.

  * * *

  REGINA & PETER

  SITTING IN A TREE

  K.I.S.S.I.N.G.

  IN 9 MONTHS, 4 DAYS, and 2 HOURS

  * * *

  My mom looks at me and then lets out a loud honk of a laugh. She slaps her hands over her mouth. I’m amazed I made her laugh that loudly.

  “OMG! That’s where I get it from! The goose laugh! It’s you!”

  She shakes her head, but she’s laughing too hard. A second later, she honks out another laugh, and we deteriorate to giggles. When emotions run high, they can turn on a dime. One second you can be in tears and the next second is filled with sounds of joy.

  INVEST IN GOOD EAR PLUGS

  August 17th, 5:17pm

  We sit on the bed laughing until our sides hurt. When Mom stops, she puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m going to miss having you around.”

  Sighing heavily, I sit up and toss the schedule into one of my bags and stare blankly at it.

  “Me too.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this decision?”

  “Yes. I'm just sad that I won't get the chance to marry a man that I love. I mean, Pete Ferro? Of all people?”

  My mother looks at me questioningly. She appears as though she wants to say something, but she doesn’t quite know how to ask. Her eyes crinkle at the corners.

  “What is it?”

  “Earlier today, when I came to your room, you were convinced Peter Ferro was a good man. You were adamant everybody else’s opinion of him was wrong and that you saw a kinder side to him. Why the change of heart?”

  My eyes pop out of my head.

  “You heard him, Mom! The things he wanted to do to me, the reason he saved me from that building. His intentions were never good. He sent a man to his grave with his fists and then put everyone’s life in danger by letting the fire burn! He was going to walk away and never look back.”

  Mom continues folding clothes, putting them in the suitcases, before finally saying sweetly.

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  The corner of my mouth quirks up into a half-smirk. She’s using reverse psychology on me. Her words agree with me, but her tone says 'you are so wrong.'

  Ok. I'll bite.

  “Buuuuut?”

&n
bsp; My voice goes up an octave by the time I'm done.

  She places another pair of slacks into my bag before lifting her gaze to mine. Her cordial façade, the one she puts into place while playing perfect wife and mother, is gone. Instead, I see the woman with years of experience, struggles and wisdom staring at me.

  “Trust your gut feeling, Regina. That's all you can do. And always remember that not all walls are made of bricks and mortar, nor are they indestructible.”

  I stare at her, my jaw gaping.

  “Mom, you’re being cryptic. I need motherly advice, not riddles or lessons in masonry. Unless you think I should be hitting him over the head with bricks or lock him up in a dungeon, this isn't helping.”

  She sits on the bed and pats the spot next to her. When I sit down beside her, she wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean into her, placing my head on her shoulder. Her hands brush through my hair. It's just as soothing now as it was when I was a little girl.

  “You’re a very perceptive and smart woman. I wouldn't be too quick to dismiss your original instinct. Sometimes people act a certain way as a means of protection. Now, whether he's trying to protect himself or trying to protect the ones around him, who knows? But, I do believe that if there's someone who can take on the likes of Peter Ferro, it’s you. I see it in the way you look at each other. I think Constance Ferro chose wisely when she set her sights on you. You can be a good influence on him. You are kind, gentle and stubborn enough to contest any man. He won't break you, sweetie. I think the two of you will be just fine.”

  Mom gets up, kisses the top of my head, and resumes transferring clothing from drawers to suitcases. I wish I shared her conviction and confidence in me. All I can see is years of misery ahead.

  “What happened to don’t ever fall in love with a Ferro or you’ll get hit by lightning?”

  “Oh, I’m not saying it’s prudent to let yourself fall in love with him. For better or for worse, however, he will be your husband. Might as well make the most of it, and work together as a team instead of butting heads all the time. Be partners instead of opponents. Don’t ever let him hurt you, but don’t be too quick to give up on him either. I saw him in that room. He’s a broken man in need of a good woman. Men don’t know this, but we women are so much stronger than they can ever hope to be.”

  Mom picks up my point shoes from my ballet drawer and reverently nestles them in a suitcase, wrapping the pink satin ribbons around the beat up soles. When she looks up, she has a bit of a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

  “And if he proves to be the despicable man you think he is, invest in good ear plugs so that you don't have to listen to his nonsense. Just think how much fun baby making is going to be though, looking up at his handsome face.” Mom lets out a girlish giggle.

  I can’t. I just can't!

  “But Mom! I hate him!"

  She grins at me and says, "Uh, huh. I know you do."

  SOCIETY HOBO

  August 17th, 8:12pm

  I knock purposefully on Erin's door, my suitcases piled high behind me. I'm an unlikely cross between a socialite and a hobo. Leaving home under these circumstances sucks, but I’m not thinking about that right now. I need to keep moving forward or I’ll dissolve into a puddle of tears and snot.

  Cry later, Gina, I tell myself, impatiently knocking again. What the hell is Erin doing? I know she’s home. On the cab ride over, I read her flirty posts with some guy on Facebook; unwisely, her location was still turned on. With my luck, he’s here and I just interrupted a shag session.

  Noises come from inside—heavy footsteps, along with something hitting the floor, followed by a faint but eloquent "Awh fuckin' A!" Finally, I hear the distinctive sound of metal on metal as she unbolts the door.

  "Yeah? What d'you want? This had better be good!"

  Erin opens the door, appearing as an artistic mess with a pissed-off expression on her face. Her hair attempts its escape from the high ponytail at the top of her head, stray strands poking out everywhere. She’s wearing ratty sweatpants and a sports bra, completely comfortable in her purple paint smudged skin.

  I offer a sheepish smile.

  “So I guess you’re not riding BigJimmy69?”

  There’s a look of surprise on Erin’s face when she notices it's me. I didn’t call or text her before showing up. She glances at my suitcases and pushes stray strands of hair out of her eyes, smearing paint all over the top of her head. She blinks as if unable to understand what she's seeing.

  “What’s all this? Are we going on a vaycay?”

  I hate asking for help, but I need her right now. The idea of hanging with her 24/7 sounds fun--and I could use something good in my life.

  “Are you going to let your new roomie in or should I set up camp in this grungy hallway?”

  I lean on one stack of suitcases, my arms folded across my chest. Yeah, bad plan. The suitcases slide, topple over, and I go crashing down onto the floor with them.

  “Very graceful, meathead.” She offers me a hand. “Wait a second, what? You moved out?”

  Finally registering the implication of my words, Erin wigs out completely. She does this spastic thing with her hands where she waves them way too fast while jumping up and down, squeeing.

  “You did it! You moved out!? Holy shit, what did my main man Reggie say about that? And what about Dr. Limp Dick? I thought you’d be moving in with him since you’re all engaged and shit?”

  “I have so much to tell you and none of it's good. Let's just say that the pile of crap got moved from a litter box to a bidet. I’ll explain everything once we bring these in, I promise. Give me a hand?”

  Erin helps bring in my suitcases and deposits them in “my” corner of her loft. I am now the proud resident of a mattress on the floor hidden by room dividers set at ninety-degree angles. Erin's bed is up a set of stairs on a mezzanine overlooking the loft. There isn't much privacy, but I've learned over the years that a good set of headphones and a decent playlist is enough to block out any awkward sounds coming from above.

  Honestly, I love this place.

  To me, this loft represents freedom. It’s an escape from my confinement and suffocation at home. The chipping red brick walls, paint-stained cement floor, and shabby chic couches make the space feel cozy. The unfinished ceiling with its overhead plumbing, drafty north-facing floor-to-ceiling windows, and view of nothing but the building across the street remind me I'm starting over somewhere more realistic than a mansion. THIS is real life.

  Moving away from home was long overdue. Now that I’m here, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders and, for the first time in a long time, I start to relax.

  When all my belongings are in, Erin closes the door to her apartment, secures the chain and deadbolt, then rustles around in the kitchen for a few minutes. Soon we sit down on one of her couches, warm cups of coffee in hand.

  “So, spill, chica! I’m dying to hear this.”

  Erin tucks her feet under her legs and sips her coffee, eyes wide and focused on me, anxious to hear my story. This right here, this is what I need--someone who’ll listen. I love my mother and can tell her almost anything, but she’s torn between my father and me. She can't be objective and I won't force her to choose between us.

  “I didn’t move out." My fingers play nervously with the handle of the cup. "I was kicked out.”

  “You? Kicked out? Ever sick! What could YOU have possibly done? Catch Reginald smoking catnip with Tony in a hot tub? Please tell me neither was sporting that tail.”

  I snort at the disturbing image. The last time I talked to Erin was after my forced engagement to Anthony--after I caught him and Kitty practicing mouth-to-dick resuscitation. By the time I finish filling her in on the happenings of the past few days, she’s gaping.

  “So let me get this straight: you’re going to marry Pete Fuck-Me-Up-Against-A-Wall Ferro?”

  “Yep! You’re looking at the future Mrs. Fuck-Me-Up-Against-A-Wall, in the flesh! Except I'm not on his fuck-again
st-a-wall list. Only mistresses make the cut.”

  She manages to pick her jaw up off the floor and waves her hand dismissively.

  “Psh! He’ll be all over you, and you know it. He always is. Enough with your low, 'I'm not sexy enough to live' self-esteem. We'll deal with that later, missy. For now, let's just bask in the thought of all the hot steamy sex you'll be having for the rest of your life. You had a slow start in life, Gina, but, by God, you'll be lucky if you can walk straight in a little while. I can't believe my cooch actually envies yours now. I have cooch envy!"

  I make a face.

  "Um, Erin? My, uh, cooch won't be going anywhere near him. He's a selfish whore and kind of killed a guy. Did you miss that part?"

  "Whore? Maybe, but so am I. That doesn't stop you from loving me, does it? And I prefer the term 'libertine.' As for killer? I don't know, Gina. He's quick with a punch, but I don't think he'd deliberately do anything to take someone's life.

  “That night was epically chaotic," Erin continues. "So much could have happened that we don't know about. I know that guy who died. Now HE was a major asshole. That dude was into some serious shit... But enough of that. I'm just so happy you're finally here!"

  Erin places our cups on the coffee table and tackles me in a huge bear hug. I have to laugh at her over-the-top enthusiasm. No matter what hell awaits me down the road, these are going to be the best couple of weeks of my life, assuming I survive the subway.

  VARIETY SHOW

  August 22nd, 7:33pm

  Not even a week has gone by since my move and I already love my new life. It's been a whirlwind of new classes, college homecoming activities--which I'm actually attending this year--studies, chores and hanging out with Erin. I barely have time for anything else.

  It’s Thursday night, and I’m studying for tomorrow's pop-quizzes on Erin's couch, dressed comfortably in my pajamas and floppy-eared bunny slippers. My hair is held up in a bun by a variety of pens, pencils, and highlighters.