Life Before Damaged Vol. 8 (The Ferro Family) Read Online Free Page A

scream out as loud as I can, horrified.
    My voice fills my head as the cry of terror rips from my body.
    Darting up in bed, I gasp. My voice is still in my ears. I must have yelled. My heart is still pounding and my body is covered in sweat. It seemed so real. Even though I know it wasn’t, even though everything is fine, my emotions can’t recognize the difference. My body is still ready to run or fight.
    I push away the damp hair that clings to my face. There’s no fire--there never is. I take in my new and now slightly familiar surroundings, taking deep calming breaths. I’m safe. I pick up one of the plush pillows and hug it tightly to my chest.
    I’ve been living in Ferro Mansion for two weeks. My life here isn’t so bad if you like cold and loveless isolation. I haven't spoken to Philip since our horrible breakup at the drop zone. Erin tried to stop by several times, but the butler keeps sending her away. All I can get from her are text messages. I miss her.
    Pete is kind to me, but I hardly ever see him. Jonathan hangs around the house, but he's a massive flirt--his resemblance to Pete makes me uncomfortable.
    I avoid the indoor pool and spa because that seems to be where Mr. Ferro keeps his bouncy boobs. I have no inclination to engage in brain-numbing conversations with them. If I have to listen to the virtues of acrylic, gel, and silk nails again, I'm jumping out of a window.
    I feel like I’m in prison, which is fitting, considering that's where I belong. The only locations the Ferro family chauffeurs are allowed to drive me are to school and back. I’m getting a serious case of cabin fever despite the fact that this place is huge and has everything I need--everything except what counts most in a home.
    The clock on my nightstand shows 2:58 a.m., and I can’t go back to sleep. Pushing the blankets away with my feet, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I pad across the large room and open the closet door. I step inside and grab my dance bag from the little golden chaise, and pull the strap across my shoulder.
    Silently, I pad down the hallways. The only thing that brings me any joy is the unused ballroom I discovered on my second day here. It’s my salvation. When I’m not in school or studying in my room, I’m in the ballroom dancing. I dance until I can no longer stand. I dance until I can’t feel anything but pain from pointe, or overused muscles crying out for rest.
    At least I can fathom that type of pain. I can ice it and make it go away. I wish I knew how to ice the nightmares.
    I pad inside and flip on one of the chandeliers. I mute the light so it’s glowing softly, only illuminating the center of the room ever so slightly. Mirrors surround the edges at various places as does ornate gold moldings. The combination of gold and pale light makes it feel like candles glowing around me.
    There’s a scent in this room too, something fresh and free. It’s somewhere between lilacs and rain showers. It’s a happy scent, something from childhood that I can’t quite put my finger on. The ceiling is like a canvas, painted by a master. It’s not a copy of the Sistine Chapel or something that existed long ago, but rather, it’s something new, but timeless. The pale blues and whites sweep across the ceiling making it resemble the sky. If you look at it for any length of time, you can see nymphs and beautiful faces peering down. The way the painting was done makes them muted, but it’s as if they’re there, watching down on you—and it doesn’t matter if you notice or not—they’re still there.
    I tie my hair up into a loose bun on the top of my head, before grabbing my slippers from the bag. I lace up the ribbons of my pointe shoes around my ankles and stretch my muscles, bringing them to life.
    I dance to the silent music playing in my head. I perform piqué turns over and over across the room, the world blurring around me. My lines are perfect, and everything is held in position, as it