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

should be. Brisk grand allegros are counterbalanced by slow flowing adagios; all executed while keeping the utmost control over every muscle in my body. I’m holding myself in one piece instead of letting the fragments fall to the ground, finding inner and outer strength in my dancing.
    Time becomes obsolete. I’m breathing hard, covered in sweat, my nightshirt clinging to my body like a second skin; it feels wonderful. I feel alive and ready to take on the world.
    A rush of life courses through me as I dance in the center of the vast room. The shadows surround me, but they make no difference. If I hold focus, if I control the dance, then nothing can touch me here. Not Constance. Not Dad. No one.
    I push my body to the edge. My muscles scream and my feet need attention, but the pain makes me feel alive. I know the burn of muscles and the sharp agony of pointe. I cause it, I control it, and I can stop it.
    I’m breathing jaggedly now, and rush across the room with my arms out, bending forward, ready to go into another routine when I notice sapphire eyes watching me from the shadows. I stop abruptly and stifle a scream by pressing my fingers to my lips.

FROM MANGLED TOES TO BEARING ONE'S SOUL
November 2nd, 3:44am
    P ete is sitting in a dark corner of the ballroom, straddling a chair, his front pressed against the backrest, one hand on his cheek. He makes no apologies. He simply says, “I love watching you dance. I can almost hear the music playing in my mind.”
    “Holy shit, Pete! How long have you been sitting there?”
    “Long enough.” He’s utterly calm and it’s completely aggravating.
    “I'm not here to be your private peep show.” I turn without another word and sit on the floor to pull off my shoes. The knot on the ankle is tight so it takes me a moment. I hear Pete get up from his chair and pad toward me.
    He picks up my bag, and places it next to me before sitting on the floor beside me. The air is charged like something weird is going to happen. I can’t take more weird.
    Pete runs his hand through his hair and stares at the wooden floor. “I’ve been here a while. I’m sorry I scared you, but I didn’t want to interrupt and cause you to stop.”
    “Well, you should have. This was for me, I didn’t want anyone to see.” I undo the second knot on my other ankle and remove my second shoe. My eyes focus on my fingers, nervously wrapping and unwrapping the ribbon around them. Pete rests his hand on mine, gently stopping my fidgeting.
    “I know.” Pete presses his lips together and folds his hands in his lap before glancing over at me out of the corner of his eye. “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I can’t be sorry for watching you dance. You wouldn’t have danced like that if you’d known I was here. It would have been muted, censored even. The way you dance when you think no one is watching is pure. It’s like watching a poem coming to life. That wasn’t only your body moving to music. You were baring your soul.”
    I cut him off, “Which is private.”
    “Some confessions can’t stay private – they’re too pure, too perfect.”
    I want to laugh but something tells me not to. “That was far from perfection, and unless you’re studying to be my partner, you need to tell me what you’re doing here. And don’t make light of this and blow it off. You watching stole something honest from me. You owe me the same level of intimacy in return.”
    Pete doesn’t laugh or blow it off. Instead, he remains next me and watches his hands. After a moment he takes a deep breath, nods in agreement, and parts his lips. “You’re right. I owe you that.”
    I watch the side of his face out of the corner of my eye. My stomach flip flops in the moments of silence as I wonder what he’s going to say. He could shatter this with a wry look or a joke, but he doesn’t. The space is charged like there’s lightning in the air, but it’s all coming from him.
    I reach for a little towel in my bag and