Life Before Damaged Vol. 10 (The Ferro Family) by H. M. Ward Page A

thought.
    Peter's old boxes are still at the other end of the bedroom. I know I shouldn't look through them without his consent. I know Peter is dying to hear from me, to hear my decision. Playing nervously with my ring, I get up and walk toward the boxes.
    Now that I've read Gina's journals, I've made my decision regarding Peter and our future, but I still have questions. Before I can talk to him, I need to find that file.
    The boxes hold varying objects, all from Peter's past, from when he lived in his family's mansion. I find the one that contains Gina's old things, the box in which Peter found her journals. I sift through the mementos, feeling like I'm stirring up her ghost, but I need that file. I don't know if she got the chance to show it to Peter, but she seemed convinced he needed to see it, and I feel compelled to fulfill this last unfinished task for her. In some weird way, I feel connected to her. I owe her so much.
    My heart aches as I rummage through her belongings. When Peter first opened the boxes, they seemed filled with random crap. That's no longer the case—stories and emotions come to mind with each item I touch. I find a dried rose encased in glass, a love letter Peter wrote to Gina, an empty bottle of custom body wash. It makes me smile imagining Gina sneaking into Peter's rooms to steal one of his precious bottles. I find a pair of ballet shoes, a bright red bandana, a pair of black and white Oxfords, a volume of W.B. Yeats' poems, and a worn leather jacket.
    I stop rummaging when I find a picture frame. I pull it from the box to study it. A beautiful young woman smiles back at me with delicate features, her long brown hair perfectly curled and styled, a simple pearl necklace around her neck. She's dressed in dark jeans and a plain white blouse. Her arms rest comfortably around the shoulders of the two older people standing on either side of her. Mr. and Mrs. Granz, maybe? They look happy. This photo must have been taken before the rave, before she met Peter.
    "So, this is you. I owe you so much." I smile, talking to her picture as if she can see and hear me.
    Her beauty is elegant, not contrived. How in the world she saw herself as plain is beyond me. I've never seen pictures of Gina before, save the few newspaper photos I noticed while she and Peter were dating. Trashy socialite gossip isn't my thing, and Pete Ferro the player was repulsive to me then, so I paid little attention to his fake fiancé-to-be. I had more pressing things going on in my life at the time. My fingers brush the scar at my throat—a permanent reminder of my own past.
    On rare occasions, when Peter opens up to me about his former life, he's barely able to mention Gina, let alone show me her picture. I've never pushed because forcing someone to relive old memories only opens up old wounds. I felt the best way to help him heal was to leave that scar alone.
    If not for Gina, I would never have met my Peter. If he remained the philandering Ferro that he was, he wouldn’t have been able to save me from my past. Peter was in self-destruct mode before Gina came into his life. I met him long after the deafening silence of the blast receded. She stopped him from going down the same path as his father, but the night she died shattered him.
    Since then, Peter has tried to move on, but I understand why he couldn’t. He feels guilty because of what happened to her. He made the last few months of her life hellish and barely said an, “I love you,” before she was taken from him.
    It’s not fair, and I have no idea how to heal this kind of pain. I rely heavily on time as a balm for wounds I can’t patch myself. Like Peter, I hide those scars until they can bear being touched again. Maybe I’ve been wrong about that. Maybe the best way to desensitize a scar is to hold it out in the open.
    As I gently tuck the picture back into the box, I find what I'm looking for—a plain-looking brown file organizer. I pull it out of the box and