Free Life Before Damaged, Vol. 1 by H.M. Ward Page B

sound and waves a finger. "That's my little secret. What about you, Miss Granz? What's your golden rule?"  
    He wraps his fingers around my hand and brings it towards my face as if he’s interviewing me instead. He’s looking at me as if I'm dessert. I try to act as if I’m unaffected, but the truth is, when he looks at me that way, he makes me feel desirable, which is something I'm not used to.  
    Loved? Yes.  
    Appreciated? Most definitely.  
    Desired? Never.  
    I need to be more careful around him. I need to put some space between us. I don’t trust myself anymore, not with this man who has beauty and brains. It’s a deadly combination.
    I try to get off of the desk, but he takes a step closer making it impossible for me to stand without pressing up against his body, which is something I am not going to do. He is so close I can feel his chest brush against my robe when he breathes.  
    When he looks down at me, strands of wet hair flop back down onto his forehead. Little drops of water form on the ends and drip down onto my robe-covered knees. His smile fades and his gaze darkens, "It would bring me great pleasure to break some of your precious little rules."
    My confident smile falters. “Well, good luck with that. I’m not a rule breaker. Clean slate. Miss Straight-and-Narrow, right here. The perfect daughter, girlfriend, student, employee, you name it."  
    I make it sound as if I like it, as if I’m proud, and tick them off on my fingers one-by-one. I sound confident, but deep down, mountains of regret and lost opportunities press on top of me, pushing me deeper into the ground. Most of the time I feel like a puppet and everyone is pulling on a different string—everyone except for me. It’s like I don't have a say in who I should be or what I should do. I'm so tired of trying to be perfect for everyone.  
    I look down, my hair falling in curtains around my face. I'm flicking at the corner of one of my bandages with a finger.
    Pete uses one hand to push back my hair and the other to gently lift my chin. “Ah, but you’re not Little Miss Perfect. You did break the rules. You were at an illegal party tonight, when you could have chosen to be anywhere else. See? Rules are meant to be broken, Gina. Even the ones we hold onto the most. Learn to let go. Your life is too short to spend it holding back all the time.”
    Pete’s gaze intensifies before he closes his eyes and quotes softly,

    “When you are old and grey and full of sleep,  
    And nodding by the fire, take down this book,  
    And slowly read, and dream of the soft look  
    Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;  

    How many loved your moments of glad grace,  
    And loved your beauty with love false or true,  
    But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,  
    And loved the sorrows of your changing face;  

    And bending down beside the glowing bars,  
    Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled  
    And paced upon the mountains overhead  
    And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”

    “That’s beautiful. Who wrote that?” I exhale, taken aback. The way he recites this poem is both melodious and melancholy. It flows like a dance off of his tongue, where the other poem was forceful and fiercely intense.
    “Yeats. It’s a reminder not to waste your youth. Don’t let yourself get hung up on what’s right or wrong. Let yourself be desired, even if it isn’t true love. Life is too short, Gina. Of all people, you should know this better than anyone now.”
    Being locked in that room, alone, waiting to die, was the single most terrifying experience of my life. Yet, despite the fear of dying, all I could think about is how I haven't done a single thing in my life worth remembering. I’ve spent my life attempting to live up to everybody else's expectations of me.  
    I want to feel something real for a change. For me. Is it wrong to want to cut those strings and purposefully do the wrong thing once in a while? I want to be free to do what I