A/N This is a very, very quick one-shot of Carla's thoughts the night she spent in a cell when she was arrested for the murder of Frank Foster. Every review will be greatly appreciated; I'd love to hear your thoughts.
As she lay on the cold, hard bed in the damp cell Carla could do nothing to escape her thoughts.
It had felt like hours since she had first got here, and it had to be the early hours of the morning, but there was no way she would be getting any sleep tonight. She let out a small sob as she turned to face the bleak, grey wall, and her mind focused on the salty tear which slid down her cheek leaving a wet trail in its wake. Her hip bone dug into the solid mattress, but she welcomed the pain. It was a nice change to the emptiness which she felt, and gave her something to concentrate on other than the memories of her recent past.
The past two nights had been a nightmare, but they were nothing compared to tonight. Last night she'd felt so lost in the double bed which her and Peter shared, with only herself for company. He'd spent the night awake, pacing the living room and racking his brain from any memories which would help him clear his name. She had managed to get some sleep, but when her hand had ventured over to the other side of the bed and met the cold, empty space at around four this morning her aching heart had forbidden any more sleep. Just when she needed Peter most, she couldn't have felt further from him. She couldn't believe they had found themselves in a situation where they needed an alibi for a murder; it was just surreal.
The night before had been horrific too. The couch in the living room she was supposed to call her home had been her bed for the night, not able to summon the energy to drag herself all the way to the bedroom. She had curled up into a foetal position, her eyes tightly shut as if it would erase the past few hours. She could feel his hands on her body again as they gripped her upper arms and pinned her to the railing. She could hear his hushed tones as he gloated and threatened her. But most of all, she could see those eyes. The eyes which held so many dark, dangerous secrets. The eyes which penetrated her soul with the smallest of gazes. His eyes.
She had needed Peter to hold her and tell her it would be ok. She had needed to melt in his strong embrace as the warmth of his body washed away all memories of that man. She had needed him to protect her from the deranged monster who fed on her suffering. But he wasn't there. And why wasn't he there? He was wasted on a park bench.
Carla was overridden with guilt as she thought of the man she loved driven to the drink once again. He had kicked the habit for so long, but as soon as she entered his life he was back to drowning himself in the harmful liquid. Everything she touched turned to dust.
She had been to hell and back over and over again recently, but never could she have imaged herself here. She was lying in a cell with her fingerprints on the murder weapon of the man who she hated more than anyone in the world. There was a part of her who wanted to rejoice; he was gone. She had been so scared just 48 hours ago, jumping at every noise in case he had come to finish the job. He couldn't touch her now; he couldn't ruin her life... But he could. She could go to jail for this, and she hadn't even had the satisfaction of doing it herself. She wouldn't survive inside. Even from beyond the grave he was punishing her.
Each minute passed more slowly than the previous one, but the later it got the earlier she wanted it to be. She couldn't bear to think of the horrors which the next day held.