Another of those written-at-1am-to-get-something-off-my-chest things. I guess this is set sometime in the last few weeks, when Carla first moved into the flat.

Reviews are always appreciated :)

Carla placed her toothbrush back in the holder, a familiar feeling creeping over her. There were four brushes in the slightly dirty holder, attached to the wall by a rusting metal ring. No one had felt quite right throwing away Leanne's brush, and she'd not bothered to take it when she'd come to collect her stuff. Why would she have? Toothbrushes are such meaningless, casual things, tossed away after a few months use and given no further thought. Just like some other things she could name.

Not for the first time, not even the first time that evening, Carla was aware that she was in her home. Brushing her teeth in her bathroom and sleeping in her bed. The first few nights, the sheets hadn't even been changed and she caught the occasional whiff of her perfume as she pressed her face against the pillow. The mug she drank from the following morning, the saucepan she'd used to cook dinner with, the space on the sofa she'd flopped into… Everything had that trace of her, as people often observe after the death of a loved one. She was literally living another woman's life. No wonder Simon hated her.

But what was the alternative? Go home to that flat with so many ghosts and so many memories that she could barely hear herself think? Sleep alone in the bed she'd once shared with her rapist? This set up may make her feel uncomfortable but at least she had some chance of getting some sleep this way in this little flat that she didn't quite fit in to.

She was well aware that this place held just as many memories for Peter as hers did for her. He'd almost burned the place to the ground at the height of his alcoholism, then he'd lived happily as a family until the homewrecker she was had turned up and wrecked everything. She flinched slightly at the thought of what they all thought of her, but she thought it best to be honest with herself. She'd ruined so many people's lives, and fooling herself into thinking otherwise was futile and cruel.

As she dried her wet face on the towel she knew well Leanne must have used a hundred times, she breathed deeply through her nose and tried to push the thoughts to the back of her mind.

Fumbling in the dark, still not quite used to the whereabouts of everything in the bedroom, Carla took off her dressing gown and climbed into bed. Her bed. Peter murmured slightly as though to acknowledge her presence, but he didn't wake. She found herself glad of this, feeling suddenly guilty, as though his wife may walk in any minute and reclaim her place in the bed.

Pressed up against his skin she felt warm and, despite her guilt and paranoia, safe. She thought back to those lonely, endless nights following the rape when the empty space in her bed had felt cold and hollow, when she'd wished for nothing more than to feel like this. To all those months ago, before Peter and Leanne's wedding even, when all of this would have been a dream come true. Now she'd got her wish, and yet she still couldn't feel glad of it.

She sighed, knowing that sleep tonight would likely be just as fitful as every previous one. She felt safer here, and the horror of the attack had started to numb a little, but she still envied those who slept entire nights without waking. Sometimes Peter would roll over and kiss her gently and she'd feel guilty and stupid for jumping; for shuddering slightly as her muscles tensed uncontrollably. She knew he understood, but she also knew how it must be for him, to see her recoil at his affections. It wasn't as if they weren't intimate, but any ideas of a honeymoon period filled with intense passion were sadly far from the truth. Not that it had seemed to bother him recently; she guessed he had enough on his mind anyway.

Wriggling slightly further down into the bed, Carla reminded herself that it was worth it. 'He wants me here, and I want to be here. Everything else…' She smiled slightly as she heard her former friend's voice echo in her head. 'Well it's just stuff, isn't it?'