TRIGGER WARNING: every word of this one-shot is potentially triggering so please steer clear if you're not feeling strong enough to read.

Romeo and Juliet

"I'm sorry, Johnny," Peter slurred as he pressed the twenty pound note into the older man's chest.

"I need to find Carla. I need to be with Carla."

"Peter, son, I think you should go home. I'll call Ken -"

"No!" Peter was adamant. "Promise me one thing, Johnny."

"What's that?"

"That you'll let me and Carla be together."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

Peter stumbled out of the Rovers, a bottle of whisky clutched in his hands.

A casual observer watching Peter stagger along the streets of Weatherfield would easily mistake him for a hopeless drunk with no idea what he was doing or where he was going.

But they would have been wrong.

Peter had only one destination in mind. Even in his most drunken state he would know the way; this path had quickly become permanently etched on his mind and on his heart.

Anyone else would have driven but, even if Peter had been sober, he wanted to walk; he wanted to savour this time when he could indulge in memories, of the happy times and the sad. But always his thoughts were of one person only: Carla.

Carla was the only thing he thought about anymore; day and night, nothing else mattered.

He couldn't help but torture himself with thoughts about what he could have done differently; what he could have done to save her. He remembered every little thing; every word, every look, everything became a clue in hindsight. He knew it was too late now that she had disappeared from his life, but he couldn't help punishing himself over and over with these thoughts.

He remembered clearly the day she left, even through his alcohol induced haze he remembered everything. He also remembered the darkness that had descended on him once he realised she was gone.

The darkness was overwhelming.

He tried to think of Simon; to will himself to keep going for the sake of his son. But it was no use. As soon as Carla had been taken from his life, his life was over.

Simon would understand one day, when he understood love. But did Peter really wish this kind of pain for his son? The kind of pain that walked hand in hand with that powerful all-consuming love that happened only once in a lifetime if you were very very lucky.

Peter and Carla had been lucky. They had that kind of love. Peter couldn't help but wonder if such love was a blessing or a curse. Especially now.

These were his thoughts as he arrived at his destination. He was thankful for the walk; it had sobered him up enough for those final moments with the love of his life.

And there she was.

He sunk to his knees, the bottle dropped to the ground; they were almost reunited.

He stared ahead and read the words that had become engraved not just in stone but on his very soul.

Carla Connor

3 January 1975 - 31 May 2019

Beloved daughter, sister, friend, lover, mother.

Mother.

The world had forgotten that Carla had ever been a mother, even though she had never got to hold her child in her arms. But Peter knew Carla hadn't forgotten. Neither had he. He had insisted on that addition to her headstone.

His mind flashed back to that day, weeks ago, when he had found her. She looked like she could be asleep; in bitter contrast to the inner torment that had been clearly etched on her face those last months of her life, now, finally, eternally, she looked at peace.

Peter ignored the empty bottle of pills on the bedside table; he had no time for the hows. The whys he already knew; he wished Carla had been able to understand that the why was temporary; but for whatever reason she couldn't see a way through.

And now she was gone forever; no second chances, no time to change her mind.

He wasn't ready to let her go; he couldn't. Not now; he knew in his heart not ever.

He lay down next to her; she was still warm. He kissed her softly on the lips and brushed her hair away from her face. Even in death she was beautiful.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He didn't cry, not yet; there was plenty of time for that. For now all he wanted was to feel her presence one last time.

This is how his dad had found them; Peter cradling Carla's lifeless body in his arms. Ken pleaded with his son to come away, but Peter refused; he wanted to stay with Carla as long as he could. It was not until the paramedics came that he was forced to give her up.

What happened next was a blur of meaningless activity for Peter. The police interview, the formal identification, the funeral, the wake.

Peter could barely remember those days, they seemed to him an alternate reality, one in which he didn't exist. The lingering emotion for Peter was one of anger; anger at watching Carla's family weeping over her coffin. At the hypocrisy of them; he didn't understand how they could mourn someone they had cast out from their family; who they had blamed and abused. Who they had killed. He never put those feelings into words, but he blamed Carla's family.

Suddenly all that activity leading up to the funeral was over. There was nothing left to do; nothing left to organise, nothing left to keep him from falling.

Then there was darkness. Only darkness.

Peter knew only one way to cope.

Booze.

Peter picked up the whisky bottle from where he'd dropped it. He'd taken Johnny's finest bottle of whisky; he knew the twenty pounds he'd forced on his would-be father-in-law didn't cover the cost, but Peter wasn't worried, he knew Johnny wouldn't begrudge him. Not when he found out the truth. He hoped Johnny would remember and understand his final words and grant him his wish to stay with Carla forever.

Peter kneeled on the dirt in front of Carla's grave. The dark clouds that had been looming all day had finally unburdened themselves and began to pour out their rain on the earth. Slowly the freshly turned dirt of Carla's grave transformed into mud; seeping up into Peter's jeans as the rain from above soaked him to the bones.

But Peter didn't care; the further he sank into the mud, the closer he felt to Carla.

He unscrewed the top off the bottle and held the container filled with that sweet irresistible nectar in the air as if he was making a toast.

Because that was exactly what he was doing; toasting the woman he loved in life and in death. Just as he had stayed with her to the end during her life, so he would stay with her to the end in death.

The doctors had told him years ago that one more drink would kill him. He'd been dodging that bullet ever since. But now he knew that they spoke the truth. One more drink was going to kill him. He felt a sense of twisted pleasure that it would be on his terms, in the time and place he chose.

It was the booze that had brought him and Carla together in the first place. It was fitting that it was the booze that was going to reunite them now.

"My love. I'll see you soon."

Peter drank; he tipped the bottle up and poured it down his throat. He didn't stop until the bottle was drained.

Then he turned to Carla; he lay himself down on the earth where she lay buried deep below and closed his eyes.

Finally they were reunited; nothing in heaven or on earth would ever separate them again.