Hey Guys, so I can't actually believe that they have packed Peter off to rehab without a cute Carter Scene! Not that he deserved it, but I still wanted it! Anyways, forget Tina! Here's my oneshot of Carla & Peter arriving at the Rehab Centre.
For those of ya who read "Moving Forwards." - I'll update as quickly as I can but I'm restricted to just my iPad at the minute so it may take,a little while.
Carla was sat in the waiting room with Peter as they waited to register him into the Rehab Centre. He would be there for as long as it took. Carla hated doing this to him, but she loved him and she needed him to get better for her and also for their baby's sake.
Carla noticed that his hands were shaking from the alcohol withdrawal. Unable to take it any longer, she placed her hand firmly on top of his, which were resting against his knees.
"Peter listen to me, I still love you, ya do know that don't ya?!" Carla asked him quite nervously.
"I love you too. And I'm sorry that I've messed up so badly." Peter told her a little tearfully.
"I think messed up is an understatement darlin'. But that's why we're here isn't it?! To get you sorted out once and for all, right?!" Carla softly said to Peter.
Peter groaned in pain as he held his stomach. "It kills." Peter replied, feeling awful.
"The pain will go with time." Carla told Peter, she was meant to be trying to be unsympathetic towards him, but she just couldn't help herself. "Baby, come here." She said as she held him closely.
As she held him she could feel that his whole body was gently shaking in her arms. "Oh Darlin', you're a mess." She told him, becoming tearful herself now as he cried into her arms.
Around 10 Minutes later, both of them had-had a good old cry together, and they were now sat hand in hand next to each other once again. "Ya know I...I never meant to hurt ya Carla. I know that-that might sound pretty stupid now, but it's true. I never intended to fall off the wagon again, and I tried to fight it, but the pressure just built and built...And I just couldn't with it anymore." Peter told her truthfully.
Carla nodded along as she listened to him. "Can you make me a promise Peter?!" She asked him.
Peter nodded at her in response. "What is it?!" He questioned.
"That whilst you're in here, you will work your flippin' socks off to get yourself better. When we were in L.A. I was so proud of ya. You missed Si and your family more than anything in this world, but ya kept fighting and you sorted yourself out, and I want ya to do the same thing again whilst you're here." Carla told him.
"I'll try my best. I promise Carla." Peter replied.
"I'm not finished. When ya come out of this place, I want ya to promise that you'll start talking to me, if you're tempted, even if it's just the smallest little niggle, I need ya to tell me Peter. It's the only way that I can know Sweetheart." Carla told him softly.
"I don't think ya realise how much courage that takes Carla..." Peter trailed off sadly.
"Oh I do, I do know, and that's why if ya tell me, I'll make sure that I'm there to support ya 24/7. It's gonna be difficult Baby, I know that it is, but I'm not gonna make ya feel stupid for reaching out for some help. I never would darlin'. But I would be so so proud of ya." Carla told him as she took his shaking hands into her own once again.
Just then, Peter's name was called through to go and register.
"This is it then Baby." Carla whispered to him as she helped him to stand up and they walked over to the desk together.
"No. No I can't do this." Peter cried in a last minute panic.
Carla placed both of her hands onto Peter's cheeks. "Yes. You Can. Baby. Ya have too. For your own sake if nobody else's." She told him rather tearfully.
"Will ya make sure Simon knows that I still love him?! and that I always will do?!" He asked her.
"He already knows that darlin' but I will do. Now go on, go and work hard. See ya soon Sweetheart. I love you so much." Carla said, drawing Peter's lips into a long, emotional and meaningful kiss, before pulling away and walking out of the building, before she caught sight of his puppy dog eyes and dragged him back home again out of sympathy.
"Your name Sir?!" The receptionist asked him.
"Peter..." The broken man cried. "Peter Barlow. And I'm an alcoholic."
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