A/N Hello everyone :) I felt really bad not getting time to write the next chapter of No More Games, however I found this lurking on my computer so thought I'd share. I need to say now; I am teetotal, so if there's bits that don't sound right, that's why! I wrote this fic because I can't wait for everyone to know who Frank really is. Even with what's happening at the moment, the truth about Frank and Carla doesn't seem to have been addressed. It's set while Frank is still alive and wreaking havoc in the factory. I've already written a good chunk of the next chapter, but I don't know how much time I'm going to get to finish it, so I'm not sure how long it will be until the next update. As always, all reviews welcome :) Enjoy!

Carla sat at the bar, admiring the glass of red in her hand as it reflected the light off of its surface. She swirled the glass, transfixed by the interesting patterns she could create, and wondered why she had tried to resist for so long. It looked so enticing, and would dull the pain even just for a few hours. A few glasses wouldn't do any harm, but they'd be just enough to take the edge off. It'd been so long since she'd had a break from the chaos inside her head, and right now nobody was here to stop her.

She raised the glass to her lips, closing her eyes and savouring every memorable moment; she knew it would be a long time until she got another chance to drown out her thoughts and be free from the never-ending nightmare in which she lived. The aroma which floated from the alluring liquid was so familiar and she tilted the glass a little further, ready to taste the beauty sent from Heaven to ease her sorrow. She yearned for the satisfaction she knew she'd receive from just the smallest of sips.

'A scotch please, Stella.' Carla's eyes shot open and stared in the direction of the voice which she hated with all her soul, slamming the glass onto the surface with a loud clatter. Frank remained perfectly still, his eyes moving in isolation towards Carla in a way which sent chills up her spine. But she wasn't going to show him how deeply he could affect her; she wouldn't let him win. 'Sorry Carla, I thought as you already had one you wouldn't want another. Same again is it?'

'You're unbelievable' she hissed, through gritted teeth. It was one of those comments which were more to herself than anybody else, yet she still felt the need to share. 'What are you doing here?'

'Oh Carla is there any need? I was only trying to be polite.' Every time he said her name it made her feel physically sick, and he knew it. Each time he said it she'd make some sort of uncomfortable gesture. It was too easy to get under her skin.

'Polite?' she scoffed. 'Get out.'

'Carla, I have as much right to be here as you.' The fake innocence which laced his every word was testament to his lying abilities, but then he had told the lie so many times he was beginning to believe it himself. Because that's how the brain works, isn't it? Modifying memories to preserve your sanity.

'Now, now' interjected Stella as she began pouring Frank's order, 'if this is going to escalate I'll need you to take it outside.' She had made her feelings over the situation perfectly clear to Carla the day Frank had been found not guilty, and although she was aware of these it still hurt every time she was reminded.

'Stella, please. I need you to believe me more than anyone.' She was the only person she knew who fully understood how he had destroyed her, and now even she thought she was lying.

'Don't you dare bring that up!' she said as she slammed the glass in front of Frank, her eyes on Carla. 'I opened my heart to you while you sat on that sofa and laughed at me...' She was too angry to stop and chose her words carefully, and was pleased that she hadn't explicitly revealed what they had been talking about. The last thing she wanted was people asking awkward questions. Frank was intrigued, but decided not to pursue the matter. Taunting Carla further would be far more entertaining.

'Please don't think that' Carla begged. She couldn't bear the thought of Stella thinking she had brought it all up after so many years for nothing. She knew how hard it must have been to tell someone, and the last thing she wanted was for her to feel like she had put such trust in the wrong person.

'Oh Carla, what's the matter? Is everyone finding out how manipulative you are?' Frank wasn't one to miss an opportunity to taunt her.

'Me manipulative? Wow that's rich.' Her voice was getting increasingly louder, and by now the rest of the pub were listening intently to the public stand-off. There was no entertainment quite like an argument. Stella noticed, and decided this wasn't the atmosphere she wanted in her pub.

'Right that's it, you're causing a scene now Carla...'

'Blame him.' Her voice was high-pitched with offence.

'...I want you to leave' ordered Stella.

'What? Are you serious?' She hated the way everyone turned against her. They really had no idea! Although intensely infuriating, she could see why everyone believed him; it's not like she hadn't fallen for the act in the past. She was a day away from marrying him!

'You're the one who shouldn't be drinking anyway.' All three of them knew exactly what Stella was referring to; the night Carla had gotten drunk and run her over. Carla wished she could go back in time and change things, but all she could think about that night was getting away from Frank. She didn't want to admit it, but he had scared her in the Bistro; the way he pulled her to the side by the wrist and had ordered her to stay. She had needed a drink that night, and she needed one now; both were reactions to Frank's actions.

'Can you blame me? Everywhere I turn he's there, I can't escape him!' Carla hadn't meant to let Frank know how deeply he still affected her, but she couldn't contain her outrage at the unfairness of the situation. Why could nobody see how manipulative he was being? It was like everyone was walking around with their eyes closed! He smiled smugly at the knowledge of how much he was getting to his ex-fiancé. He decided to twist the knife further.

'I just came in for a quiet drink; you were the one who initiated the conversation.'

'He's right you know...'

'Fine. Fine.' She didn't have the energy to fight this anymore. She knew it was a lost cause anyway. She grabbed her bag and got up from the bar stool. 'If anyone comes looking for me...'

'...unlikely...' Carla decided to ignore him. It was the only way she was going to restrain herself.

'...tell them I'm in the factory.' She stormed out of the pub, all eyes on her, leaving gossip-fuelled punters in her wake.

She slumped into the office chair, finally breaking down the facade she had put up for so long. She had even surprised herself at how long she had manage to keep composure, but every word he said drove her further and further into a state of self-destruction. Was she dead? Because this sure felt like hell.

She screamed as she ran her fingers through her hair harshly, trying to eradicate her frustration at the limited control she now had in her life. She picked up the folder containing the orders which she had worked so hard to win, and which Frank had claimed as his own as soon as he had walked in the door, and lobbed it across the room. It smashed into the filing cabinet and flung open, scattering the papers in an unorderly fashion. She groaned as she stared at the papers which covered the floor. It would take ages to pick them up.

She bent down to pick up the documents; the last thing she wanted was for Frank to know that she had lost it, and he would probably use it as ammunition by saying she was trying to sabotage his part of the business. She had got most of them into a neat pile when something caught her attention out the corner of her eye.

She reached towards the whiskey bottle and she remembered how she had stashed it between the two filing cabinets when Michelle had almost caught her about a month ago. She unscrewed the cap and the sound of the metal scraping the glass neck as it loosened was so comforting and familiar. As she took off the lid the smell of the amber concoction bombarded her nostrils and the lure became harder to resist.

She thought about how close she had come to having a drink in the pub just ten minutes ago. Maybe the interruption had been a sign? But then her thoughts turned to why she had been stopped, and she shivered. She could see his smug face as he taunted her and hear his voice echoing in her head. He didn't even have to be in the room to upset her; her head was like his second home. No matter how hard she tried to block him out, he was still there. She spent her whole day trying to avoid him, but in truth it didn't mean he wasn't there.

In that one moment, all she wanted – no, all she needed – was to forget about him. She'd do anything just to free herself from the prison she was in. She couldn't take it anymore and without another thought she gulped as much of the contents of the bottle as she could before having to stop for breath.

She revelled in the pain as it burned her throat and liked how it distracted her from everything. She had never been a huge fan of whiskey, but she wasn't fussy when she needed alcohol. Anything which helped her forget was good enough for her. Grimacing, she looked at the bottle and was surprised how half of it had already gone. Well, she thought, waste not want not. She downed the remaining liquid and discarded the bottle in the bin by her desk, returning to sorting out the orders which lay sprawled across the floor.

When she had finished she returned the file to the desk opposite hers. She didn't like referring to it as his desk, because she didn't want to admit to herself that this was a permanent fixture; the only way she could get through this was taking one day at a time. She fixed her make-up in the ladies' bathroom in case Peter or Michelle did decide to come looking for her; she didn't want them to know how weak she'd been.

She had expected the effects of the alcohol to be more soothing than this. She had hoped to numb her mind so that she didn't have to think about the man who had ruined her life, but the one bottle hadn't been enough. Her body was so used to the binging sessions she had had so regularly that a mere bottle of whiskey was little more than collateral damage. True, she wasn't completely unaffected by it; her co-ordination was definitely impaired and she couldn't think properly, but it was nowhere near the desired outcome. She was sure the effects would kick in soon, but she needed them now.

She figured that while she was at the factory she may as well get some work done. She dragged the recent order from the bottom of the large pile of files and folders which she had thrown onto her desk absentmindedly throughout the week and made a mental note to tidy up before the night was out. She had just started reading through it properly when her train of thought was interrupted.

'Well, well.' Carla looked up to see the man she loathed standing at the door of her office. He had a smile from ear to ear as he eyed her up and down. 'Fancy seeing you here.'