Strong language

Carla sat alone in her living room, frustratingly turning the television off; the most irritating people to exist had to be Simon Cowell and his cronies. Pulling herself from the sofa, she grabbed her wine glass and walked to her phone that lay on the kitchen counter. She was bored. Knowing that Saturday nights are their busiest, Nick was held up at the Bistro, Michelle was swamped at the pub and her only companion at this moment was the glass of red in her hand.

Waiting in his car, he watched the rain pound against his windscreen, just able to vision the couple together. Right now, thinking they were the only two people on Earth, laughing, kissing, being normal. He could see the man's dirty hands all over her body. Knuckles turning white, the clench of his fist almost drew blood. Peter tried to steady his breathing as he looked upwards to their window. The light was on, they were in. He had to ignore his own shaking and smashed his grip forcefully against the nearest object.

Shit. The sudden car horn outside made her spill the red wine over her newly fitted cream carpet. Where was Nick when she needed him, he knew about this stuff. But Carla couldn't lie to herself, she was disheartened at the wastage of alcohol rather than the wreckage of her flooring. She quickly found a paper towel before unashamedly wiping the ground with one hand and pouring herself another drink with the other, her glass balanced above a pile of magazines. This was all some moron-in-a-car's fault.

He finally released himself from the vehicle, the refreshingly cool raindrops falling against his skin seemed a briefly welcome distraction. He didn't know what was about to happen, it would be easy to beat the slimeball to pieces but Carla wouldn't thank him. Yet it could never be this beautiful reunion. He didn't need that, he didn't know what he needed. Peter looked to their window again, the light was now off.

Carla took her last half a glass of red with her into the bathroom, deciding to draw herself a bath to wind down and hoping to finally collect her thoughts. She watched herself in the mirror as she tied her brunette hair away from her face, the sound of the water crashing into the tub was bizarrely calming. Eventually, she could faintly hear her buzzer.

Persistently hitting the C. Connor bell, Peter could feel his revulsion rise. They were fucking, he knew it. He also knew that he had no right to judge, that the best thing he could do was turn and not look back. But she was too close, it would be impossible.

"Hello?"

She said with agitation through the tannoy as she switched the main light back on, the phone pressed to her ear as she leant against the door.

Her voice. He hadn't heard her speak for such a long time and she sounded just as he could remember. Peter really did miss everything about her.

"Hello?" Carla repeated, her tone regretfully starting to crack. The silence from the other side was beginning to feel strange, almost haunting. She could hear breathing, somebody was there. Somebody was listening to her. Her chest felt like thunder as she prepared to hang up, until he spoke.

"Carla," He could only manage her name.

She could have sworn that her heart stopped. He was back. The bastard was back. Carla squeezed her eyes shut, her whole body nearly collapsing as her clutch of the phone remained strong.

Peter didn't know what else to say, he didn't plan anything. She hadn't answered him but she was certainly still with him and he had to keep her there. "I need to talk to you,"

Carla inaudibly laughed. He had spirit, she'd give him that. She pushed her back to the door, holding herself together and tried to focus her sight. "You've got some nerve,"

"I know," Of course he agreed with her, Peter didn't know what he was doing. He felt embarrassed for his self but the thought of Nick by her side, laughing at him, made Peter want to hammer the door down and throw the prick out of the window. Easy.

"Go to hell," Perhaps a little harsh. She couldn't bother with that man again, she had no energy left. Carla was ready to cut him off but Peter just keeps giving.

"Is Nick there?" The words escaped his mouth, he couldn't help himself. Peter looked around as he heard people close by before returning his attention.

Carla had forgotten how much she despised him. Somehow despising herself more as she continued to stand at the door with the phone in her clasp. She answered loud and simply, "No."

Peter felt relief wash over him that she was alone and annoyance that he couldn't exact his revenge. "Carla, I really want to talk to you," he braced himself for her rejection, stepping slightly away from the entrance and glancing back to his car parked at the side of the road.

Both were left in shock as she buzzed him up.