She takes another sip of her beer, which has grown warm and stale since she opened it. Her hands tremble and her vision swims, but she takes a sip again. She can't make herself stop. She knows it's not healthy, but she doesn't care.
She wonders why his words hurt her so bad... "I love Carla", "I want to be with Carla"... These words echo in her head. Why does it hurt so badly?
Because I love him, she thought. I love him and I trusted him. Stupid girl.
She moves to take another sip, but her hands tremble too much. As a consequence, the beer sloshes over the rim of the cup, and she hisses as it splashes against her wrist. She glowers darkly at the red, irritated cuts there. Another thing she can't seem to stop.
I need to be okay... I just need something to take the edge off. She thought to herself, trying to justify what she had done.
"Am I good enough for you yet?" she whispers to the empty flat. "Do I make you proud?" She feels the anger and hurt burning deep within her, so she tips her head back and gulps the rest of her beer down. As she swallows, she feels the fire dim a bit.
His words replay in her head, though, and she screams savagely. She throws the bottle, and it explodes as it impacts the wall. She catches sight of a picture of him, and she throws that, too. It's not fair, not fair at all. Life wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to love her.
She grabs the butcher's knife sitting on the counter, already stained with her blood. She holds it to her wrist as she stumbles around the living room. Her eyes narrow into slits, and she presses the blade harder into her arm.
"I'll do it!" she screams at him, though she knows he can't hear her. "I swear to God, I'll do it! It would be easy." She presses harder and she feels her skin burn as she draws blood. It trickles slowly down her arm and she stares at it, mesmerized. So beautiful, unlike her. She'll never be beautiful to him. She'll never be good enough for him ever again.
She stumbles over her own feet and topples to the ground, landing in the broken glass. Shards of glass embed themselves in her palms and knees, and she roars in agony. She pushes herself back up onto her feet and stares at the glass, sparkling in the dim light. Dropping the knife she still holds, she realizes the mess she's made.
She runs to the hall closet, grabs a couple of face towels, and wipes off all of the blood that stains the flat and cleans up the shards of glass on the floor. She throws her beer bottle away, takes the broken photograph, bandages her cuts, grabs her bags, and heads back to The Rovers Return... Her temporary home.