Yep yet another new story because I have not got enough to write already. This was meant to be a one shot but it grew and if I had all five scenes I want to include it would be stupidly long so posting it chapters. I'm not that happy with what has been written so far but it is needed to show what I want later on. Just a warning that this story contains themes of self harm so if it is potentially triggering please do not read. As always your thoughts are greatly appreciated.
Give time to your heart, give time to your soul, and release them all
She hummed a little as she hovered around the kitchen absently twisting a chunky bangle tighter against her wrist while she tried to decide what she wanted. Carla had felt an uneasy restlessness build inside, creeping up unexpected and stealing her breathe from the very moment she'd woken in the early hours of the morning.
Her sleep had been restricted to a few restless hours the rest had been filled with staring blankly at the shadows of the ceiling and trying her hardest not to think. The sense of anticipation made her feel uncomfortable and silently she was glad to not have been woken by nightmares for once. Only she could not remember dreaming at all and the absence was like a bereavement that hollowed her out, like she was unprepared.
It left her with a sense of irritation that she had focused on keeping controlled with long hours spent working. Her smile had felt tight and forced when she had negotiated a new contract. The sudden noises from her staff made her jump a little more than normal and yet there was no reason why that one particular day would be worse than any other.
Since the night she had been attacked and the police had poked and prodded her it was as if she was stuck in purgatory, waiting for Frank's next manipulation, new information about the trial. It seemed to be never ending and repetitive as she went over the worst night of her life again and again while she waited for some kind of conclusion. There was no way she could even try and look past it no matter what Peter promised till the trial was over.
Michelle had been the one to notice her tension and question her on it but Carla had felt unable to articulate the slow terror that restricted her chest and left her unable to sit still. She felt guilty as soon as she snapped at the woman who had been such a source of strength.
Trapped in the small office the concern became uncomfortable. It was just that no matter how close they became she still remembered the sister in law who regarded her wearily, who had resented her for coming between her brothers and had made snide digs about her upbringing. It felt impossible to trust anyone with the little flaws in her psyche when she did not want to face them herself.
After a stupidly long deliberation she settled on making coffee. She had picked at the dinner Michelle had thrown together. She had poured them a glass of wine each and then complained that she could not drink anymore as she had an appointment to keep. Carla had waited till her friend left before she gave in to temptation and finished off the rest of the bottle. She had haunted the empty spaces with her glass in hand and a bitter taste in the back of her throat unable to sit down even as a familiar warmth filled her.
She had bolted the many locks on the door as soon as she was left alone, quickly hating the near silence. It made her tense up and suddenly her mind told her Frank would be waiting for her in her bedroom or behind the bathroom door.
She had poured the residue of her wine down the sink in the end angry that her normal vice seemed to have no effect other than making her more fretful and causing a tight pain behind her eyes. Peter would be proud maybe but she does not feel like she would deserve it.
Her phone rested on the arm of her sofa and she did her best to ignore it even though it was always in the corner of her vision. She could not call Peter even if she needed to. It was not a day they got to spend time together and that was another reason for her to hate it.
She had caught sight of him as he walked his son to school. The boy happily chatting away not noticing the look his father had sent her. So full of warmth and longing, sometimes it made her ache, sometimes she wanted to be able to crawl under his skin and lose herself.
But he was spending the evening around his parents, his wife dutifully at his side and she has to stop herself before she became too rational. Before she let herself be jealous of Leanne and therefore guilty. She had no place for the emotion left, no energy to deal with it when she needed Peter more than she had ever needed a drink.
Carla had been alone for so long and yet the loneliness was as sharp as ever.
It was far from an emergency even as the constant tightness of her heart made her feel nauseous. It was the same old pain and she could not justify it but she wanted nothing more than to make Peter come to her. And that he would just somehow look at her and he would know and he would not be angry that she had ruined their secret. And he would hold her and say something profound and finally she'd be safe enough to rest.
It did not matter that she knew it was impossible or that she would never do it. She ached without him. She was so entirely alone without him.
She yawned as she sipped her coffee, her fingers linked around the mug and itching with the new warmth. The liquid was still too hot and made her eyes water as it burns a path down her throat. It tasted strange with the aftertaste of alcohol but she drinks up quickly wanting to rid herself of the sleep deprived fog that slows her mind but does not settle her jumpy body.
Placing the empty mug on the side she wiped the sensitive skin under her eyes trying to undo the smudges that were the remains of her mascara. She wished it was a worse day. That something could tip her over the edge and she'd have a reason to break down and an eventual solution.
The constant fluttering of her heart made her have to breathe deeply against her nerves, like an approaching panic attack that would never arrive. She just needed an end, a way to actually feel something rather than the never ending nothingness.
She settled for clearing away the remains of the utensils that had been used to make dinner finding a small comfort in the banality of it all. A glance at the glowing numbers on the microwave told her that Michelle would be back soon. She needed to regain some sort of control before she returned and really started to worry.
A plate almost slipped through her fingers and clanked loudly onto the pile as it landed. Carla could not help but to wonder if there was something wrong with her.
Everyone around her got hurt or died and now she could not even comprehend her own emotions. In the silence of night she could not help but to wonder if there was something so fundamentally wrong with her that she deserved what had been done to her.
She slammed the cupboard door wishing it was a substitute for screaming and continued to make as much noise as possible. Then there was a knife in her hand and she froze in a half turn to place it back into its place within the rack. It was the sharp one and she'd watched Michelle use to chop carrots.
The light refracted from the blade and distorted her reflection as she stared, twisting it between her fingers. A small frown creased the skin of her brow and she had to close her eyes as something so familiar and forgotten washed over her like rediscovering a favourite book. Her eyes opened but remained locked on the blade.
And then she was acting before she could create an internal debate. The solidness of it all steadying and private. Something that was hers alone. She rolled up the sleeve of her dark shirt and flexed her wrist and watched the pale ghost like scars became more noticeable under the right light.
She could not understand why she had worked so hard to forget this.
With the smallest amount of controlled pressure the knife sliced through the delicate skin. There was a second of sharp pain and then nothing before blood beaded bright against the paleness of her skin. Then there was a stinging as the beads swelled and formed a warm trail spilling out of her.
The sense of relief was enough to make her wonder why she had not considered this sooner. She let the blood flow for a moment as it wrapped itself around her arm like a snake before clumsily picking a piece of kitchen roll and carefully wiping it away.
The cut she made was pink and angry as a new wave of blood filled it. Two new cuts followed as she traced patterns next to old scars digging a little deeper with a new found confidence.
It was as if she was hypnotised by the way the blood flew. She could wear her pain in the damage to her skin. She could understand the way a wound stung and throbbed when she had no name for the way her insides twisted with emotional pain.
For one giddy moment she wanted to show the world. Wanted to them to be unable to ignore the way she struggled and hurt like it was a military badge for bravery. But this was not for the world to see and to judge. This was about coping and having some way of letting the pressure out.
Just for a moment just once in the chance that she might breath again. She settles leaning against the counter and the adrenaline left her with something so close to content. There was something truly fascinating at the amount of blood as it sat heavy and warm against her skin, some of it already growing tacky.
It would get her through another night.
Then the sound of a key in the door brought the rest of the world crashing back on to her shoulders.