Despite the copious volume of vodka she's drenched her liver in, she managed to manoeuvre herself and sit herself down on her bed. She looked down, her toes curling at the rough hem of the dark cherry red carpet than covered the floor. Her nails where painted a similar shade. She's spent half an hour painting them. Paying attention, forcing herself to focus on something other than fretting. Lacquering the surface of each nail with a dark red varnish, she'd attempted to regain a fragment, a semblance of the life she'd had, where she paid attention to her looks, vain to some people, but for her, a sliver of effort she made to mask her deep rooted insecurities; of her narcissistic tendencies.
The bottle of sleeping pills found its way into her hand, sepia tinted plastic reminding her of an era she hadn't lived in. She sighed heavily, once again getting up, this time with the pills in hand and made in into the living room. She sat, like he had been before, perched on the edge of her couch. Unscrewing the lid of the bottle, it's chunky plastic sound, so childlike compared to the vodka bottle's lid. The little white pills, so many of them, blurred into a white haze as she tipped the contense into her awaiting palm. Clumsily, she reached for the vodka bottle that she'd left on the table, raising her hand to her mouth and tipping her head back, allowing the little spherical slumber inducing drops to roll lazily into back of her throat, quickly downing them, more efficiently than she'd expected with a hefty gulp of vodka. She didn't know how many she'd taken. She wasn't in a state to be that attentive. But enough to knock her out. She was sure of that. Only not enough. Not enough for her. Carla didn't do things by halves. The bottle still contained enough of the pills to further ease her into an irrevocable slumber.
By now she can feel them taking effect. Her eyes are barely open. She can barely think, but almost instinctively she reached for her phone. She has just enough conscious thinning capacity left to feel, to experience the longing she has felt for the past year. She just needs to say goodbye. Closure. She is well on her way, she's going home, going back to arms than want to hold her, to love her, to engulf her. He's waiting for her, up their, probably leaning in a cocky manner against the gates, his hair blowing gently in the wind, arms crossed, cheeky grin, soft, inviting eyes.
Her finger pressed the call button, time flying by, before she knew it his voice filled her head. 'Carla' he said her name, the worry evident in her voice as she slurred her words, unsure of what she was even saying. Then harsh, angry, high pitched words. Leanne.
Her body fell hard against the floor, she barely felt it, but it was hard enough to leave dark puce bruises along one side of her body. The glass crashed the floor beside her, smashing to pieces, surrounding her like physical silhouette.
And then Peter again, his voice fuelled with concern and worry, rich with love, only she was gone. She couldn't hear the way he picked up her condition almost immediately. The way he waited desperately through the silence, for some sign of life. She was in a forever slumber, falling deeper and deeper, further away from him, and closer to the man she'd lost those years ago. Her Liam