A/N: I've been meaning to update this for ages. Hope some of you are still interested in it. If you are, I would love to hear what you think of it :).

25.

Peter stared intently at the bottle of golden liquid in front of him. The world around him blurred as he focused all his attention on that fine burning fluid.

"Who is he? Who is he, Carla?"

"Frank."

He played the conversation back in his mind. Her voice had been ringing in his head for the last few days.

"Frank," she had hoarsely said.

The name still haunted him. Months after his death he still wanted to get his hands around his neck and strangle him. He wanted to be the one to hurt him. To steal away his freedom, watch him struggle and beg for mercy.

The bottle made a creaking noise as it turned in his hands.

He still hadn't heard from Carla. She had stopped receiving his texts. His calls were now going directly to voicemail. It had been a week. Seven days, nineteen hours, thirty eight minutes. That was the last interaction he had had with her. He wasn't one to keep count, but even if he wanted to forget, the message on his phone wouldn't let him. His mind refused to stop thinking of her.

The liquid splashed noisily into the glass in front of him.

He cursed her name and what it stood for. He wondered if her eyes had twitched involuntarily. He wanted her to feel some of his pain.

He looked at the glass, but saw nothing bar her face.

He winced as he downed its contents. His broken lip burnt as the spicy venom seeped through the dried up blood that had settled in the cracks.

Carla was nestled in her car. Unlike her dishevelled looks, the mineral grey BMW stuck out in her current surroundings.

"Who'd have thought it? After all these years this is the place you'd come to."

She looked to her side and leaned her head back against the car seat. "It's not like I have many options."

"What happened to home?" he asked, which she quickly returned with a scoff. "You used to swear you'd never be seen back in this dump."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. She returned her gaze to the outside world. The place was deserted. She had barely seen a soul since she had parked her car there. Occasionally she'd hear the hoots and screaming noises of a gang of teenagers, but they never came near enough for her to see them.

"Careful, Carla, people might think you miss this place."

"Don't make me laugh."

"Why are you here then? If not for the fond memories."

Carla shrugged, ignoring him.

"Cat eaten your tongue?"

"It clearly hasn't eaten yours. You haven't stopped nattering since we got here."

"Stolen your role, have I? You used to be the chatterbox of the group. It used to be hard to get a word in when you and Chelle were around. And on good terms."

"You never did come round here with us, though did you? Mummy dearest wouldn't let you near these dangerous rocks. Scared you'd tumble to your death. Better yet, scared I'd push you or your sister off. Wouldn't want to mess around with the Donovan girl."

"Can you really blame her?"

"What?" she jumped in.

"Ay, you were pretty handy with your hands," Liam laughed.

"Had to be, didn't I? Learnt the hard way."

"And soon became a master at it. You'd give us an hour worth of entertainment. The fights you'd get in… You know, I actually did come here with Paul, once or twice."

"Oh yeah," she nodded. She stared in the distance. She could almost see them; her hair flying behind her, Paul and Liam following her, passing snide comments to each other, Paul shouting for her to be careful, Luke hanging around, though why she had no idea; especially when much to Rob's entertainment, he was still staring Paul down and passing the occasional jibe. "He wasn't best pleased about it though," she added.

"When was he?"

"Yeah, you always had a habit of following us round."

"Never heard you complaining."

"Your ears were deceiving you then. Besides, if I were to complain I would do it quietly to Paul."

Liam smirked. "We are talking about the same Carla here, aren't we? Quiet, was never in your dictionary, love."

Carla's eyes were glassy as she stared in the distance. "We almost had to carry you back home, one of them days."

"Give over, you were as bladdered as me. You were holding tightly to me. Stumbling over those rocks."

"No, I wasn't," she gasped, turning round to face him.

"You so were."

"Even if I was, it was probably due to them heels I used to wear. Besides, I could always drink you under a table."

The door of the Bookies' flat slammed shut and the noise of pattering feet echoed in the dark street.

"Woo-oo," Nick exclaimed as a body ran straight into him. "Hold on," he uttered, as the curly-haired child was about to take off again. "Does Leanne know you're out running in the streets?"

Simon looked down and focused on the zipper of his blue puffer jacket which he had just about managed to put on.

"Where are you meant to be?"

"At my dad's," he scowled.

"And?" he prompted him.

"What is it to you? You're not even with my mum anymore."

"Ay, ay, ay. What's going on? I still care about you." Receiving no reply, he placed his hands on his shoulders and veered him away from the wall. "What's that ever done to you?" Simon shrugged. "What do you say if we were to forget this happened, and you go back to your dad, sort things out with him, and we'll leave your mum out of it?"

"No, ta."

"Or we could go for a shake and talk about it."

Not many words left his mouth as he slurred his drink. The calmness of the café was soon broken as Michelle and Rob entered. They were both agitated and at each other's throat. Simon rolled his eyes, but it went unregistered by Nick.

"I hate her," Simon spewed.

Nick furrowed his brow and closed and opened his eyes returning to the real world. "What was that?"

Simon shook his head and pulled a face at the three adults at the counter who were oblivious of the reactions they were arousing.

As Rob turned round to comment on what Michelle had just said, he spotted Simon who was still glaring at them. "You okay, pal?"

Simon moved his mouth mockingly, prompting Nick to question him about it.

As Rob approached him, Simon quickly replied, "I'm not your pal."

"We're in a slight mood," Nick uttered.

"I'm still here, you know," Simon mumbled, annoyed.

Rob quickly changed topic. "You haven't heard anything from…," he started asking.

"I haven't, and wouldn't want to. She should do the decent thing and drop dead," he exclaimed, before grabbing his jacket and rushing out of the café.

"I should," Nick started to say.

"Yeah, yeah. Go after him," Michelle told him, before turning to Rob. "I thought they were getting on well," she commented.

"One guess as to who's screwed up again," Rob muttered back. He reached for his coffee, before glancing quickly at Michelle. Some of it spilt over the top hole onto his jacket, as he hastily placed one hand over the other, attempting to conceal his right hand's bruised knuckles. He elbowed her, before leaving. "Go for it," he chuckled, pointing his head in the direction of the pastry she had been eyeing.

Carla's hands were tingling, turning yellow with blotches of red as they started going numb. The wind beat against her sweaty body as she stopped to gain back her breath, causing chills to ring through her body. She rested her back against the wall of the alleyway. Her racing heart was making her feel nauseous.

The footsteps had ceased. Their voices, too, had stopped hounding her. She slid to the floor; her hands crossed, clutching the jacket to her chest, and stayed there for a while longer. They had started suddenly and had come out of nowhere; almost as though they had been ready to pounce on her from their hidden positions. Once her heart and breathing regained their usual pattern, she became aware of the freezing temperature, the way her sweat had stuck to her and was not helping in containing the little tremors that were racking her body. She listened out for further noise, and cautiously started making her way to the road. The pub sign opposite her brought back a surge of memories. She looked up the road. She hadn't been here since she had moved away. She now wasn't sure if she was quivering due to the cold or due to the memories that had flooded back into her system. Each step was taking her back to the past. She crossed the road and cautiously made her way towards warmth. She almost felt as though no time had passed since she had last been there. All that had occurred since then seemed to become a blur.

She was back to feeling as she had so many times in her early years there; insecure, timid, scared of a police raid. The feelings had soon started subsiding as she had stated growing up and as she had grown into herself. Teenage Carla was a complete opposite of what she was like when she was still a child. The transformation was alarming, especially to those who weren't aware of the person she had become. Her reputation often beseeched her, and in the odd case it didn't, her loudness made it clear that she was not the same diffident person. Yet, returning to this place, felt like she was returning to her former shell. She bowed her head as she opened the door.

"Are you going to stay there, love?" someone at the side hollered. "You're letting the cold in," he slurred.

She hadn't noticed that she had been holding her breath until she mumbled out an apology.

She scanned the surroundings, her gaze stopping on a person in particular. She must have let out a slight gasp. The person to her right, stopped to look at her. "You okay there, pet? Looking for someone?"

As the chubby, scruffy looking bloke started to turn round whilst bursting into fits of laughter, she quickly looked down and hurried back outside. It was moments like this that she wished she smoked; not that she had felt any different when she had. She was sure that she'd need a much bigger dose of Nicotine to calm her nerves. Her fingers were soon in her pockets fishing for the glass bottle of clear substance, and some of the numbing capsules. The bottle almost slipped her hands as the laughter started. She almost expected someone to creep up on her from behind. She almost expected to feel a pair of burly hands clutch tightly around her arms or neck and a sharp pain in her back. She quickened her steps towards her car until she felt like they were closing in on her. She hurried past what was once her favourite spot; an area she had marked a number of people's faces, leaving her feeling empowered. Her right heel suddenly snapped. The tears that had been threatening to escape her eyelids were shocked out of her system as gravity pulled her down.

She could feel their force, their voices closing in. They were everywhere. She was their prey. Their easy prey. Sprawled down on her grazed knees and twisted ankle.

They laughed. They sneered. They talked over each other.

"Carla."

"You can't run away."

Their deep breathing sounded closer. She could feel them behind her shoulder. Coming in from her sides. They whispered.

"Got you."

She plucked up enough courage and whipped her head to her sides, as far as her neck allowed her. She jumped as she did so, her nerves a tatter. She started pleading, her voice a whisper. They laughed at her. They were still coming from different directions. Coming and going. Rushing towards her ears to whisper or shout something new. Never knowing from where they'd come next. Their lack of physicality didn't help; rather, her breathing became shallower and more laboured than before. She cowered away feeling inferior again, almost expecting to hear her parents' voices shouting at her, threatening her with a fist and with the odd glass bottle shattering at her feet, whilst she sat on the floor confounded about what was going on and what kind of monstrosity had taken over their body.

"Come on then," a familiar face gently uttered, helping her up. "Let's get you back somewhere warm, shall we?"