Carla's breathing hitched when the blade of the knife lightly rested against her side. Peter's hand was shaking though as he held it there and stared into her eyes with an intensity that had her fearing him instantly. As he tightened the grip on the handle his knuckles slowly began turning white and before she could move out of his way or even react, Peter suddenly swiped it across her cutting her t-shirt and ripping her skin enough to cause a flesh wound. It took a few seconds for the pain to register with Carla and the blood to rush to the surface. She was stunned, unable to move or do a thing as her eyes became transfixed on the knife in Peter's hand that had a smattering of red upon its blade.
He didn't look sorry nor did he seem to care what he had done. Peter was dead behind the eyes and it suddenly hit Carla that she was in way over her head with him. Her intuition told her to clutch her hand to her side, which she did as her breathing changed to slow and deep and her skin began to drain of any colour. Carla's problem was that even though Peter had harmed her again she still loved him and told herself he hadn't meant to inflict such actions on her and foolishly tried to convince herself the future ahead of them was bright.
Her hand started to tremble and she broke her tear filled gaze from Peter to look down. As she pulled her trembling hand away she saw it was covered in a thin layer of her blood and although the wound stung she didn't think it needed medical attention. A dressing would do if she could get passed Peter to the first aid bits. He was fixed to the spot in front of her keeping her trapped. Carla didn't dare to speak or ask for his help. Pushing her hand back to her side she applied pressure once again in an attempt to stop the bleeding. She was thankful Peter hadn't dug the blade in any deeper because she was certain she wouldn't be standing there breathing if he had.
It wasn't him, he didn't know what he was doing she reminded herself as Peter picked the whisky bottle back up from the counter and took a swig. He did so calmly and with a cool air that even though Carla was in fear she still found it seductive. As the amber liquid settled in the bottle Peter held in his hand Carla suddenly felt a craving for it, just to have the taste in her mouth. She reached out her unoccupied hand to Peter and gestured for it. Looking at the bedraggled mess of his girlfriend in front of him he frowned but passed her the bottle.
As Carla lifted it to her lips her hand trembled, she was a bag of nerves. She took a long gulp and relished the burning sensation on the back of her throat as the poison slid down and into her system. It instantly helped her to feel better and numbed her. She handed it back to Peter and he took it, repeating her action and taking another swig. He backed away clutching the bottle as he retreated from the kitchenette altogether and returned to sofa to sit alone.
The second she was released from his caging Carla slowly made her way to the bathroom, struggling with the pain of her latest war wounds. As she wandered into the bathroom she peeled her hand away from her side to see the full extent of the damage Peter had done. The slash in her side was deeper than she had thought but didn't look as though it need medical assistance. Taking a flannel from the side of the bath she ran the cold tap, waited until the water was almost freezing and then soaked it to place over the wound. The blood instantly bled into the towelling cloth as she clamped it down and hoped it would take some of the heat out of the incision. She then reached up to the medicine cabinet and pulled from it a bottle of painkillers. She knew it wasn't a good idea to mix the medication after she had been drinking but the pain was so intense she couldn't help it. Her hand was shaking as she took the pills and then rushing to put them away she accidentally dropped them and they clattered noisily into the sink alerting Peter.
"Carla?" he called out in a questioning tone.
"I'm ok" she quickly called back in a shaky voice as she picked them up and put them back in the cupboard.
Peter swiped the bottle up to his mouth and took another swig as he listened to the only noise in the flat , that was Carla. When she reappeared into the living room, having cleaned up her side and having managed to stop the bleeding she saw Peter still slumped across the sofa and suddenly felt very wary. Her gaze naturally slide back to her side and she swore she twinged again at remembering it happening. She didn't want to be alone with him and found herself subconsciously reaching for the door. As she clicked it open she paused but Peter hadn't seemed to have noticed. She was nervous but knew she couldn't stay this time. Continuing on she headed slowly out of the door, not closing it behind her and struggled down to the stairs to the front door. She hadn't taken her bag, nor her coat and was just opening the front door to walk out, knowing she would be unable to come back she was stopped in her tracks as Peter's voice boomed out with a drunken slur at the top of the stairs.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
He was glaring down at her and she suddenly felt nervous as a lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it down painfully and then turned her attention back to the door and getting outside. Her foot had just stepped out when he was suddenly behind her and had a tight grip around her arm. She hadn't even heard him come down. She gasped in fright as he suddenly yanked her back inside and slammed the door. Firmly gripping her wrist he dragged her back up the stairs, she trailed behind him trying to struggle and wriggle free which just agitated him further.
"Stop being so difficult" he yelled as he pulled her inside and threw her forward, where she went crashing to the floor. She turned to look up at him with a frightened expression upon her face in time to see him return to the kitchen side where earlier he had dumped the knife and he picked it back up. Scrambling back on the floor she tried to get away from him as he slowly walked towards her. She was petrified of what he might be planning to do and suddenly started apologising profusely hoping it would stop him. Having backed herself to the wall there was no escaping. Peter stood over her, the knife in one hand and the bottle in the other as he frowned. He was so angry and he didn't really know why any more. Taking a further swig from the bottle he drunkenly wobbled as his grip tightened on the knife handle as he got ready to inflict more pain. She wouldn't leave him, he wouldn't let her. He was about to crouch down when the buzzer rang out interrupting them. Peter scowled but went to answer it and get rid of who ever was there. Falling all over the place he wobbled as he crossed to the intercom and slurred as he spoke.
"Yea?"
"Dad!" exclaimed an excited little voice.