I stir from my unconsciousness my head peeling from the sticky lino as I lift it slightly. My head is pounding and every inch of my body aches. I let out a groan as I roll onto my side and stare towards the door. My breathing is heavy and deep and the coughing begins violently again making my eyes water. My face falls closer to the lino as I bring my knees up to my chest and cling to them. It's painful but I don't care, I'm protecting myself. Silent tears start to flow and form puddles next to the patches of dried blood.

I instantly reach my hand to my face, brushing it lightly with my fingertips but wincing at the pain as I do so. Pulling my fingers away I see no blood. A sickening thought enters my head that maybe that blood isn't mine. I retch and somehow pull myself from the floor. My stomach continues to churn, the little disabled toilet is smelly, hot and stuffy and I can literally taste the vomit lining my throat. Pushing my upper body up I fall back against the wall hitting my head once more and letting out a groan.

Despite the small space I feel terribly disorientated and confused. I look down at my arms and wrists that are now painted with light purple bruises of all shapes and sizes. I gently sweep my thumb over then again and again as I stare pointlessly at the door.

Large tears fall as I close my eyes and once again try to block out the agony I'm in. My mind runs a blank, not a thought in there. I search for a memory anything; I need something to distract me from the pain. A few memories of Liam come to mind but fade quickly into the images of him lying in the street. I don't want to see this, not this. I'm awash with emotions, tears and internal silent screaming that only I can hear. I shake my head trying to remove the thought and blink rapidly when all I can picture is Tony's hard cold stare. It scares me to the point my breathing becomes erratic and my chest heaves.

I can't shake his eyes, they continue to stare at me imprinted in front of my eyes. I'm in a daze, transfixed by the image, his eyes were so beautiful so hypnotic but when he was mad they shone with all the excitement of a serial killer. They shine brightly; glinting in the light he stares at me torturing me knowing that I know what he did to Liam. My Liam.

Fumbling outside the door suddenly interrupts my reverie. My eyes widen in terror fearful that it is Jim, he's back and I'm scared. What if he's come back to finish the job? I can feel my heavy breaths on my chest as a firm grip pushes down on the handle and the heavy door clicks open. A foot appears in the slight gap and bright sunshine floods in merging with the florescent light and momentarily blinding me forcing my to squint. As the tall figure enters the room it creates a shadow and I welcome the blocking of the light. I don't look up to see who has entered; I don't want to get in any further trouble.

"Shit, Carla!" exclaims the voice as they click the door closed behind them.

Crouching down and cupping my cheek in his hand he lifts my face and my gaze meets his instantly. You'd think I'd be more excited but I just can't find the emotions. I stare as if examining a stranger, blank expression drawn upon my face. He pushes my hair back from my face and tucks it gently behind my ears. He looks back at me with despair and I wince as he goes to touch the cuts and bruises upon my face.

"Oh Carla what happened?" he asks softly but I don't reply. I turn away from him not wanting him to see me like this. A few stray unexpected coughs get the best of me and start me choking again, I feel warmth rising up my throat and just assume its bile. When it has collected at the base of my throat it makes me gag and blood pours from my lips and runs down my chin as splashes fly from the coughing.

"Carla, please. Talk to me!" He tries again. I throw my head back against the wall and cry out in agony.

"Please Carla, what happened?" he asks more forcefully.

"Peter?" I mumble my words slurred.

"Yes baby, it's me" he reassures cupping my face with both hands and forcing me to look at him but still I stay quiet.

"Did Jim do this? Just nod your head baby please," he begs, I can see that his blood is pumping hard and fast through his body as rage builds.

"Just tell me!" he says angrily shaking my head as he holds it in his grasp.

I let out a cry of pain, it feels as though my brain is rattling round inside my skull. He instantly lets go realising that he's being too forceful and has hurt me.

I nod in answer to his question and he reaches for me, squeezing me tight in a loving embrace but it's just too much, I push against his chest with my palms.

"Let go Peter let go!" I plead breathlessly feeling claustrophobic.

I can't bear for him to touch me it's just too much. He gives me a confused look but when I smile at him his hardened expression softens and he nods in understanding.

He swiftly stands and goes to the little sink; I turn to look up at him watching his every move. He splashes his face with water and gazes into the mirror before catching a glimpse of me staring. Turning he reaches across me and grabs a wad of tissue. Placing it under the stream of running water he soaks it till it's mushy in his hand. He lowers and brings the tissue to my face gently dabbing my cuts. It's ice cold against my skin and feels very refreshing, soothing in fact. I close my eyes and try to relax.

When he's finished he throws the soggy, ripped bloodstained tissue beside him and is careful not to hurt me as he places a gentle kiss upon my swollen lips. Rubbing his temples he looks around and then looks back at me.

"Come on baby, we have to get out of here" he explains as he rises once more to his feet.

"Can you walk? can you get up?" he asks quickly and I shake my head in response. I'm in too much pain to try and move. He runs his fingers into his hair and firmly grips at the roots. Licking his top lip nervously he removes his hand from his hair and clasps them together.

"Ok here is what we're going to do…" he begins but hushes instantly as movement is heard outside the door.

My heart begins to race once more, the fear of whose there overwhelming me. If it's Jim he'll deal with us both, that's what he said in that phone call. Peter crouches down beside me and lifts my left arm and drapes it around his neck. Slipping his arm behind me he takes a firm grip of my waist and I hiss through gritted teeth from the pain.

The handle is pushed down as before and the sunlight creeps in again, another tall dark shadow creeps across the floor. I don't look up, mustn't look up I don't want to aggravate the situation. "Well, well, well" booms Jim's voice as it echo's off the walls. He stands in the doorway blocking it completely for a few seconds before taking a further step into the room and leaving it clear.

"Now" whisper's Peter and swiftly lifts me from the floor.

Shocked and taken by surprise I scream out in pain and become a dead weight on his shoulder as he tries to make a quick exit. I'm too heavy and weigh him down to the point he's exhausted by the time we reach the door which is only one or two steps. He grabs the door frame to steady himself not ready to admit defeat.

"Mr Barlow" booms the voice as darkness from a tall Russian appears from nowhere in front of us. He blocks the doorway reaching across it with both hands resting on either side of the frame.

Pushing against me I tumble to the ground taking Peter with me. Excusing himself he steps over us and closes the door and clicks the lock shut. Jim moves to his side and reaches down for Peter grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and yanking him to his feet. In one swift movement he has him pinned against the wall with that automatic pressed against his head.