Chapter 12: The Bad Guy

A/N: So yes, I am indeed picking up my fave series of fics of all time once again. As we all know, I am obsessed with the Connor/Donovan backstory so here we have it, enjoy :)

Trigger warnings:

Mild homophobic slang: POV 3.

Strong references to abuse, violence and sexual assault: PoV 4.

References to drug abuse: PoV 4.

Michelle

"And I managed to speak to Mr Pepper about your time away from school." My mother witters on as she packs up my things, ignoring where I was sat cross legged on the hospital bed, finally dressed in my own clothes again. "He said not to worry, and that your teachers will send you plenty of work to be getting on with from home for a couple of weeks."

"Ah, all my worries are solved." I smile sarcastically and she shoots me a glare, picking up the card on my side table.

"Who is this from?" She goes to open it and I immediately snatch it from her grip. The last thing I needed her to read was Carla's reference to our fag breaks.

"Don't go through my things." Is all I say, tucking it into my coat pocket, glad of dad making an entrance to dissipate any further questions that might be asked.

"Did you speak to the doctors? I told them nobody will be leaving her unaccompanied back at home." Mum pipes up as soon as he is through the door. "They said to watch for any dizziness. I spoke to her headteacher, he said he will send over work for the next few weeks-"

"Helen, stop fussing." My dad cuts her off, daring to pull a face once her back is turned and I grin at his wit. "Anyway, there's one thing Michelle needs to do before she gets started on any of that work."

"What?" I hesitate, dreading what was going to come next.

"She needs to have one of her dad's five-star hot chocolates." He pats my back and my face breaks into a smile again. "Come on kid, let's get you home."

Carla

The weeks passed like cars on a motorway, just blurs of colour, nothing interesting. Gradually, the stray cherry trees that I could see in the distance were blossoming and daisies were weaving their way back into the grass at the quarry. I pick at one, piercing the stalk and threading another through it, the way Michelle had shown me as kids. As April was creeping in, I could feel the weather warm slightly, the goosebumps on my arms slowly making themselves less prominent. For Manchester, in the height of spring, when usually it would be chucking it down, it was a beautiful day. Clear skies, so blue that I could see far into the distance, the skyscrapers in central Manchester being at the edge of my view.

Usually, I would be sat here with a bottle of vodka, or maybe worse. But it was enough to give anybody who knew me a heart attack if they could see me actually sat here with a German revision guide. It was one of the only lessons I didn't mind; there was something about speaking a different language that was almost magical to me. It made me feel like a different person, in a different place. I could imagine I was strolling through Tiergarten Park in Berlin, or browsing the chocolate shops in Cologne, or watching the lights glisten in the Christmas markets of Munich. Even just for a moment. It was a fantasy that some people were actually living.

But most importantly, I had promised Michelle. It was too much to think I could pass all my exams, so I aimed to at least try for the two I was predicted highest in; German, and, for some strange reason, food technology. Granted, my predicted grades weren't genius-level, but they were the only two I was targeted a C, which made a change from the U written next to maths, science and English. Maybe I'd grow up to be a chef in Germany...

Despite making this promise to my best friend, it had been a few dull weeks of having no contact with her. As she was on strict bed rest by her parents, there was no way of her sneaking out and especially no chance of me being invited over to see her. It was times like this I craved we had a phone more than anything, especially the way Michelle and I had left things. It was, as my German revision guide would say; unvollendet.

In lighter news, George had not shown his face in the flat for about a month now. Maybe he had died of alcohol poisoning, face down in the gutter with nobody even caring enough to identify his body. I could dream. Chances were he had been on a week long bender, overdone it on drugs and had ended up sleeping on someone's grotty floor until he stopped shaking from heroine withdrawals. Either way, his return was not eagerly anticipated. Not even by my mam, who seemed to be doing a little better in his absence. And by a little better, I meant swapping her slippers for shoes when she went outside for her morning fag.

"Well if pigs could fly." A voice cuts me from my thoughts, so close to my ear that I jump, a pair of hands throwing themselves over my eyes. "Carla Donovan - reading."

"Michelle?" I pull her hands away from my face, jumping up and practically knocking her to the floor. She erupts in a fit of giggles as we playfully roll around the grass, hugging one another tightly.

"Well this makes a difference from being treated like a china doll." She finally breaks away for breath, falling on top of me as I stare up at her. "I came here before your own flat and well look at that, I was right."

"You've been set free?" I arch an eyebrow, brushing the hair from her face that had strayed in our reunion and her gaze settles on mine, just nodding her head gently. "How long for?"

"I've been allowed to 'go for a walk'." She rolls her eyes. I could feel her heart beating against mine. This was the closest we had been since lying in her hospital bed together, and before that, I couldn't even remember. It felt like years since we had been here, just us and nature, breathing in the fresh air and appreciating one another's company. "I have a feeling it's going to be a long walk."

"I missed you." I whisper softly, almost scared to say the words as I trace her face with my finger. "Michelle... That night, when Rob told me... I thought... I was so scared I was going to lose you. After everything I said to you and how I acted... And I've realised that I need you. I need you more than anyone. I love you more than anyone. I can't... Imagine living without you. I wouldn't be able to live without you."

"...You don't have to." She murmurs, raising a hand to my cheek and softly grazing her thumb against my skin. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

Forcing my eyes away from hers, I lay my head in her chest, just fiddling with the daisy chain I had started on. "...Michelle?" I just whisper and she doesn't respond, instead presses a kiss into my hair. "...I don't want to ruin our friendship."

"I know. Me neither." She muffles, running her fingers up and down my arm and my eyes close briefly, wishing I could just reach up and kiss her. "...So where do we go from here?"

"I guess we just... Stay alive." I smile to myself, the feeling of her fingers in my hair soothing me. "Keep each other alive."

Michelle

The road to recovery was not a term to be used lightly. In my case, it was more like the M6 to recovery and my mother was the traffic warden. Nevertheless, after weeks of fussing, pandering and being forced to work through piles of coursework, I had been released. It felt as if I had served eight years for meningitis in prison. And for the first time in my life, I was actually grateful to reach the grotty, tattered building of St. Agnes Secondary School.

There is a quick sharp pain in my shoulder as I feel my bra strap ping, turning abruptly to face a grinning Dean, dark hair flopped across his forehead. "You're back then."

"Can you not do that?" I fold my arms sourly, waiting for the dull stinging to stop. "You know that actually hurts us?"

"Oh come on, you're tough you. Made it out of hospital, didn't yer?" There's a twinkle in his eye and I have to force myself not to smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Glad to be out of my mother's wrath." I begin to walk as he slots into stride next to me. "I think I've drank more tea than the queen these last few weeks. Would you believe it actually takes me being at death's door for them to buy in-date milk?"

"Least you have milk." He nudges me, which was a fair point. "Most of us around those parts don't even get that."

"Yeah well, I felt like a caged animal." I just mutter and I hear him laugh wickedly at the comparison. "What?"

"Well, seems like you need a run around in the wild then, caged animal." He hands me a slip of paper and I stop in my tracks, dreading what was inside.

"What's this? A love letter?"

"Cocky, aren't you?" He narrows his eyes playfully as I begin to unravel it. "I heard you broke up with that four eyed puff?"

"Don't call him that." I sigh, pausing to lift my eyes to his. It was one of the less attractive things about Dean; he was extremely offensive. If he even got the inkling that he didn't like someone, he wouldn't relent until he had verbally dragged them through the mud. "But yeah. We were... Very different."

"You don't say." He arches an eyebrow and I try to disguise the fact I find his attitude annoyingly attractive as I turn my attention back to the paper in my hand. "You're invited to your own birthday party. Congratulations."

"...What?" I read the note over once, just a date, place and time scrawled in Dean's handwriting.

"We're throwing a party for your fifteenth." He announces proudly. "At Big Mikey's."

"Where's that?" I screw my nose up, thinking it sounded like some kind of dodgy indoor play area.

"...At Big Mikey's house." He responds bluntly and I just fold the note up, pushing it into my pocket. "The Saturday after your birthday because I know mummy and daddy will want to give you lots of cuddles and snuggles on your big day."

"Shut up." I sass him. "Fine. But only if you make me a cake."

"Uh... I can't even make a sandwich, Chelle." He humours me, beginning to walk off and spinning around to face me briefly. "But I'll give it a shot - for you." He grins before turning again, striding off in his leather jacket. Why did I have to fall for the bad guy?

Carla

"Rob? You 'ere?" I shout as I push the ragged front door open, assuming mam would probably be passed out on the sofa. "Rob? You coming to Michelle's party later?" I hammer on his door. No response. I try to search my mind for where he could be on a Saturday afternoon, stuffing my envelope of wages that I had just collected from work down the side of my bed, before heading into the living room to check mam had lived another day. But it wasn't mam who stared back at me with hungry eyes, drooling with withdrawals, nursing an empty bottle of whiskey just to try and get drunk on the scent. "...Where the flamin' hell have you been?"

"You've gotta give me a tenner, Carla." George orders gruffly, rising to slam the bottle down on the three legged kitchen table. "Now."

"I'm not giving you anything." I almost laugh at the state he is in; shaking, wobbling, desperate. "I asked where you've been?"

"Stayin' at a mate's." He responds shortly.

"Which mate?" I eye him up and down. It was obvious from his stance that he had been on more than just whiskey the past few weeks.

"Kev." He just shrugs and I shake my head in bemusement. "You know Kev, he was in the papers a few years back. For throwing acid in his wife's face."

"...So you have been on the heroine then?" I scoff, really daring to risk his mood right now. He just looks at me bluntly, giving a small shrug, as if it wasn't obvious. The bags under his eyes were purple. Unkempt stubble was forcing its way through his jagged, skeletal jaw. He stank of body odour, enough to make me want to throw up, and living where I did, I'd really built up a tolerance to certain smells.

"I need a tenner." He just spits, ignoring my accusations.

"A tenner won't get you a hit." I narrow my eyes. "You should know that by now."

"No I need a bottle of whiskey." He begs, almost innocently, I was surprised he wasn't down on his knees. He was the most pathetic man I had ever known. Beating bruises onto my body, telling me I was a waste of skin and then begging me for money the next week. If anything was an advert for actually attempting my GCSE's, it was this poor excuse for a man, cowering in front of me. He had nothing going for him. Not even a ten pence piece. His only income was our child benefit. His only sexual pleasures came from my deadened mother, or so he said. I would be surprised if any other woman would go near him. Surely nobody could be as deluded as mam, to settle for this state. "I'm gonna ask you one more time. I know you've got money."

"Yeah, money I earn. To keep me and Rob alive. To put food on the table." I snap at him, unable to withhold my anger. "Do you know how much I get paid an hour? Two pound sixty five! For slaving away fitting shoes onto customers feet. Customers who have the money to afford shoes! Customers who have never known what it's like to be neglected."

"It's more than you're even worth." He shoots back at me, anger rising now.

"Well I'm doing a damn lot better at looking after myself than you are." I retaliate, seeing the burning in his eyes, his desire to knock seven bells out of me. "So save the lecture."

A wicked smile curses his face, menacingly taking a step forward and I automatically take one back. "You know, I miss the days you'd run and hide whenever I'd enter a room. Screaming 'mummy, don't let him hurt me'. You've got a bit too much lip nowadays." He practically growls, closing in on me, his cravings to feed his desire getting stronger with every inch he warns me backwards. "And now you've got this poncey job, you think you can come in here throwing your weight around? Ey? Trying to patronise me?" He hesitates, a twinkle in his eye. He almost looks excited about the threats he is making. "...I could kill you. Right here, right now." I swallow the lump in my throat, my heart beginning to race in panic as he shoves me against the wall. "I could strangle you, watch the light leave your eyes, watch your body fall limp. Slowly. Or if I wanted to be kind, I could crack your skull with my fist. Who would care? Your mam's too busy scraping ketamine from the carpets, your teachers have probably forgotten you exist. Maybe that little girlfriend of yours would cry for a few days. Rob might whimper like the pathetic loser he is for a while, until he realises he's inherited the bigger bedroom and all your stained, ripped t-shirts... Or I could do worse." He pushes himself against me and my eyes go wide, my sinuses filling with the scent of stale tobacco, cheap whiskey and sweat. I had got myself in too deep. I try to shove him off, hoping his withdrawals would cause him to totter and fall. But he remains steady, eyes greedy for me to dare to retaliate an argument. His hand grasps at my hair suddenly and I let out a soft whimper of agony. "I could give you something to really make you see how weak you really are."

He wouldn't... Surely even he wouldn't sink that low. I was trapped. I was vulnerable. This was it. This is what my life had lead to. His hand falls to my thigh and I almost gag at the sensation, trying with all my willpower to push him away again.

And he falls.

He drops to the floor, shouting and squirming and writhing on the dirty carpet in front of me.

But it hadn't been me that saved myself.

"You ok?" Liam cups my pale face in his hands, giving George another kick for good measure. There was no chance he'd be able to stand again for a while, not in his drunken state. "Did he hurt you? Carla?" He tries to snap me out of the panicked state I had crawled into. Building a barrier against my emotion so that it wouldn't hurt as much as it should. "Carla?" He tugs on my hand suddenly and I find myself following him, my feet falling mindlessly into a step as he pulls me out of the flat.

"...How did you... Get in?" I just manage to ask when we are out in the hallway, leant up against the wall again but this time, in safety.

"I did knock. Twice." He gives me a reassuring smile, grazing my cheek with his thumb as he checks over the bruises slowly forming on my neck. "It's a good job I decided to let myself in."

"I think... I think..." My eyes go wide as I stare back at him, realising what a close call I had just faced. "I think he was going to..."

"Ok. It's ok. Your safe." He pulls me into a hug and I soak up his warmth, the scent of his laundry detergent, the beat of his heart. There was no sarcasm, no jokiness, no pretence of hatred between us. It was a rare occasion, but it reminded me how much I needed him. "I've got you." He whispers into my hair as tears spring to my eyes. I didn't want to cry in front of Liam, not again. I didn't want to be weak. But I knew deep down he wouldn't judge me for it. I knew deep down he cared and that was something I couldn't say for many people. "Everything's going to be alright."

Michelle

"Right, birthday shots." Dean clicks his fingers, producing a bottle of violently blue coloured spirit and pouring it out into the lid, handing it to me.

"...What in the hell is that?" I scrunch my nose up at the perfumed stench it gave off. "It smells like bleach."

"Dunno, I just picked it up and ran." He shrugs, referring to the bottle reading Himbeergeist across the front. "But you'll soon find out." He nudges me and I hesitate. "Quick, before Liam gets here."

"Right, whatever." I knock it back, wincing at the taste. "Eugh, you couldn't have stolen something a little less poisonous, could you?"

"What does it taste like? I wouldn't dare try it." He teases me and I try to think of something clever to retaliate before familiar voices drag us round to face them.

"Ey up, birthday girl." Carla grins, but I can tell it's forced. She has been crying. My eyes drift to her neck.

"What the hell has George done to you?" I instantly jump to the obvious conclusion and she looks taken aback by my abruptness. Dean looks confused, glancing between us, Liam shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"Nothing." She moves a hand to her neck, trying to hide what I had already seen.

"Well unless Liam's been giving you love bites, he's hurt you again." I jibe, triggering Liam and Dean to exchange awkward glances before heading off to fill themselves with alcohol.

"...Michelle can we just let it go, for tonight, hey? It's your birthday." She whispers quietly, trying to calm the tension and I hesitate, glancing over the bruises worriedly. "I'm fine now I'm here. With you."

"One day, I'll kill him." I just fold my arms, although it was all talk. If Carla couldn't take on her step-dad, I had no chance. "Rob not with you?"

"No, I assumed he'd be here." She shrugs, handing over a present and card. I stare at her in shock for a moment. "Happy birthday."

"...You got me something?" My eyes widen, opening up the small parcel and finding a box inside containing a silver rhinestone hairpin. "...Carla..." I trail off, running my finger over it. "This must have cost you a whole months wages."

"You're worth it." She gives me a small smile when I look back at her. "I've always wanted to buy you something pretty, and I've never been able to."

"It's beautiful." I just murmur, wrapping my arms around her neck and appreciating every inch of her as she holds me tight. I didn't want her to let go, but she does, and there's a moment of eye contact where I could so temptingly lean in. But I don't. We knew the score now. My head drops back to the gift instead, closing the box and slipping it into the safety of my handbag. "Thank you."

"We getting drunk then? God knows I need it." She breaks the tension between us and I grab the bottle of Himbeergeist that Dean had forced down my throat. She takes it from me, studying the label for a moment. "Raspberry spirit."

"What?"

"Himbeergeist." She taps the bottle before taking a sharp swig, not even wincing at the taste. "It's German for raspberry spirit. See, I've been revising."

"Impressive." I nod, actually taken aback at her knowledge. "How can you drink that? It tastes like cyanide."

"Oh yeah." She raises an eyebrow cockily. "Drink that on the reg' do you? Come on, let's go and find your boyfriend."

She grabs my hand, pulling me off and I plan to make a comeback about Dean not being my boyfriend, before I realised I didn't want to...

Carla

"...You feeling any better now?" Liam dares to ask. He had been watching me nurse the can of beer in my hand for the past five minutes, unaware that I was completely mindful of his gaze.

"Always am after I get a few drinks down me." I flash him a smile, dark hair falling over my shoulder. I lean back on the sofa slightly. Michelle and Dean had disappeared and I felt it was my duty as the best friend to distract Liam from having any ideas about what could be going on. Not that I minded Liam's company, secretly. "So how's the chippy going? Haven't visited in a while."

"You mean you haven't had any fights outside for the past few months." He nudges me and I let out a soft laugh, flicking the tab on my can a few times as we sit in a comfortable silence. "...I'm really proud of you." It takes me a second to process the words, momentarily wondering if I had imagined them. My head tilts sideways again, my eyes falling to his, brow creasing in confusion. "Genuinely. You could've given up. But you haven't, you're fighting. You've got yourself a job, you're raising your little brother, Chelle even told me you're revising for your GCSE's."

"Ha, yeah. Attempting to." I just shrug off the compliments, not used to having a list of achievements thrown at me. It took Liam Connor saying them out loud for me to actually process my development. I was fighting. And the fact that somebody recognised that meant everything to me. My eyes drop to his lips just for a second, before travelling back to the blue hues that I always saw so much life in. So much excitement and care and generosity. "...Funny, I always worried you thought I was just another slag from the estate."

"I've never thought that." He admits quietly and I sigh softly, giving in to the urges that were fizzing inside me, placing a hand against his cheek and leaning in. I can just feel the warmth of his lips, the scent of his cologne, before I am forced to pull back.

"Carla?" Rob's voice snaps me away and I turn to face him, all the annoyance and frustration leaving my body when I clap eyes on his bloodied and bruised form. He looked like a lost little boy, baseball cap lopsided on his head, knees grazed, cheeks muddy. "I didn't know where else to go."

I can see he is close to tears, fighting them back due to the audience that is increasingly turning to pay attention to our exchange. "Rob what the hell happened?" I jump up, placing a hand against his cheek as I examine the cut into his eyebrow. "Was it George? Has he hurt you?"

"It wasn't George." He says weakly, shrugging his shoulders out of hopelessness. "I got jumped outside the comic book shop in the precinct. Three lads, probably a few years older than me. They took my rucksack."

"Well at least there was nothing valuable in it." I point out.

"Why were you at a comic book shop?" Liam stupidly pipes up and I throw my head back, shooting him a glare.

"There was something valuable in it." He muffles, his gaze shifting to his feet. "It had the photo in. The one I carry around of me, you, mam and my dad, before everything completely went to shit. I only had one copy."

"Ok, it's ok." I pull him into me, holding him tight as I rub a hand over his back. "At least you're safe. What did they do to you?"

"I refused to hand it over so they kicked me onto the floor, one of them cut my eyebrow with a penknife." His voice is shaky, now safe in the crook of my shoulder.

"What did they look like?" I demand, quietly into his ear and he briefly shakes his head. "Rob, what did they look like? I'll kill 'em."

"I don't want you getting into bother." He muffles. "Besides, you'd never track them down."

"You wanna bet?" I suddenly hold him at arms length, raising my eyebrows challengingly. "I can track anyone down when I set my mind to it."

"Can I just have a drink first? Then I'll go back over it." He mutters and I sigh, nodding slowly and following him through to the kitchen.

Michelle

Dean's hands work in my hair, clinging to my scalp, strong, protective. His tongue wrestled with mine. My jaw was starting to ache, we had been at this for half an hour and I was a little out of practice in comparison to him. Then I feel his hand slip under my top, that same sick feeling creeping up inside me as last time. But I wanted this. I wanted it all over again despite how it made me feel. I didn't understand it, but I knew I would give in.

I was a lot more sober than I had been last time. Still, my mind wasn't totally clear, but I could feel everything a lot more. It was less of a blur. It was more real.

"What if Liam walks in?" I try to excuse as he works his way to my neck, sucking on the tender skin and prompting me to weaken at the sensation.

"Door's locked." He just whispers against my jawline and I fall back onto the bed. It was enough to sway me. I feel his fingers creeping up my spine, settling on my bra strap and effortlessly pulling it open.

"Have you got protection?" I suddenly ask, the thought creeping into my mind. I know it dents the atmosphere from the slight annoyed groan he tries to cover, pulling back to check his pockets. I watch as he rifles through, pulling out a pouch of tobacco, some scrunched up papers and a bottle opener, throwing them down onto the bed.

"Uh... Seems like I'm out." He realises and I take a second to ponder the sentence. Seems like I'm out. As if he did this everyday with somebody different. Maybe he did. Maybe condoms were equivalent to the milk he had in his coffee every morning, added to the shopping list as soon as the bottle was running low. "Does it matter?"

"...I don't know, does it?" I dare to expose myself as the inexperienced teenager I was, a sense of vulnerability in my tone.

"I've shagged quite a few girls without and they've been fine." He shrugs and again, I swallow my desire to roll my eyes at how callous and cheap his words were. "Just grab the pill tomorrow. You've got your birthday money, haven't you?"

"Yes." I just mutter. I was sure that hadn't been what dad had intended me to spend my cash on when he slipped a twenty pound note into my birthday card. "My parents won't find out?"

"Take Carla with yer, she's probably done it hundreds of times." I'm sure he doesn't mean it to sound as rude as it does, but my body itches in defence of my best friend as I force the comment to slide off my shoulders. "So we doing this?" I give in, nodding my head confidently as his lips meet mine again, a smile tugging against my own as I feel him against me. "I was hoping you'd say that..."

A/N: Let me know if there are still people interested in this story, I'm really excited to continue it if there is a decent reception!