So grateful for the lovely reviews on the last chapter, I've been going through a bit of a writing slump recently where everything I write feels rubbish to me, so I really appreciate hearing that others disagree!
This is another heavy one. There will be lighter chapters to come as I develop Carla and Peter's relationship and she starts to relax around him, so bear with me for the fluffier times to come!
Huge TWs again: descriptions of abuse, very sweary, references to child sexual exploitation, suggestion of PTSD, breakups (trust me, this can be a huge trigger for people!), Star Wars references. Thank goodness I have a light, cheerful fic like Two Little Lines that's due an update after this one!
'Enjoy' is probably the wrong word, but I hope you can tolerate it!
Carla couldn't hear a thing throughout the entirety of Mr Tyler's history lesson – low, unintelligible mumblings at best, a combination of exhaustion and fear causing her brain to completely lose focus. She sat alone, Suzie having boycotted her usual seat by her side in favour of sitting near to Luke and his friends. She was fixated on Mr Tyler's hands; large, wrinkled hands with tufts of dark hair protruding from each finger. They seemed familiar to her, now. As she stared at them, Mr Tyler's rotund body started to morph into somebody else's, his suit and trousers becoming a tight shirt and a pair of knee-length shorts, and Carla could suddenly feel the hands all over her body, unpleasantly warm, calloused, touching her in places that made her want to retch in disgust. She wasn't in a classroom any longer, she was in his bedroom, sprawled across his bed, pinned down so that she couldn't move even if she'd dared to. She could feel his stale, pungent breath against her neck, inhaling the strong body odour that filled the bedroom along with the scent of damp and cigarettes. She clenched her fist tightly on the table, just like she had around the bedsheet in horror, her fingernails digging deep into the palm of her hand and her knucklebones turning white. She felt a pain slice through the centre of her body, so sharp, so internal that her stomach lurched in discomfort.
"Miss Donovan!" Mr Tyler's loud, patronising voice sounded from in front of her desk and Carla jolted out of her trance, scraping her chair back a few inches across the floor and bracing the palms of her hands against the desk. "If you were on track to even pass this class, I would accept you spending half the lesson zoned out but seeing as you barely got ten marks in your end-of-term assessment last week, I'd say now would be a good time to start paying attention." Her classmates sniggered at her. She tilted her head up to look at him and narrowed her dull, tired eyes. He reminded her too much of him, of John – his face was just as round, his head as balding.
"It's a load of shit anyway," she snapped in response, pushing her chair the rest of the way back into the desk behind her and standing, grabbing her handbag from the floor and swinging it over her shoulder.
"Miss Donovan…" the teacher said warningly, but his words fell on deaf ears as Carla pushed past him and stormed out of the classroom and into the empty hallway. Automatically, Luke leapt to his feet and quickly made to follow her without bothering to gather up any of his belongings. "Mr Strong, sit down this instant, unless you want to keep Miss Donovan company in detention tomorrow evening."
"Sorry, Sir," Luke mumbled, giving the teacher a strained smile before hastily following Carla's tracks out of the room and into the corridor. She'd already made significant progress and was nearing the main doors of the school building, tears falling uncontrollably down her cheeks as she tried to hold in the sobs that created a heavy pressure in her chest until she was sure she was alone. "Carla, wait!" She stopped at the panicked sound of her boyfriend's voice and sighed, allowing her eyelids to flutter shut as she listened to his footsteps growing closer. Feeling his presence behind her, she turned to him, wiping her fingertips underneath her eyes to brush away the tears but only smudging her mascara further.
"I just want to go home, Luke…" she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes and instead staring at the empty space over his shoulder.
"What's going on with you?" Luke asked softly, placing gentle hands on her shoulders and peering down at her in concern, "I'm really worried about you these days." Carla flinched. There she was again, back in the bedroom, Luke's hands morphing into John's, their grip feeling significantly tighter than it actually was. She was overcome by the pungent smell again, and she automatically stepped back and wriggled out of Luke's grasp. He frowned deeply, reaching out to brush his fingertips against her tear-stained cheek. "Carla?"
"Don't touch me!" Carla hissed, reacting quickly and smacking his hand away. Her eyes were large and filled with intense fear as she backed away from him, further and further until she stumbled into the set of lockers behind her, pressing her back up against them. Luke opened and closed his mouth a few times, completely lost for words and having no idea what to do.
"Carla, what…? What have I done?" he asked, trying once again to take a step towards her with her having nowhere else to move to. Firmly, Carla shook her head, her eyes filling with tears as her mind started to return to the present moment, and she realised that she couldn't keep this act up. Her stomach twisted with guilt, a sick feeling building up in the back of her throat. Every time she tried to look at him, at the boy she'd devoted her teenage years to, she hated herself for what she'd done. Choice or no choice, she'd still done it. Slut.
"I can't…" she whispered, forcing herself to meet his eyes in spite of the dagger of pain that the action sent shooting through her chest.
"Can't what…?" he replied, again inching closer to her, gradually bringing his hands to rest comfortingly on her cheeks, which were flushed and warm with the anxiety that filled her body. Though every part of her screamed for her to get away from him, viewing his touch as alien, she forced herself to remain stock still. She drew in a slow, painstaking breath and released it, her lower lip trembling.
"I can't do this anymore, Luke," she admitted, gulping hard as the words finally passed her lips. The night before aside, her relationship with Luke had been spiralling out of control for months, ever since Frank had rocketed into her life and made her doubt the trust that she had for every other living soul she knew. His presence had fractured all of her close connections; she had become a shell of what she used to be. The events of the previous evening had only solidified that unuttered truth in her mind.
"I don't… What do you mean?"
"This, us… I can't, Luke. I'm sorry. Me and you, it's finished." Voice cracking on her last words at the hurt that filled his glazed eyes, she slipped out from beneath him. She covered her mouth with her hand tightly, a sob threatening to escape, as she moved quickly towards the main doors at the far end of the corridor without looking back at him. Not that she had reason to – he didn't say a word as he watched her walk away from him. She'd been slipping further and further away from him for a while now, and hearing it out loud, though painful, almost brought him a strange sense of relief. He cared about her a lot, and he was worried that there was so much going on in her life that she wasn't telling him, but it had reached a point where he didn't know if he could help her anymore. She just wouldn't let him in.
Carla's breaths were deep and heavy in the otherwise silence of the flat, the usual noises from the outside world quiet for a change. After arriving home from school much earlier than anticipated, Carla had treated herself to a couple of glasses of Coke mixed with Frank's whiskey that she'd sneaked from the cupboard in an attempt to calm her nerves. He owed her that much after what he'd forced her to endure. She'd then sprawled out across the sofa and quickly sunk into a deep sleep, making up for the stolen hours that she'd lost out on the night before. She was out cold as precious seconds of the day ticked by, not even waking as the clock hit three o'clock and she had other places she should be. Half an hour beyond that time, there was a weak banging at the front door – once, twice, three times – before the door was forced open, and Rob slipped his little body through the small gap, hauling a rucksack almost the size of him behind him. He dropped it to the floor by his feet and blinked rapidly as he took in the sight in front of him, his beloved sister out cold, not even stirring at the sound of the door. His lower lip trembled, and he dashed over to Carla, crouching by the side of the sofa and shaking her continuously.
"Carla!" he cried, "Carla, wake up!" Slowly, Carla started to stir, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands, creating dark circles of mascara underneath them. Rob breathed a sigh of relief and threw his arms around her neck in a tight embrace, surprising her.
"Hey…" she said soothingly, gently rubbing circles across his back, only prompting him to squeeze her tighter. She frowned. "What are you doing home so early?"
"School finished," Rob replied, matter-of-factly, "You weren't there, so I walked home by myself." Carla gasped, cupping her mouth with her hands and pushing her little brother away from her so that she could look him properly, checking that he was okay. Rob stared back at her, oblivious to her panic and content now that he'd confirmed that she was fine.
"Rob, I'm sorry. I didn't… I didn't even realise the time."
"It's okay. Michael and his mum walked with me back to the corner of our estate."
"It's not okay. I was just so tired…"
"I thought you were like Mum…" Rob voiced quietly, dropping his head to stare down at his hands, which he fidgeted with in his lap. Carla knew all too well what he was referring to. There had been a day when they'd returned home from school together years ago, she aged twelve, Rob only seven, to find their mother sprawled across the sofa in a similar fashion. Difference being that Sharon's condition was a result of a heavy alcohol binge and a drug overdose rather than merely overtiredness. They hadn't been able to wake her, and Carla had quickly called for an ambulance whilst Rob cuddled his mother's limp form and sobbed for her to wake up. For months afterwards, Rob had had a deep-rooted fear of coming home from school, making Carla enter the flat before him every single day. Sharon had come around in hospital eventually after having her stomach pumped, of course, but the trauma was there in the minds of her children, and Carla despised herself for having taken Rob back to that day. She pulled him in for another hug, squeezing him tightly.
"Course not," she insisted, weakly, her voice croaking with emotion, "I'm sorry."
"Where is Mum?" Rob asked, his voice muffled as he spoke into his sister's shoulder. Carla sighed, giving a shrug.
"I don't know," she admitted, "Frank's looking after her."
"He said he doesn't know where she is. Said she's gone."
"He's lying."
"Why would he lie?" Rob queried, innocently, sitting up and leaning back against the sofa cushions, peering at Carla in curiosity. Carla hesitated for a second. She knew that Rob was unaware of the full extent of Frank's temper. She'd done her best to shield him from it, but the last thing she wanted was for him to fall into the trap of taking Frank's words as gospel.
"He's not a very nice man," she started to explain, though was surprised when she was interrupted.
"I know," Rob cut in, sadly, "I don't like it when he makes you cry." Carla was unable to find the words to answer him, his statement like a heavy pressure on her chest, so she merely wrapped her arm around his shoulders and coaxed his head to rest against her, then resting hers on his. They remained in that way for a few moments, overcome by their unspoken words of love and protection, before Rob sliced through the tension with his usual lightheartedness. "Will you play Star Wars with me? I'll let you be Skywalker this time." Carla smiled down at her younger sibling before giving him a nod, eager to lighten the conversation.
"Yeah, go on then. I'd rather be Princess Leia, though."
"Okay!" Rob sung, hopping down off the sofa and scurrying into Carla's bedroom in search of his beloved Star Wars action figures, which would probably be scattered under her bed somewhere. Carla sat back against the sofa and tipped her head backwards, allowing her eyelids to flutter shut for a moment until Rob came sprinting back into the room, clutching a mixture of figurines to his chest and dropping them in a pile on the floor, beaming at her. Carla slid herself from the sofa and onto the floor, crossing her legs, Rob mirroring her actions opposite her. Both children suddenly jumped in surprise as the front door was booted open, revealing an infuriated Frank on the other side. Carla reached out and grabbed onto Rob's hand, gripping it tightly. Frank didn't say anything at first, kicking the door shut behind him and moving into the kitchen. He dropped a handful of tiny black bags onto the kitchen counter, which Carla stared at in dismay, knowing exactly what would be inside them.
"Frank…?" Rob began, cautiously, "Do you want to play Star Wars? You can be Darth Vader."
"Rob, go into the bedroom. I need to talk to Carla," Frank grunted, pouring himself a glass of water and taking a swig. Rob hesitated and clung onto his sister's hand a bit tighter, reluctant to leave her alone.
"You'd make a good Vader-"
"I said go!" came Frank's roar, the glass shattering as he launched it at the wall on the other side of the kitchen, water splashing onto the floor. Carla flinched and Rob leapt to his feet, darting into the bedroom and quickly closing the door behind him. Frank glared at the child who remained, still sat cross-legged on the floor, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes. She despised him. She'd always hated him, but that inner loathing had reached a whole new level after what he'd subjected her to the night before. "You'd better have made some decent fucking cash last night, Carla."
"I got your dirty drug money. And then he gave me twenty."
"Twenty?!" Frank yelled, crossing the room in seconds and hauling Carla to her feet by the collar of her school shirt, a high-pitched squeal emitting from her throat. "Are you fucking having me on?! How shit were you?!" As he spoke, droplets of salvia cascaded out of his mouth, a few landing on the skin of Carla's face, causing her to gag in disgust. She held her breath, kicking out in his direction to try and get him off of her but succeeding only in encouraging him to tighten the grip he had on her shirt.
"I just took what he'd left out!" she hissed, gasping for breath and swallowing hard against his fingers, which dug into the depths of her throat.
"When people work for me, I expect them to do a proper job."
"I don't work for you!"
"Didn't," Frank sneered, lifting Carla closer to him so that her pretty face was only inches from his, her feet almost lifting off the floor. "But you do now. And you're going to do what I say, when I say to do it. You don't fuck me over. You don't go to the police, or your spotty little mates, or your prick of a boyfriend. If you do, you can forget about seeing that slag you call a mother again. And you and Rob will be put in care, you'll be chucked in a children's home, and the people there will make me seem like a dream. Do you understand me?" Slowly, Carla nodded her head. "I said, do you fucking understand me?!"
"Yes!" Carla sobbed. Frank released his grip and pushed her backwards, the sofa behind her fortunately breaking her fall. She scrambled into the corner of it and protectively curled herself up into a ball, hugging her knees close to her chest and resting her chin on top of them. She stared straight ahead, her eyes red, her breathing heavy as she struggled to suck in the air that she'd just lost. Frank turned his back on her and instead stared out of the window and down at the wasteland below them.
"You're going to Ian Bradley's house tonight," he informed her, bluntly.
"Frank, please, I'm shattered. I'm so tired I feel sick, I can't-"
"Did you hear a word I said?! You do what I say. You can have tomorrow night off, tonight's already arranged," he responded, drawing his mobile phone out of the pocket of his jeans and flicking through the messages gracing the screen, the numerous replies that he'd received after sending out the photograph the night before, "His wife and kids have done a runner to Italy and he's gagging for it. He's going to love you. You'll do whatever he wants, and you'd better come back with a decent profit this time." He turned back to her and rolled his eyes at her pathetic form, her body trembling with fear and the little sobs that escaped from her. "You'll thank me for this one day, when you realise that I'm helping you. I could just fuck off right now and leave you kids to starve to death, I don't owe you anything. I'm doing you a favour." Carla didn't reply to him, merely continuing to stare directly at the wall in front of her. Frank sighed. "Piss off and go and get ready. I'll call you when you're needed." Carla slowly rose to her feet, keeping her head lowered and her eyes trained to the floor. As she passed the pile of action figures, she quickly bent to gather them up into her arms. Reaching the door of the bedroom, she hesitated, wiping the underneath of her eyes with the pad of her index finger and sucking in a deep breath to try to regain control of her emotions. She put on her best fake smile and entered, closing the door behind her and dropping the figures down onto the bed, in front of the little boy who was curled up in the foetal position with his hands pressed firmly over his ears. Loathing for Frank and what she would spend the night doing was not a priority; he was, the brother who she would sacrifice everything for to make sure that he was safe.