He leaves her to wonder around the pokey flat as he goes through the motions of filling the kettle with water. Not that he even asked her if she wanted a hot drink, and she knew that neither of them would be doing anything as civilised as sharing a cup of tea. But she understood that the normality of the ritual, revelled in it a little because she clearly made him nervous enough to have to distract himself.
She holds her half empty bottle close to her chest as if subconsciously afraid he will try to take it away from her. She touches surfaces and general clutter absently because she just could not help herself as she infiltrates his home. She falters as she comes across the collection of photographs scattered on the walls, grimaces at the ones of the three of them.
There is enough of a conscious left that her self hatred grows at how she potentially can blow their happy little family apart with her poisonous misery. But then she tells herself that it is all a lie. That he has his partner upon a pedestal she doesn't deserve and the idiot didn't even realise that she'd rather be shagging someone else. The hypocrisy of it all makes her want to break things, and she was meant to be the one with the emotional issues.
Instead she focuses on the ones of Peter in his younger years and her laughter suddenly breaks the hush as she mocks his questionable past hairstyles. Sometimes she wonders how she came to be so obsessed. Sometimes she looked at the man she couldn't live without and only saw ugliness and it didn't matter. It didn't matter that he was short and a chain smoker with a widening waist band and a constant sense of entitlement. If anything it made things better, easier. It made her need him more all the while she tried to reason she could do better. She was truly pathetic.
The whole world seemed ugly most days but there was nothing uglier than the wreck she had become.
"Why are you here?" He demands finally having poured the hot water over the teabags and abandons the mixture to stew and grow cold.
She snorts a cackle and takes a graceful skip towards him as if she was some untouchable ballet dancer.
"Well aint that a loaded question," She teased picking up some kind of brightly coloured plastic tube that seemed to be a child friendly version of a weapon. She never realised someone as small as Simon could have so much stuff. The clutter made her own home feel sad and empty.
Peter quickly pulls the toy out of her grip and places it aside and it annoys her because his lack of patience makes her feel like her simply handling the lump of plastic could contaminate his son. She did not appreciate the way sometimes he made her feel like the lowest scum of the earth. It was hard enough to battle her own crippling negative thoughts on a daily basis she did not need her saviour to add to the weight of it all.
"I can't keep up baby. Are we still pretending we both don't know what's happening here?" She lowered her voice till it was throaty and alluring. She tried out an expression of mock innocence but it felt wrong on her face so she allowed it to fall into a devilish smirk.
In all honesty trying to remember when they were meant to be acknowledging the connection between them or burying it in denial made her head spin. He often seemed to think they could swap between the two at his say so and that it would not hurt her. That she didn't thrive for the days when he would treat her like a decent human being, like a friend. The days when he would smile at her and the light would catch him in a certain way and she'd see all the beauty and good intentions in him.
He frowns and says her name in a drawn out way that communicates his disproval. But he reaches out and touches her elbow like he cares when she can't help but flinch at the rejection.
Suddenly she was right back to wanting to hurt him.
She thinks that if she pushed the right buttons she could have him falling off the wagon and drinking again. It would almost be easy and then they would be the same, twins in their compulsions and misery as they could be in blood alcohol levels. Then maybe she could gloat and feel superior.
Only as always the practical one she can't help but remember the way her skin felt too tight and hot. How she needed him otherwise she was afraid her frustration would never end and drinking alone only made it worse.
She needed his anger and desire and weight. She needed him to mark her and for some physical representation of everything she held inside. And an intoxicated recovering alcoholic would be a clumsy fuck at best if he was even coherent enough to get it up in the first place.
She thinks back to a few nights back when she had cried herself into a restless sleep because he had refused to answer her calls. She still felt hollowed out and dehydrated from it all. It hurt, how easy it was for him to abandon her after all his promises just because Michelle suspected the worse.
"I'm here because you can't keep playing my knight or ignoring me whenever it suits. I may not have much Peter but I still have some self respect left."
Guilt flashes across his features but the victory is hollow, she doesn't want to be stuck with his pity masquerading as sympathy yet again.
"It's not like that."
She's not sure which one of them he is trying to convince.
"And the meaningless clichés do nothing to make you sound more convincing darling." She snapped as she hastily unscrewed the bottle lid. She was starting to sober up and she needed that vicious little edge.
"I'm sorry." He offers and that doesn't feel any better. He reaches to take the bottle away from her like she is some unreasonable child who he can keep taking from but she pulls it away quicker.
"Oh and your guilt is really helpful. Cheers for that!" She slams the bottle against the kitchen counter satisfied with the solid sound it made even though she had flashes of herself throwing it against the wall.
"What is it you want from me Carla?" He shouted, patience finally wearing thin and maybe that's what she wanted all along. The way his breathing starts to grow heavier and his eyes darken as he looks through her.
She licks her lips and considers touching him but knows it was still too early. Instead she gazes at him up through her dark eyelashes as she choices her words carefully.
"Maybe the right question is what do you want from me?"