Right, so I think this will be the last chapter, though there is a slight chance I might add one more. You're reviews have been amazing! And I know I said it before, but yeah this chapter was even harder to write. My mind really isn't being nice to be today.
The pair of them lay awake for what seemed like hours, side by side in their favourite position; Carla's body, resting on her side, her legs bent slightly, her hands holding Peter's against her chest, his arms holding her as he spooned her, his torso moulded perfectly against her back. Yet despite their physical closeness, there was an intangible void between them, a distance that was holding them apart, now bereft of trust, the only thing stopping them from ricocheting apart was the potency of the love they had for one an other.
Peter's gaze never left Carla, his eyes falling on the graceful curve of her cheekbones, just visible above her shoulder, most of her face concealed by her raven mane. The peaceful lull of her chest, rising and falling in a harmonious rhythm put him at ease, he longed to pull her body closer to his, to tighten his embrace, but he feared that he'd only unnerve her, and the violent thud of her erratic heartbeat was the last thing he wanted to feel, let alone cause.
He thought back to the satisfaction, and gratitude he'd felt back in September, when she'd allowed him to put his arm round her shoulders, such a simple, unimportant gesture to most, but he knew the significance, he knew it took every ounce of her strength not to buckled beneath his touch. It was that strength that allowed him to hold her, to stroke her hair and ultimately to make love to her.
He loathed himself for scaring her today. He'd taken her 'recovery' as such for granted. He's been so wrapped up in his own problems recently he hadn't stopped to think for a moment how she was doing. Just because Frank was dead and gone that didn't mean he didn't still linger, haunting her, torturing her. Since the whole custody battle for Simon he'd neglected her, and now he was paying the price.
She felt the velvet of his lips brush her, procrastinating against the nape of her neck, holding his kiss for as long as he can. She knows he is trying to make up for this afternoon, trying to regain the trust that splintered in an instant, she's aware of the way his arms hold her loosely, afraid of constraining her and she wants to tell him that it's okay, that he's forgiven and she understands.
Only she can't. She doesn't feel the same. It's as though someone had dug up the gave she'd so carefully buried those brutal memories in, trowelled them up and left them spewed all over her mind. Whilst she felt safe in Peter's arms, she didn't feel secure; on edge and vulnerable she expected herself to fall back into that grim mind frame she'd occupied in those first weeks after the rape.
'I feel raw' she whispered, staring into space as Peter processed her words.
He didn't feel able to respond , he didn't know what to say, so settled with rubbing his thumb in a circular motion over the silky skin between her thumb and forefinger, nudging his legs up so her lower back was plush against him.
'I feel like I've taken 10 steps backward, and I came so far Peter, I really did' Carla said almost her self rather than him.
It was then she realized how angry she was at herself, how could she be so weak? How could she allow herself to freak out like she did, let him gain control of her even in death? Had she learned nothing? Had these last few months not taught her anything? She felt herself getting wound up inside, berating herself. She hated the women she'd become; a needy burden. Once again, she'd let Frank violate her, maybe not physically this time, but sure enough he'd abducted the control she'd managed to regain and taken her sanity with it.
As long as she was with Peter, she was an addict. Addicted to him, dependent on him, reliant on him. Her independence was being sapped away in a steady trickle, and if she left it much longer, she wouldn't have enough left to do what she needed to. She couldn't imagine her life without him, but this was the problem, if without him she couldn't function, couldn't survive, then surely being with him wasn't healthy either. She couldn't live her life, standing on a precipice, terrified that she'd loose him terrified that she be left, discarded like a piece of rubbish.
No, she couldn't. She had to break free now, while she still could.