I was kidding myself into thinking this was going to be a oneshot...

Pathetic

It's five minutes into the new year and she does not feel like making any resolutions.

She lists them off in her head.

This year, I will drink less. This year, I will smile more. This year, I will be sensible. This year, I will, I will, I will...

She doesn't say them aloud, doesn't make them a reality, because she knows that the chances of her keeping to them are ridiculously slim. She is standing outside the Rovers, alone, as her neighbours sing along to Auld Lang Syne in front of her, none of them really noticing that she is there, hiding behind a large glass of red as is her way these days. She can see Simon amongst the crowd of people, his face illuminated in the dark of night, lit with happiness Carla reckons as he links arms with his father and – for all intents and purposes – his mother, and joins in with the song.

What a perfect little family they make. It almost makes her feel sick, except she is far too numb for that. She doesn't want to begrudge a child of his happiness, especially after all that he has been through in the past month alone, but she cannot help but think of how much easier her life could be if it weren't for his adoration of the Saint Leanne. God, must that woman get away with everything? Love. Lust. Longing. It shouldn't matter. She still slept with someone else, still betrayed Peter in a way Carla knows he would never betray her.

Carla sighs, loudly. She looks up to the sound of a door slamming shut across the road and is annoyed to see that it is only Nick making his way onto the street. He is still buttoning his coat up, but he takes one look at the spectacle she was just torturing herself with and begins to walk in the completely opposite direction, towards the wreckage that was once his new livelihood. A new chance for him. A fresh start.

Intrigued, Carla places her now empty wine glass onto Ken Barlow's windowsill which she had been leaning against and finds herself following him. Perhaps it's boredom that makes her do so, perhaps it's the thought that he is wallowing in it as much as she is by the looks of things and she just needs someone to offload to. Someone that will understand.

"Oi! Nick! Where are you going?" she calls after him.

He does not slow his pace. Nor does he acknowledge her presence.

"Nick!"

She is steadier on her feet than most people would be six inches from the ground with two bottles of wine in their system, but still she stumbles after him as he, again, pretends not to hear her. It is only when she catches up to him and pulls at his arm that Nick stops to face her. He looks as tired as she feels and equally as annoyed.

"What?" he asks in a hard voice she'd have winced at if she weren't so used to it.

"Where are you going?"

He sighs.

"I don't know," he admits. He gives a small laugh, but it is cynical and it makes her look away from him. Her own bitterness is enough for her to deal with. She'd rather not feel his along with her own. "Somewhere that's not here. I don't know, Carla. I just... I don't know."

He goes quiet, the singers on the other end of the street's voices rising up into the midnight sky. It's cold and Carla pulls her coat tighter around her, jumping as the first firework breaks out in celebration of the new year. The sky fills with colour and she wishes she were able to find it beautiful.

"Happy new year."

She turns to him, her smile slight. He is looking up at the sky with a distant look in his eyes that he will not direct towards her. It's like he physically can't, like it's painful for him to properly interact with another human being when he is in such a fowl mood, longing only for interaction from the one person he is being denied it from.

"Isn't it your birthday?" Carla asks him, seemingly out of nowhere, and she is surprised that she has even remembered. But not as surprised as he is.

"It was yesterday, yes," he replies.

She nods. She so recently set fire to the many forms that contained his date of birth, the many contracts that once bound them together. Carla exhales deeply and watches her breath dance about her face in a white mist that is as transparent and permanent as she herself feels.

"Well, happy birthday for yesterday, then," she says.

Nick shuffles awkwardly on the spot. He buries his cold hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Thanks," he says before turning to her. They catch each other's eyes as fireworks continue to fill the sky. "I just hope that this year's better than the last."

He's being genuine with her; honest. She knows that he is because his voice has a sighing quality to it and he is speaking in a reflective tone that is almost too close for comfort. Carla closes her eyes, thoughts of how a year could possibly be any worse swimming in her head, and it's too much for her to think about. Too much for her to bear.

"Me too," she sighs and they nod to one another in a mutual understanding. "It can't get much worse, can it?"

She laughs, bitterly. Her attempt at adding humour to the situation falls flat.

Nick shakes his head. "No, it can't."

They find their eyes being drawn to the family way off into the distance and their hearts sink just that little bit further in their already aching chests.