Aint it funny how you think you're gonna be okay til you remember things ain't ever gonna be the same again. Ain't it funny how you think you've got your whole life planned just to find out it was never ever in your hands.
Peter wasn't sure he'd heard right but Carla's words rung in his ears and for a moment he was scared his heart would explode with happiness. He couldn't believe she'd really done it. It wasn't even something they'd talked about but with Carla saying she wanted to stick to friendship for now, Peter simply assumed they'd let it continue and sort that when they got that far. The fact Carla had made the massive step to stop the process made everything seem hopeful. Scary, but hopeful.
The last few weeks had been blissful. Peter had been careful to let Carla have full control, everything on her terms. Mostly. He loved being with her, doing nothing with her except talking and laughing, like they had before life took over. Carla had been adamant that no one else knew what was going in between them, although to be fair, neither of them had talked about that much either. But he did as she asked, whisking her away from Manchester regularly for meals and or long walks. He wooed her. Like he'd always wanted to. Every time he saw her again he realised that these were the best days of his life.
Peter quickly made his way over to Carla's flat, the evening upon them and the street quiet. He squeezed past someone as they left the building and run up the stairs, excited to see her properly. Peter frowned softly when Carla's front door was slightly ajar but figured she'd opened it for him after he text to say he would be five minutes. With a soft smile he made his way in, calling her name as he did.
However, something stopped Peter is his tracks immediately and he froze, stuck to the spot. He could feel the sick rise in his stomach, a small layer of sweat forming across his body.
Carla's flat was a wreck. Her home had been upturned, mess everywhere. He'd never seen such a state and his heart beat so fast it hurt. Things were thrown around, pictures smashed, ornaments scattered across the floor, everything suggesting a horrendous struggle. Peter could see the kitchen from where he was, plates broken, half a bottle of wine split across the floor.
Silently, he made his way into the bedroom upon receiving no answer from Carla when he repeatedly called her name. He squeezed his eyes closed as he pushed the ajar door open, scared what he would find but equally scared what he wouldn't find. The room was unscathed, untouched. It seemed as though what ever misery had overtaken Carla this time, it hadn't made it as far as the bedroom. Peter took that as a good sign. Right now, he'd take anything he could as a good sign.
He swallowed back as he picked up a smashed picture that had fallen into Carla's abandoned handbag on the floor, her phone visible and flashing with a message Peter assumed would be his. He turned the picture over, his heart aching as he found the frame he had brought her after their wedding, a beautiful picture of Carla in her dress and Peter in his suit, her grinning her dirty smile at the camera and his eyes firmly on her. Despite what happened that night, the look of love he gave her in that moment had never been more heartfelt.
Placing the picture down and rubbing his eyes, Peter quickly pulled out his phone and dialled 999, almost unable to talk due to shock and fear.
That was when he noticed it. In the corner of his eye, right by the sofa.
Blood.
DUN DUN DUN. Haha. Don't worry, this story isn't going to turn into a massively dramatic one. Just a little plot twist. Thanks for the reviews, keep them coming as always! (And to the person that asked whether Peter had signed the bookies over in corrie, I have no idea, I had to make it up as I couldn't remember :')) Big love