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"But I want to know why today got so much colder and I want to know when the storm clouds will be over."
The man cursed as he rubbed his face, shaking his head in annoyance. It wasn't supposed to be like this, it wasn't meant to end in that way. Straight in and out, that was all he'd wanted. He just wanted to talk. He kicked the wall near where Carla sat, making her squirm nervously, her face red raw with tears and anger. He had told her, told her to listen and it would be fine, she would be fine. He'd never hurt her, not intentionally. But she didn't, she never fucking did. And now here they were, in a mess.
"You can't keep me here! What the hell is this? How are you even here. You can't be here, it's not.. its not possible!" She wiped her face as she shouted, dry blood on her face from where she had fallen. He hadnt meant to hurt her but in the struggle she'd tripped, cut ber head on the glass of a smashed photo. She had begged him to take her to hospital, after the last head injury had left her in tatters this could be worsr than it looked. He was having none of it. He couldn't risk it.
She was feisty as ever. He thought she would be that way til she took her dying breath. In fact, he knew it. He watched her, stepping closer and she flinched. She was scared of him, terrified even. She'd never looked scared of him before. Except... apart from after.. He stopped himself. That hadn't been his fault, he wasn't in the right frame of mind back then. He was scared, he was losing everything and she was making it worse.
It was her fault. It was always ber fault. But he loved her, endlessly. He had always loved her. And despite his fury at her, he wanted her safe. Safe and protected. And he would do anything to make that happen. Including this.
Peter sank down onto the single bed in the tiny box room in his father's house. He felt like he had exhausted every option, looking everywhere for two days straight in a desperate attempt to find her. He'd never felt so lost and helpless.
He had spent a while consoling Carla's best friend as she sobbed in the back room of the Rovers before she had turned on him the same as everyone else. She had asked him why his arrival had meant more heart ache for Carla, did he know where she was? Had he hurt her in fury? Everyone was watching him, questioning him, suspecting him. It hurt almost as much as Carla's disappearance. Almost, but not quite.
Peter had resorted in the end to leaving messages on her phone, the one he knew she didn't have as it was currently being held in the police station for evidence. Evidence of what, Peter wasn't sure he wanted to know. He called her whenever he could, just to hear her voice at the end of a voice mail. He pleaded with her to come home, told her how much he loved her, sometimes he just cried, no words said. His heart was more broken than it had ever been.
He lay back on the bed, cuddling the photo of Carla he had taken to prison with him against his chest, unable to let it go.
He cried himself to sleep that night.
Carla sat against the wall in silence, crying quietly to herself. She didn't know why she was here, she didn't know what was happening, but she knew she was scared. She just wanted to be at home, curled up on her sofa with a glass of wine and the TV.
No, she wanted to be curled up with Peter, in his arms, hearing him say everything she needed to hear, longed to hear. She'd do anything for that.
She loved him. And she loved the baby she was carrying.
His baby.
The one he knew nothing about yet.
The one he might never know about.