Chapter Text
Lisa had done it again.
She’d walked straight out of therapy, halfway through the session, because she’d simply had enough. Poor, sweet, Floyd, whom Lisa had admittedly become rather fond of, was actually mid-sentence this time, off on some tangent about how grief was like an ocean. Something about waves and learning to swim. Well, it’d been nearly four years, and no - Lisa had not learnt how to swim. She’d been treading water, and now she was sinking. Drowning.
So Lisa had left - stormed out, actually - for the second week in a row. She knew it was a little overdramatic, and no doubt Floyd would report back to Costello. But he only had himself to blame - she did tell him in no uncertain terms that she hated metaphors. Or was it a simile? No, an analogy. Were they different things? Why was she wasting her time thinking about it?
Anyway, mid metaphor/simile/analogy, she ran for the hills. Or, more accurately, since there were no hills in Weatherfield, she went to the pub. Not the Rovers - that would be too risky, and she didn’t need to be subjected to the disapproving looks of her friends and neighbours. She was well aware that drinking in the middle of the day was a bad look, especially for a police officer, and especially for a woman who prided herself on being in control, but she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t know how to cope, except to drown her sorrows and push herself closer to the brink of no return, head slipping underwater.
Maybe grief was like an ocean. She was definitely drowning in something, grief and sorrow and fear pulling her under, leaving nothing but an arm waving helplessly above the water, pain filling her lungs and choking her. She was beyond saving herself at this point, and she knew deep down that no one else could save her either. Carla would try. Of course she would. But the problem with trying to save a drowning person, was that they’ll always try to pull you under too - not on purpose, and not to hurt you, but because survival instincts will kick in and they’ll use you for leverage to poke their head up over the waves just long enough to take a breath. That’s what she was doing to Carla. And she hated herself for it.
The pub she found herself at was quiet, because it was two o’clock on Tuesday and most people had a life, or a job, or a firmer handle on things. Lisa did have a job, but not one she cared about anymore - just one that involved filling out mindless paperwork. Not proper police work. Any old idiot could do it, so it didn’t really matter that Lisa had plonked herself down at the bar of this pub which was much nicer inside than out - the kind with a crappy carpark but an extensive gin selection - one which Lisa was steadily working her way through. And why shouldn’t she? Wasn’t it good to try new things? And what’s newer than a G&T made with banana and guava flavoured gin? That one was rank, admittedly, but the rhubarb and ginger gin slid down much easier. As did the blood orange.
Lisa was finishing up a grapefruit and cucumber gin when her phone rang. It was Carla, probably checking in to see how her therapy went. Lisa declined the call immediately, which was a reflex these days. In times gone by she’d be glued to her phone, always available, answering any and all calls and texts straight away. These days, not so much. Carla tried again, Lisa declined again - and then turned her phone off for good measure. She needed time to formulate a good lie for why she’d be arriving home half-cut at dinner time.
She couldn’t think of a good lie, in the end. Which was how she found herself glued to the doorstep of Number 6, taking a moment before going inside to mentally prepare herself for the judgement, the anger, and the pity. The pity was the worst. If there was one thing Lisa Swain hated, it was being pitied. That’s why she compartmentalised, boxed things away and kept them hidden. Though she’d come to realise over recent weeks that perhaps her storage system wasn’t quite as neat and tidy as she’d thought. No, the boxes couldn’t quite stay closed, just slightly too much trauma stuffed in each one for the lids to fully shut. And as everyone knows, if you stack not-quite-closed boxes on top of one another, the pile loses its structural integrity, and the stack will topple over, the contents spilling out everywhere. The clean up process had proved challenging, but she wasn’t trying very hard - not that Lisa would ever admit that. And she certainly wasn’t going to let someone else help her tidy up. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing what she’d tucked away in those too-small boxes.
When she finally stepped inside, the house was warm and loud, the air thick with the smell of something cooking. The TV was on, but no one was watching it, and there was laughter drifting from the kitchen - Carla’s, in reaction to some story Betsy was telling. Lisa couldn’t see them yet, still hovering in the hallway, but she knew Betsy would be waving her arms about, animated as ever.
“That you, Lisa?” Carla called out, and Lisa knew she couldn’t hide anymore.
“Yeah,” Lisa called back, kicking her boots off, losing her balance slightly as she did and resorting to using the wall to support herself.
Lisa strided through the living room and into the kitchen, thankfully able to walk in a straight line, though she knew she stank of booze, and her inebriated state would be painfully obvious when Carla clapped eyes on her. Lisa caught the moment Carla clocked her, eyes narrowing. She knew, but said nothing - not in front of Betsy. Never in front of Betsy.
“Hi Mum,” Betsy greeted her, perched on the work surface next to Carla’s chopping board, legs swinging and hands wrapped around a can of coke.
“Hi. How was your day?” Lisa asked, trying to act normal and ignore the glares coming from her girlfriend’s direction.
“Fine,” Betsy shrugged.
Lisa dared to look back at Carla. “Something smells good.”
“Stir fry,” Carla replied, voice terse, smile tight. “It’ll be ready in five.”
“I’ll go and get changed,” Lisa said, quickly retreating upstairs.
She didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until she was alone in their bedroom with the door shut. She looked at herself in the mirror for the first time, suddenly surprised that Betsy said nothing, because she looked like shit. Her high bun, so neat and perfect that morning, was now anything but, stray hairs slipping out, sticking up in all directions. She didn’t remember crying, but she must’ve rubbed her eyes at some point, because her usually flawless mascara was smudged. Her shirt was crumpled, top few buttons undone, but worst of all were the eyes. Red, unfocussed, and swimming in her head.
Lisa fixed herself up the best she could - face washed, hair scrapped back, and comfy clothes on, and looked somewhat presentable by the time she returned downstairs. Carla wordlessly handed her a very large glass of water with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and they sat through dinner without so much as a word to each other. Luckily Betsy was on top form, recounting tales of Sally at the factory, and River’s new boyfriend who everyone hated, apparently. Lisa had hoped to keep their buffer around for as long as possible, but Betsy disappeared off to her room after they finished eating, leaving her alone with Carla and the beginnings of a headache.
“So,” Carla began.
Lisa leapt up and started clearing the table. “So?”
Carla didn’t reply straight away, watching Lisa’s movements - still slightly clumsy from the booze, but purposeful nonetheless. The purpose being to avoid a difficult conversation.
“I was calling you earlier. You didn’t answer.”
Lisa shrugged. “I was busy.”
“Busy doing what?” Carla's voice was light. She was baiting her, drawing her into a trap, daring her to lie.
Lisa stopped loading the dishwasher, looking back at Carla. Her face was blank, neutral, save for an unmistakable purse of the lips that didn’t quite match the lightness in her voice.
Lisa sighed, knowing she’d have to tell the truth. “Therapy was rough today.”
Carla’s face softened slightly, and Lisa decided she didn’t need to know that she walked out.
“Rough how?”
Lisa shrugged again, returning her attention to the dishwasher. “Uh, just, I don’t know - I don’t think it’s helping.”
“It won’t help if you don’t try.”
Lisa’s head snapped up at that, the low, roiling frustration of the day finally coming to the surface, boiling over at the accusation. How dare she.
Lisa raised her eyebrows at Carla. “You think I’m not trying?”
Carla hesitated, lowering her gaze slightly. “I think you went and got drunk in the middle of the day.”
Lisa took a breath to calm herself. “Like I said, therapy was hard, and I-”
“And you thought you’d make everything harder by drowning your sorrows?” Carla hit back.
“You know what, I’m not talking about this with you,” Lisa decided, slamming the dishwasher shut with more force than she intended, making the plates rattle and Carla flinch.
Lisa marched out of the kitchen, but Carla stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the stairs, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing. “And who will you talk about it with? Cause it doesn't sound like you’re talking about it with your therapist.”
Lisa stepped back. “I’m going, aren’t I? Isn’t that enough?”
Carla shook her head. “No, it’s not. Not when you’re acting like this.”
“I’m not acting like anything,” Lisa said back - shouted, actually, no longer able to contain her rage, no longer caring that Betsy was upstairs.
She didn’t wait for Carla’s response, pushing past her and up the stairs. Carla might’ve called after her, but she wasn’t really listening. Didn’t want to listen, because she couldn’t bear to hear how she was fucking everything up. Like she needed to be told.
Lisa sat in the bottom of the shower until the water ran cold. But even as she shivered, curled up in a ball, she couldn’t will herself to move. Because when she left the bathroom, Carla would be there. Disappointed in her. Pitying her.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to leave the bathroom to see that look. Because eventually, Carla came in and found her. Wordlessly, she turned the shower off, flinching when her arm passed under the ice-cold stream of water, and then pulled Lisa to her feet, handing her a towel, watching as she wrapped it around herself.
“I’m sorry if you felt like I was attacking you,” Carla said gently, placing a hand on the side of Lisa’s face. “I’m just worried about you.”
But that was worse. Didn’t she understand that?
Lisa stepped back, dropping her gaze from Carla’s worried eyes, so full of pity that it made her sick. She was so desperate to help - so brave, so stupid. Lisa would just drag her down. Lisa could see that now, so clearly, flashes of their future misery in her cluttered mind. But Carla couldn’t. She thought Lisa could be saved. She thought they could be saved. So full of hope.
When Lisa said nothing, Carla spoke again, still so soft. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”
Lisa let her. She let her brush and dry her hair. She let her dress her in pyjamas. She allowed herself to be put to bed, like she was a child. She didn’t put up a fight at all, all the fight gone for now. Carla pulled Lisa into her arms and held her. She told her that she loved her, but Lisa didn’t reply. She pretended she was asleep.
Lisa woke up in Carla’s arms. It took her a moment to register that Carla was in the exact same position as last night, and still in last night’s clothes too. Which meant that she hadn’t moved, not even once, stuck in the same uncomfortable position. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to disturb Lisa’s sleep by getting up. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to let her go. Lisa didn’t dwell on the reason. Instead, she rolled away, putting space between them.
When Carla woke up, she persuaded Lisa to call in sick. It took very little persuasion. Lisa used to hate taking sick days, so committed to her job that she daren’t miss a single day, but she’d already skived off yesterday afternoon - what was one more day?
As Carla made her breakfast, Lisa was overwhelmed with guilt. Guilt that Carla had been cursed with loving her. And as Carla glided around the kitchen, Lisa knew what she needed to do. She needed to set her free. Lisa might’ve been drowning, but Carla didn’t need to. This would be one final act of love for Lisa, to save this woman who she needed like oxygen, her lighthouse in a four year storm. As much as she needed her, It would be selfish to try and keep her. She deserved better, and if she couldn’t see that for herself, then Lisa would make her see it. She wouldn’t let her drown with her. She would use her last remaining strength to haul her into the life raft and push her back to shore, kicking and screaming. One day, she’d thank her.
“Carla,” Lisa said.
Carla turned to her, smiling, unaware of what was about to happen. “Yes?”
Lisa hesitated before speaking again, taking a moment to appreciate the soft smile and the love in Carla’s eyes, because she knew she wouldn’t see that look again. Not directed at her, anyway.
“Can we talk?”
“Yes.” Carla nodded, taking a seat at the table next to Lisa. “We do need to talk about yesterday.”
Lisa took a deep breath, keen to ensure her voice came out as sure and steady as possible. “I think we should break up.”
Carla screwed her face up in confusion. “What?”
Lisa swallowed down the lump in her throat, ignoring the way Carla’s voice shook. “I don’t think this is working. We should break up.”
Carla exhaled slowly, eyes roaming across Lisa’s face. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” Carla repeated firmly. “We’re not breaking up. I know you’re going through a rough patch, but we’ll get through it. I know we will.”
Carla reached for Lisa’s hand. Lisa snatched it away. “I don’t love you anymore.”
Carla rolled her eyes. “Yes you do. I know why you’re doing this, you’re trying to push me away. But I’m not going to let you.”
This was proving harder than Lisa expected. She didn't think you could say no when someone tried to end a relationship. But still, she persisted, fixing her eyes on the wall when she spoke again.
“I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
“Lisa, look at me,” Carla pleaded.
Lisa did. Carla’s face was a picture of concern, tears pricking in her eyes. And somehow, Lisa knew exactly what needed to be said. Something there would be no coming back from, something so cruel that Carla would have to leave.
“You know,” Lisa sniffed, speaking slowly, choosing each word carefully, constructing her sentence in the most callous, cutting way possible. “This whole thing with Becky made me realise something. I’ll never love you as much as I loved her. You’re a poor replacement, Carla, because you’re not her.”
It was a lie. Of course it was a lie, and for a moment Lisa thought Carla would see right through it, and call her out on it. But she didn’t. Her face rearranged, from pleading to something unreadable. Then it became readable. Something broke behind her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, choking on her own words, face flashing between fury, heartbreak, and shock, before settling on devastation.
Lisa didn’t give her the chance to form her words. She didn’t even give her the grace to let her say her piece. She rendered Carla Connor speechless, and bolted out the front door.