Turn The Page
This is just a little thing i wrote when i was bored and had been looking through todays papers. *evil look at paper* So i hope you like it and sorry for making Carl seen a little weak. (Also posted on Albion_Fic)
Carl woke just like he had the last few mornings, body and mind filled with dread and worry. What little debauched tale would be in the papers today? How would they find a new way to torture and slaughter his beloved Bilo? All he had seen in the past week was stories of Peter’s past, spiteful, damaging stories that could completely destroy him.
He could just picture him, oblivious to the fact he was slowly being torn apart. Having too much fun with his new celebrity girlfriend. It was clear to Carl that in time she would get bored of him, and he would just be another celebrity notch on her bedpost. This was also clear to everyone else who read these papers, in fact it was plain as day for everyone except the man himself.
Carl had seen him, announcing his love to every Tom, Dick and Harry who would listen. Showing off the “K” he had tainted his precious heart tattoo with. Even Kate’s family and friends were against them, threatening to take her child, ignoring her. She didn’t seem to care, probably loving all the press attention her new bad boy lover was getting her.
Carl made the short walk to the shop to buy today’s newspapers. He walked through the door and nodded politely at the man standing behind the counter. He turned to walk to where the papers were displayed and gasped in horror, covering his face with his hands in shock. Stumbling over his feet he rushed to the stand and snatched one of the copies. He couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. Peter wouldn’t be that stupid. How could he let someone film himself doing the one thing he knows people hate most about him? The one thing that is slowly poisoning his body and eating his mind. But sure enough he had, and the bloody cunt who filmed him thought he could make a quid or two selling a few captures to the bloodthirsty media.
Carl panicked and grabbed all of the papers from the stand, turned, ran, and threw them on the counter.
“You want them all,” the man behind the counter asked. Carl stopped dead; he was already running back to grab all as many of the other papers as he could.
“Yeah, is that a problem”
“No, not at all, carry on,”
When he’d finally collected the papers and spent nearly all the money he had in his pocket on them, he realized there were too many to carry home.
“Can you look after these for us a minute mate, I’m just gonna fetch the car”
“Of course, put them behind the counter”
Carl began lifting the heavy bags over to the man, who was then placing them on the floor. There must have been at least 5 bags brimming with papers. As he lifted them up to the man he kept catching slight glimpses of Peter through the lining of the thin bags. He felt a lump catch in his throat as he looked at them. How could he be so stupid? Carl just couldn’t get his head around it. He’d always known Peter to be a devious bastard. So how could he just let his guard down like that?
“Are you ok,”
Carl realized he’d been blankly staring at the remaining bag on the floor. He swiftly pulled himself together and heaved the bag onto the counter.
“This is the last one,”
He nodded politely and left to get his car. The walk was only short but he still couldn’t think straight. As he saw sight of his house he turned his walk into a quick run to his car. He fumbled in his pocket, until he felt the hard edge of his keyring. Grasping it he jammed it into the lock and turned it rapidly. He grabbed at the door handle, thrusting it open and climbing inside, and violently slamming the door shutting himself in. He was away from prying eyes now, feeling the lump in his throat return; he laid his head across the steering wheel and began to softly cry into the hard padding. A few minutes later he began to think clearly. Why was he getting emotional? This wasn’t his problem, but it still hurt like hell to see someone he cares so much about being dragged through the gutter press. He lifted his head up and put the key in the ignition, turned it, and slowly pulled on to the road. He reached the shop a few minutes later and collected his papers. Throwing them into the boot of his car. He thought about driving around and buying all the papers from the surrounding areas, when he realized he’d spent all his money on this lot. Anyway this wasn’t going to solve anything; he had to help at the root of the problem. It was now time to call Peter.
Carl woke just like he had the last few mornings, body and mind filled with dread and worry. What little debauched tale would be in the papers today? How would they find a new way to torture and slaughter his beloved Bilo? All he had seen in the past week was stories of Peter’s past, spiteful, damaging stories that could completely destroy him.
He could just picture him, oblivious to the fact he was slowly being torn apart. Having too much fun with his new celebrity girlfriend. It was clear to Carl that in time she would get bored of him, and he would just be another celebrity notch on her bedpost. This was also clear to everyone else who read these papers, in fact it was plain as day for everyone except the man himself.
Carl had seen him, announcing his love to every Tom, Dick and Harry who would listen. Showing off the “K” he had tainted his precious heart tattoo with. Even Kate’s family and friends were against them, threatening to take her child, ignoring her. She didn’t seem to care, probably loving all the press attention her new bad boy lover was getting her.
Carl made the short walk to the shop to buy today’s newspapers. He walked through the door and nodded politely at the man standing behind the counter. He turned to walk to where the papers were displayed and gasped in horror, covering his face with his hands in shock. Stumbling over his feet he rushed to the stand and snatched one of the copies. He couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. Peter wouldn’t be that stupid. How could he let someone film himself doing the one thing he knows people hate most about him? The one thing that is slowly poisoning his body and eating his mind. But sure enough he had, and the bloody cunt who filmed him thought he could make a quid or two selling a few captures to the bloodthirsty media.
Carl panicked and grabbed all of the papers from the stand, turned, ran, and threw them on the counter.
“You want them all,” the man behind the counter asked. Carl stopped dead; he was already running back to grab all as many of the other papers as he could.
“Yeah, is that a problem”
“No, not at all, carry on,”
When he’d finally collected the papers and spent nearly all the money he had in his pocket on them, he realized there were too many to carry home.
“Can you look after these for us a minute mate, I’m just gonna fetch the car”
“Of course, put them behind the counter”
Carl began lifting the heavy bags over to the man, who was then placing them on the floor. There must have been at least 5 bags brimming with papers. As he lifted them up to the man he kept catching slight glimpses of Peter through the lining of the thin bags. He felt a lump catch in his throat as he looked at them. How could he be so stupid? Carl just couldn’t get his head around it. He’d always known Peter to be a devious bastard. So how could he just let his guard down like that?
“Are you ok,”
Carl realized he’d been blankly staring at the remaining bag on the floor. He swiftly pulled himself together and heaved the bag onto the counter.
“This is the last one,”
He nodded politely and left to get his car. The walk was only short but he still couldn’t think straight. As he saw sight of his house he turned his walk into a quick run to his car. He fumbled in his pocket, until he felt the hard edge of his keyring. Grasping it he jammed it into the lock and turned it rapidly. He grabbed at the door handle, thrusting it open and climbing inside, and violently slamming the door shutting himself in. He was away from prying eyes now, feeling the lump in his throat return; he laid his head across the steering wheel and began to softly cry into the hard padding. A few minutes later he began to think clearly. Why was he getting emotional? This wasn’t his problem, but it still hurt like hell to see someone he cares so much about being dragged through the gutter press. He lifted his head up and put the key in the ignition, turned it, and slowly pulled on to the road. He reached the shop a few minutes later and collected his papers. Throwing them into the boot of his car. He thought about driving around and buying all the papers from the surrounding areas, when he realized he’d spent all his money on this lot. Anyway this wasn’t going to solve anything; he had to help at the root of the problem. It was now time to call Peter.