c h a p t e r. 23

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"It has been women who have breathed gentleness and care into the hard progress of humankind."
—Queen Elizabeth II

prepare yourselves for a different POV focus

chapter 23

Clementine didn't know whether to be angry, disappointed, or shocked— so she settled for all three.

He's going to give me another bloody nose.

That's what Bartholomew had said— she heard him, there was no way she could have missed what he said.

Obsidian, her own brother, hurt her Oly even after knowing how important he is to her?

When? Why?

Did Oly really do something to provoke Obsidian that much, to the point of violence?

Clementine had so many thoughts— so many questions— flying in her head, making her heart rate soar.

It didn't make sense, she had never even seen her brother throw a punch before.

And, like any siblings, when they used to wrestle or fight or anything of the sort, Clementine usually won because her twin was just that... docile.

Weak doesn't seem like the right word but it wouldn't necessarily be wrong.

But now, he had given her brute a bloody nose?

It just seemed wrong and Bartholomew didn't even tell her about it, neither did her brother!

It wasn't a betrayal, but it felt like it was.

He had been hurt and he didn't even tell her?

Why?

"Babygirl, it's not as bad as it seems," Bartholomew's eyes were wide and had that look in them— the look he often had whenever he was upset but felt like he deserved it.

Clementine absolutely hated that her Oly felt like that, and that she could do nothing to help it.

She wished she could.

She could help if she knew what caused it but she didn't. And, somehow, that just made everything worse in her mind.

She was sitting on his lap, enjoying his closeness and since his face was right before hers, she could see the quick emotions that flashed through his eyes.

His eyes showed her so many things that his face did not, so many feelings and desires.

She always felt like his eyes could hold her in place and then pull her in almost unknowingly, they were enchanting. She always liked brown eyes but his were just something else— his were a deep mahogany that melted into a beautiful, glowing bronze. The orbs had had an almost black ring around the outer irises and tiny, almost unnoticeable flecks of gold in them.

His eyes always screamed of intelligence, and pain— heartbreaking pain, and an understanding that most of the time seemed unworldly.

Everyone said eyes were the window to the soul, but Clementine felt as though his were something more. His were the window to something beyond, perhaps.

Either way, her Oly's eyes were something magical.

And now, his eyes were contradicting his words.

It's not as bad as it seems.

If that was true, why would he have that pained look? If it wasn't bad, or an accident, why wouldn't he tell her?

"What h-happened?" Clementine asked, shifting on his lap so she was straddling him— not even caring that Law and Gus were seeing them like that. "Why would, why would Obby do so-something like that? He c-can't even punch!"

"I know," Bartholomew said, seeming to be slightly amused. "I had to teach him how to—"

"You taught him?" She squeaked out, trying to understand the sudden image in her head of her six foot six tall giant showing her comparatively short brother how to throw a proper punch. It just... it just seemed so ridiculous. "Why would you do t-that?"

"He wanted to punch me but didn't know how." He shrugged as if getting hurt wasn't a big deal.

But it was.

Clementine knew it was, anything that hurt her Oly was bad, it was something that should be acknowledged and dealt with, not brushed aside with nonchalance.

"And he... h-he hit you?" Clementine hated herself for how weak her voice sounded.

Bartholomew looked slightly panicked then, his dark, demanding eyes a little wide, and his lips that she wanted to kiss again were parted, his hands tightening on her hips.

"He tried to but tripped and accidentally knocked his head into my nose." He rushed to explain, tugging her closer in a way that had Clementine question if it was on purpose or not. He always seemed to want her closer to him. "See, babygirl? It was an accident. Please don't be upset."

Clementine huffed and crossed her arms, feeling how her scar dug between her eyebrows stiffly when she frowned.

She was upset but she didn't want to make him upset.

"I just, I-I don't understand why you didn't tell me." She confessed, hands holding onto herself too tightly, nails digging into her skin. "I wouldn't have let him hurt you."

She sounded so confident, not even stuttering, saying that that it even shocked Clementine herself.

She was rarely confident— but her Oly seemed to bring out the brave side of her.

"It's just a bloody nose, sweetheart," Bartholomew reassured, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin and momentarily distracting her.

Why does he have to be so... him when she was trying to focus?

Him who was hot and cute and considerate and smart at the same time. Him who always seemed to put her first when Clementine wished he wouldn't. Him who was so kind to her without even realizing how perfect he was.

Even when Bartholomew bullied her— which she didn't really consider bullying, as it wasn't that bad to her— he was nice.

Clementine remembered that he said he didn't even know what he did, that he couldn't recall everything that happened between them back then.

But she did and wished he had, too.

She wished her Oly knew that he wasn't as bad as he thought he was.

"It's not, it's not just a-a bloody nose, Oly," Clementine gathered her thoughts together and turned them into a reprimanding. "No amount of, of pain is just p-pain. No matter how small, it's still bad. Anything that hurts you here," She patted his nose and then his chest above his heart. "Or anywhere else is bad. That's h-how you know the difference from wrong or right. Good or bad."

"Obsidian didn't—"

"Don't m-make excuses for my brother," Clementine cut in, mind already thinking about what she was going to say— or yell— at her twin about. "He hurt you."

"I deserved it," Bartholomew said and she almost scoffed but didn't, seeing the pained look in his eyes. He really believed that.

"No, you didn't," She corrected. "And, and n-nothing you have done or will ever do will m-make you deserve pain."

Clementine, for a moment, wondered what her beautiful, broken boy had went through to make him believe that.

To honestly believe he deserved pain, it must've been something big, something told to him over and over.

People don't just begin to have a self-destructive, worthless mindset over nothing. Clementine knew first hand that those thoughts and behaviors are beat into someone over and over and over again until they believe it as if anything else would be blasphemy.

In that moment, she decided she was going to help the brute love himself.

Nothing less of self-love would suffice.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, babygirl." He nuzzles his nose against her neck before lightly pecking her collarbone— and just like, all her agitation frustratingly melted away. "Next time I get hurt, I'll tell you."

Clementine hummed, pleased, and nodded, holding out her finger between their close bodies. "Pinky promise?"

Bartholomew looked into her eyes, and she held the contact. She could tell— not knowing quite how— that he was thinking of something bad. Something hurtful.

Her Oly did that a lot.

She did too... but his pain seemed to follow him around like a ghost— a clingy, loud, and terrifying ghost.

"Pinky promise," He wraps his thicker finger around her smaller one and heat blazed through Clementine's body.

Clementine nods, then harrumphs, making a mental note to make sure he would keep to that promise and wondering how many times he was hurt and hadn't told her.

Or why he was still hurt— and not just in the physical sense.

"Alright, baby," Bartholomew says. "It's already a quarter to three-thirty, I'm going to go get ready, okay? I don't want to meet your family looking like a goddamn bum."

"You c-couldn't look like a bum even if you tried, Oly." Clementine said, fully believing those words. Anyone who told her Oly otherwise was plain stupid or jealous.

He could look good in anything, even a potato sack, Clementine decided then she pictured him in an actual potato sack and started to giggle.

"I won't argue with a compliment from you," He says before gently moving her off of him and standing— her instantly missing the way their bodies molded together and thinking that the couch was no where as comfortable as his lap. "But I will say you are much more attractive than me, sweetheart."

"Lair." She giggles out and he rolls his eyes and pecks her lips before walking away, throwing a quick 'I'm not fucking lying' over his shoulder— which in turn made her pout as she couldn't argue due to his departure.

The kiss he had given her was just a quick, loving peck and it makes Clementine happy and made tingles go right down her spine. They haven't kissed a lot, though his lips are on her body quite a lot, and she doesn't think she'll ever get used to it— but in a good way.

Clementine slinked to the floor, now focusing on petting Culpa, because her brute left and the next best thing was the miniature, furry grouch.

The cat's soft fur was flowing through her fingers easily and she hummed, enjoying being able to make noise without stammering.

She hated her stutter, knowing how it was caused and how much she wished she could just... stop.

If only it was that simple.

If only it was just physical, then she wouldn't be so frustrated. Then she wouldn't be so upset when she couldn't speak.

She wished her brain would comply with her feelings. That it wasn't mental as well.

Clementine sighed, letting her nails lightly scratch underneath the cat's chin, making Culpa purr loudly.

She was oddly satisfied, knowing that the grouchy being didn't like most people but he liked her.

It was the same satisfaction knowing that Bar liked her, but not quite.

The way Oly looked at her... it made Clementine inexplicably happy— knowing someone she's so happy with is happy with her, too.

And he made her feel beautiful.

She knew she wasn't... the best looking, with a scar that went over her entire face and over her body— her body that she thought was too short, too squishy, too round in some places and too small in others.

But Oly didn't think so, no, her Oly always looked at her like she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

Which Clementine knew not to be true but she appreciated the look nonetheless.

She liked feeling special in a life that thus far she felt completely ordinary— completely lacking in.

"OJ," Law called her, making the girl startle from her thoughts. "Can I talk to you real quick about Bar?"

"S-sure," Clementine nodded, her hands moving away from Culpa to push herself into a proper sitting position, now facing Law and Gus— who was bopping his head to the music that flowed in from his earbuds. "Is he, is he okay?"

Her mind floated to the scars on her Oly's wrists— the scars on his chest and back and the ones on his knuckle, the ones on his hip that looked like it came from shattered glass. The ones on his ribs that were scattered but straight like something sharp had been hitting against him repeatedly.

She knew a thing or two about torture, about scars and how they're created.

She knew the ones on Bartholomew's body were put there purposefully.

And she hated knowing that. She hated that he had been through something horrific and she also hated that she felt too scared to ask what happened.

The same way she was too scared to ask why he hurt himself.

Coward. That's what she was.

"He's fine from what I know," Law said, calming her instantly. "The bastard and I are close and if he wasn't he'd tell m—"

"He's n-not a bastard." Clementine narrowed her eyes, pouting. "Don't, don't call him t-that."

"Sorry, I won't," Law raises his hands, though amusement flashed through his eyes and she didn't miss that.

Hmph, no one takes me seriously, she thought.

"Okay," She nodded and politely motioned for him to continue.

"This is weird but I just need you to understand something, alright? Bar's cold for the sake of being cold. Like an ice cube refusing to leave the freezer. Not because he doesn't want to be loved. Not because he can't love. Not because he doesn't want you or friends or people to see what a kind heart he has. He's cold because it's easier than being warm, it's easier than being vulnerable— than letting someone in and then being able to do nothing as they hurt him. He's cold because being warm terrifies him. You terrify him. You make him melt in a way no one has ever done before." Law informs. "And if you hurt him I know he won't just go back to being cold. He'll turn into the damn freezer himself. Unable to get warm ever again."

"I—"

"Look," Law holds up his hands. "I'm not saying you're going to. I'm only telling you this because Bar is the strongest person I've ever met and he has been hurt more than anyone should ever be in their life. Please, I'm begging you, don't add onto that."

She would never hurt him.

She just wished Law knew that, too.

And she couldn't help but wonder what the nerd meant by her Oly being hurt more than anyone should be in their life.

Blinking, Clementine nodded in reply and doesn't say anything as Bartholomew comes back into the living room, the conversation seeming to be something she should keep to herself.

"I put some clean clothes in my bed for you, babygirl," He informs, bending down to pet Culpa, his shadow falling over her. "Change and then we're going."

"Okay," Clementine timidly stands, a new weight on her shoulders. "I'll, I'll go do that."

As she went to walk past him, her Oly softly grabbed her wrist and tugged her voluminous body closer, being mindful of the cat.

"You okay, babygirl?" He frowned, eyes searching her face. "You look... upset."

Dang, Clementine thought. She didn't mean to sound so upset or look upset and she truly didn't realize that she had been.

"I'm fine, promise." She smiled up at him, standing on her toes to press a kiss onto his smooth check. "I'm going to c-change."

And to make sure that you stay warm.

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