c h a p t e r. 41

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“Oh, monsters are scared," said Lettie. "That's why they're monsters.”
― Neil Gaiman

chapter 41

Knocking on Bar's door roused him from his dreamless, unsatisfying sleep.

Everything seemed unsatisfying lately.

With a scowl on his lips, dark bags under his eyes, no shirt and wrinkled pajama pants, Bar made his way out of bed. He quickly brushed his teeth but didn't bother to fix his messy hair and made his way to the door, swearing when another set of three rather soft, impatient knocks came from the other side.

Law and Gus had been there the day before and the day before that, too.

When were they going to get that he just wanted to be alone?

That he deserved to be alone.

"Law, I swear to fuck," Bar's voice was deeper than usual and husky from sleep. "I already promised I wouldn't try to k—"

The words were frozen in his mouth as Bar threw the door open and his eyes instantly locked into a pair of haunting, minty ones.

Clementine stood there, in the door of his apartment, wearing a sweatshirt she stole from him and leggings. Her hair was slightly damp from the rain that hadn't let up for the last three days and her cheeks were a light hue of pink.

She looked beautiful.

Painfully beautiful.

Bar's head swam, and drowned underneath his tidal wave of thoughts. What was she doing here? Is she okay? Did something happen? Was breaking up not enough, is she going to cut him out of her life, too? Did she miss him? Was that even possible— who could miss a beast? A monster? Who could love someone like that?

Not her. Not someone so... kind, so pure.

Bar stared at Clementine, unsure of what to do. Unsure of what to say.

Should he invite her in? Should he ask if she was okay?

Bar opened his mouth to say something but couldn't get anything out, her words ringing in his ears.

Please, she had said, don't speak to me again.

His mouth slammed close.

He couldn't speak to her, she didn't want him to. She said so herself.

So why was the little goddess here?

"I-I," Clementine swallowed hard. "I'm having a, a really b-bad day and I didn't, I didn't have a-anyone else I could go to."

So he's the last resort? Bar didn't know what else to expect.

He blinked once, nodded, then opened his door wider and moved out of the way, silently inviting her to come into his apartment.

Clementine seemed to sigh a breath of relief and came into the entryway.

Bar, never feeling more awkward in his life, shuffled towards his living room slowly, the exhaustion of not even getting two hours of sleep for the last couple of days getting the best of him.

Clementine followed, he could hear her soft footsteps. He wanted to ask what was wrong, why her day was bad, but couldn't.

He wanted to hold her.

To kiss her.

To be allowed to love her again.

But he couldn't do any of those either.

With his heart feeling heavy in his chest and his lungs feeling frozen, Bar sunk into his couch's cushion, leaving his favorite chair up for grabs, knowing that's what the little goddess prefers.

Is this heartbreak?

Loving someone who can't love you in the same, unconditional way?

Or is that what he felt when he lost her?

When she is there, right in front of him, sitting in his chair yet seeming so far away?

If it is— if that's what heartbreak feels like— then Bar knew why people are so scared to fall in love.

He knows he's scared too.

Minutes go by and Clementine just nervously fiddles with the sleeves that are much longer than her arms as she watches Bar, who stays awake by focusing on the world beyond the glass doors of his balcony, watching the lightning flash and counting the second until he hears the boom.

He wonders, for a second, if he was more like thunder than the lightning itself.

Lightning is bright, electrifying, and powerful.

Thunder is loud and scary.

Everyone's scared of Bar and he feels powerless.

He feels like the aftereffect of something that had a meaning once but lost all definition.

Is Clementine scared of him now, too?

Has she always been?

"O-oly?" Clementine stammered out. Bar looked at her and raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. "Are y-you, are you, um, okay?"

The girl he loved for a year now, the girl whom he trusted enough to meet Gwen, the girl who he would've bowed down to— the girl he would still bow down to, the girl that broke up with him asked if he was okay?

He wasn't okay.

He didn't think he would ever be okay.

He wanted to hurt himself, he wanted to do something stupid, he wanted to feel pain beyond that stupid fucking shattering feeling in his chest.

But he couldn't do that— along with so many other things— because he made a promise to her that he wouldn't.

Bar rubs his eyes for a second with his palms, hopelessly trying to ebb the exhaustion away as he nods.

Clementine was kind and she was stubborn. Maybe she just wanted to make sure he was alright and then she'd leave. Maybe she just wanted to see the damage she created.

No, she wasn't like that.

She wasn't like that at all.

Bar needed to stop thinking so negatively, not everyone was fucked up in the head like him.

"Um, c-can I... did, did y-you—" Clementine clenched her fists tighter together. "Did you h-hurt yourself, Oly?"

Bar shakes his head.

Clementine's body seems to relax slightly but the tension in her shoulders didn't ease up.

Bar felt trapped in his own body, straining against the confines on his mind. He wanted to help her. He wanted her to be relaxed— happy.

But she wasn't, Bar could see that in her eyes.

But he can't reach out, he can't say any comforting words. That will only make it worse.

He makes everything worse.

"Y-you promise that, that you wou-wouldn't," Clementine began. "And I... I want to believe you b-but—"

But she couldn't trust him.

Bar remembered how, when he realized that for the first time, it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

Although Bar didn't logically owe her anything anymore— not his time, not his patience, not his love or appreciation or gratitude— because they broke up, he knew he'd always try to do what's best for her.

Even when what's best for her isn't him.

So, Bar sighed and untucked his arms from where they had been subconsciously crossed over his chest and turned them so his forearms were exposed to Clementine.

Old scars, new bruises, and tattoos littered his skin but there were no new cuts.

Proof that he didn't hurt himself again.

The little goddess trailed her eyes over his skin and leaned forward, concern sparking her eyes like they always did whenever she saw his scars but the emotion quickly passed over to solace.

"Okay t-that's good, okay," Clementine said to herself, as if she needed that extra reassurance that what she is seeing was real.

Bar folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the couch, his tired body and mind hitting him in full force.

He wanted things he couldn't have, but most of all he just wanted Clementine back and to sleep.

"A-are you, are you... m-mad at me, Oly?" Clementine asked, head cast down but eyes still locked onto Bar's exhausted form. "For... for w-what happened between us?"

Bar grew confused at that.

Why would he be mad? What happened was his fault.

Not Clementine's.

His little goddess did nothing wrong, she did nothing that Bar could have gotten mad over.

Bar shakes his head again, thinking: How could she ever think that I'd be mad at her for something I fucked up myself?

Clementine just stares at him, a lost look in her eyes. She twists her fingers together, leg bouncing.

"Why aren't you speaking?" She blurts.

Doesn't she remember? Doesn't she know what she said? Does she even know the impact her words had?

Bar blinked, his shoulders hunching in on himself as if he was in pain.

Please, don't speak to me again.

He's only trying to do what she said.

Bar opened his mouth, hesitating before softly asking, "Are you... okay with me speaking?"

"Yes," Clementine tilted her head, voice pitched higher in confusion. "Why wouldn't I-I be?"

"You told me not to," Bar shrugged, trying to mask his emotions, trying to hide the fact that Clementine telling him what she did hurt.

The pain he was feeling felt infinite.

It felt like even if years passed it would still be there, eating away at his mind.

Bar didn't want her to feel guilty.

Clementine frowned, minty eyes searching his and for once, Bar looked away.

"Oly... I don't- I d-didn't... I hate s-seeing you like t-this." The little goddess confessed. "You look sad and, a-and I don't want y-you to feel bad."

"Babygirl, ple—" Bar cut himself off, flinching back at what he said. He puts his hand over his mouth, cursing himself out for a second before looking back at the little goddess. "I'm sorry... I, I know I shouldn't call you that anymore, I won't do it again. Just please don't worry about me, Clementine. Please."

Seeing her name felt so strange, so wrong.

But he can't call her babygirl, baby, sweetheart, or sweetness. They weren't a couple anymore.

Bar didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

Bar's learning how to be alone again and it's terrifying.

It's terrifying because when the worst things happened to him, he was alone.

"I... we broke u-up, Oly, but I, I still care about you," Clementine whispered. "I'm going to w-worry."

Bar didn't even have the energy to argue.

He just sat there and looked at the girl who he wished he could hold in his arms but probably never would again.

They both sat in his living room quietly, looking out the window. Usually, the silence between them felt like an old friend but now it just hurt.

"Oly?" Clementine mumbled. "I, I think the fight between u-us was stupid but I d-don't think my opinion was."

Bar sucked in a breath. Oh fuck.

They were talking about it.

They're talking about the breakup.

About how Clementine needed to know why Bar fought, why he was hurt so often, how she needed him to stop and he couldn't.

Because it wasn't the fighting, it was the abuse.

But she couldn't know that.

"If you tell anyone or I find out someone knows what I do to you," Talmai had snarled out one day. "Then I will kill you."

Bar was younger than Gwen when his father told him that but smart enough to understand a threat and scared enough that he listened.

Bar listened until Law had to help the bloody, beaten boy into his house and wrap his bruised ribs— he told his best friend then in a pain-induced haze, and then Gus and Lils a week later.

They don't talk about it often but they do make sure Bar is okay and for that, he appreciates his best friends even more.

And there was the little goddess, who had begged Bar to stop fighting, but what was he supposed to do?

Was he supposed to trust her with something that almost cost him his life?

With something that was ugly and heartbreaking and terrifying?

Why did he feel guilty about putting that burden on her shoulder when he hasn't even done it yet?

His father threatened his life— his little sister's too— if he told anyone...

But his father hadn't ever found out about Law or Gus or Lils, or even his own daughter and ex-lover finding out about the abuse.

Talmai would kill Bar if he knew.

But Bar already feels dead.

When they broke up, the brute didn't know that without his little goddess by his side that he'd feel like this.

There'd be no cons to telling her.

He'd rather have Clementine until the day he dies than not have her and be safer.

He'd rather be dead than living with the knowledge that his existence was hurting her.

He needs Clementine.

Bar needs to fix this broken thing between them.

But how could he tell her?

How could he tell Clementine how he feels, how he's suffered? How he's been beaten and used and put through horrifying thing after horrifying thing?

The physical pain that Bar's been through... that was catastrophic, but it was not absolute. It was not something that would be the end of him. No, that was all mental. All feelings. All trepidation and horror. All the tears that leaked out when he was alone and bruised. All the mind-altering belittlings and the demolishing, infinite fear. All the feelings were an unending loop of being able to breathe again and then willingly drowning.

Such feelings cannot be described without a sense of self; it cannot be taken impersonally.

There is no such thing as detached abuse.

No such thing as not feeling so terrified of merely existing.

Bar knew what it was like to wait for death.

So why was he so scared to tell her that?

What was he so afraid of?

That she would be disgusted by him? Pity him? Would she leave him again— would she run?

This was her giving him another chance to explain, this was his only opportunity to tell her without prolonging both of their pain.

He had to tell her.

He had to.

So he did.

"My dad beats me," Bar said, voice shaky.

"What?" Clementine's jaw went slack as if she couldn't fathom what the brute had just told her.

"My dad— he beats me." Bar reaffirmed the words and his eyes shined with the pain that it brought. "I never wanted you to worry. I never wanted to lose you but you said... you needed me to stop fighting but I couldn't, because— fuck, because it wasn't possible. I feel like shit, I hated lying to you and I knew you'd hate me eventually but I don't want it to be over this. My dad rarely hits me in places that other people can see but you could always tell when I got hurt. I told you that I got into those fights because that's what everyone else believes. Fuck, I'm so sorry, I really am. I didn't want... I didn't want to hurt you."

When Bar looked at the little goddess, there were tears in her minty eyes.

"S-so, on the, on the day of our first d-date," Clementine had to choke those words out. "You didn't get into, i-into a fight? Y-your dad... your dad w-was the— your dad was t-the one w-who... he was the one who—"

Fuck, she was starting to panic.

"Hey, hey," Bar quickly moved over to the little goddess and kneeled in front of her, his large hands taking hold of her as he gently spoke. "You're okay, we're both okay. It's not as bad as you think, okay? Can you breathe for me?"

Clementine's shiny and tear-filled eyes met his and followed Bar's movements as he instructed her to breathe in and out. They continued to breathe together until Clementine wiped away her tears with the oversized sweatshirt and nodded that she was okay.

Bar leaned back, eyes watching her from his spot on the floor.

"Are you alright now, Clementine?" He asked, eyebrows furrowing in concern. "Is there anything I can do to help— do you want something to drink or chew on? Wait here, hold on."

Bar, not waiting for any response and ignoring her protest when it did come, quickly got up and grabbed a mug, he filled it with ice and then swiftly returned to his former spot, holding out the cup to her.

"Put an icecube in your mouth," Bar orders. Clementine, confused, grabs the mug and does as he says— then blinks several times in shock after she does.

Putting her hand in front of her mouth so she could talk, Clementine said, "I-I hate your father."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Bar laughed.

"You're not the only one, trust me." Bar snorted, remembering an instance where he had to stop Law from taking a go at Talmai after the older man punched Bar in front of his friends by accident. "That fucking nerd I'm best friends with tried to fight him once. Didn't end well."

By it didn't end well, Bar meant that once they got home, Talmai beat him until the brute couldn't breathe for having 'disrespectful cunts' as friends.

"Who, w-who knows?"

"The guys, Lils, Little Dipper and her mom."

"Why c-could— why could, could t-they... why could they know?" Clementine stammered out, a mess of emotions going across her face and Bar couldn't make sense of them all.

"Well, I showed up half-dead on Law's front porch and the loser had to patch me up, I don't remember it too well because I had a concussion but apparently, I told him what happened and he knew from that day on. I told Gus and Lilith not much later because it didn't seem fair that only Law knew. And I figured hey, if my dad is going to beat me to death for telling someone it might as well be three people instead of one."

"And Gwen..." Bar paused, taking a deep breath. "She didn't always know what our dad was like but I remember this one day," Bar cleared his throat, trying to push down his feelings. "She was supposed to be at her ma's house and I was still living with my dad. I had been at stupid fucking soccer practice and when I got home— I fucking got home to the sound of my dad screaming and little dipper was crying on the floor. Dad was holding onto her arm too tight and I shoved him, I shoved him and bam. I was on the floor too, dizzy and with my lip busted open. Dad gave me the routine beating, no big deal, but that time in front of Gwen. She was only seven. I had to explain to her that what dad did was wrong. She told her mom... but Melissa just got back her part of the custody. No one would believe her— they thought she was some ex hell-bent on ruining my dad's life, someone who got to take one of his kids away, why not try for the other? And who would believe me?"

Bar laughed bitterly then continued, "I mean, who cares about some stupid kid getting smacked around when he gets into fights willingly? And I moved for a little bit because... fuck, I tried to kill myself. And I needed to get away. So, Gwen was able to stay at her moms house but this year there was this stupid ass custody agreement bullshit. She has to live with my dad one day every month so that's why I go there. To protect her. That's why I can't stop. You understand that, right? That I can't stop even if I want to stop?"

Bar looked at Clementine whose face had grown pale and hands had grown shaky. He had given her a lot more information than she asked for. She only wanted to know who else knew about the abuse.

Bar felt like he was a tidal wave of disaster towards someone who had only wanted one drop of water and nothing more.

"I-I know you can't stop... I no longer am asking that of, of you." Clementine told him and Bar relaxed, taking a heavy breath.

"Thank you." He no longer had to choose between two separate hells, he was grateful.

"And... you are not your dad, Oly," Clementine comforted. "All those horrible things h-he did... he never learned from them, he never got a, a consequence. You are a better person t-than him, you are so much m-more than he could ever be. You would never, never do what he did. You, you might be y-your father's son, but you aren't your father, Oly. You're you. And I love you."

Tears were in Bar's eyes as he said, "I love you too."

"And, before I came here, I was...

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