Bar Red's Redemption (Edited)

3: The Other Side of the Coin - Senior Year

"Together, we form a necessary paradox; not a senseless contradiction."
―Criss Jami

Hey guys! This is basically an edited cut out from one of Clementine's POV's, I hope you all enjoy! Although you don't have to reread to understand it all, you might want to for the purpose of keeping the timeline together and all of that stuff.

Anyways, I love you all! Goodbye and I hope you're doing well, staying hydrated, and eating.

Chapter 3:
The Other Side of the Coin - Senior Year

Ivory Astoria is not someone who breaks easily.

Certain... events in her life changed her completely since Sophomore year.

It was like her whole personality, her whole perspective on life, changed.

It got twisted around and turned dark. She was no longer the girl she used to be, no longer the one ready to snap back at any moment, no longer able to deal with confrontation or quick replies.

She goes by her middle name, Clementine, now. She had been for the last two years, she had been since it happened.

And, foolishly, Clementine was worried about her bully.

She knew how absurd that was, but she hadn't seen him in awhile. Bar Red is not someone who just... disappears.

The first week that he didn't go to school, back in 10th grade, she was relieved that there wasn't anyone to bump her into lockers, take her books whenever she was walking to class, annoy her during English, or badmouth her in gym.

It was relieving until she realized that most of the things he did were protecting her. Until she realized that his company was better than his absence.

Until Creed's group started to make fun of her during the times her bully—and, admittedly, crush—used to walk with her. They tore up the books Bar used to take from her and pushed her or threw things at her.

Until he wasn't there to protect her, too.

She missed how he got so riled up, she missed his stupid smirk and coy comebacks. She missed being able to insult him back or see how long he lasted with her being a brat until he snapped.

She missed her Oly.

And, pretty soon, a week had turned into a month and a month turned into a whole school semester and that semester turned into a whole year. Then that year turned into two.

Clementine asked around, she talked to anyone who might have known where the bully went. If he was okay. Why he hadn't returned. Where he was now. If he was safe.

The notoriously angry boy was nowhere to be found.

Everyone else was glad that he was gone.

Most days, Clementine found herself sick with worry and hating the mere thought of Bar or going to school. Everywhere she saw him—his dark and equally sad eyes glaring at her in the classes, the beautiful smirk as he rested by her whenever he slammed her locker shut, his tall frame hiding around the corners in the hallway just to scare her, in the lunchroom and library and nurse's office.

He was just everywhere, even when he wasn't anymore.

For two years, it drove her crazy.

She tried to find distractions, tried to find ways not to worry or ways not to panic that her Oly might be gone forever. She tried getting a boyfriend, but that didn't work out well at all. She tried fixing the fact that she was getting bullied, but that turned out even worse.

She spent time with her best friends but they never understood why she cared so much about the boy who constantly belittled her. Clementine tried to tell them, she tried to explain.

Bar wasn't just a bully, he wasn't even a bad person.

He was just sad and tired and... and her friend.

He was the guy she fell in love with.

Elijah and Fen never got it, but they knew how far her feelings for the bully went and didn't make her feel bad about it. Though, silently, Clementine questioned if they judged her for it.

Who falls in love with their bully? They would ask.

Someone who, when it happened, one of the only thoughts that kept her sane was that Bar was out there somewhere. Without her. Waiting. Safe. That Bar was out there and she never got to see him again—so she had to survive to see him again.

Someone who, through going shy and scared of life, stayed strong because he taught her how to.

Bar taught her that even though it's good to get help and to reach out a hand once in a while, she should learn to hold her own hand and to be able to defend herself against those who stand against her.

When he was by her side all those years ago, Clementine felt invincible.

But when he left... she felt like all her bones didn't know how to hold her up anymore. That her lips didn't know how to smile the same, and her heart didn't beat in the same fashion.

She can't quite speak like she used to, she can't have quick insults or throw around whole poetry scenes in English class like it's nothing—but, somehow, whenever she thought about Bar, this was fitting.

The last time she saw him, Bar told her this: "I suggest that when people tell you exactly what type of person they are, you listen."

She never got to respond, but she thought about those words all the time, she knew exactly what she would reply with if she saw him again. Word for word.

She'd say, Do you have any clue what type of person you are? Let me explain: you pretend to be this horrible person, maybe because you actually believe that, but you're not. You're compassionate, and kind, and so stupidly smart, and I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate you because you left me. I hate you because you have no idea how much I needed you when you were gone, how much I worried.

She'd ask, Were those words a warning? Were you telling me that you were going to leave me? Is that the kind of person you are—someone who could just leave me all alone like that?

She'd tell him, I hate you but please, please never leave me. Please don't ever leave me again.

Clementine thought about those words for so long now, about what her Oly would look like all grown up and where he's been for the last two years while she was suffering in his absence.

So why—when she opened the door to her school's office one week into senior year and saw Bar Red, her Bar Red, sitting in those uncomfortable chairs and flipping her off—did she not know a single thing to say?