Bar Red's Redemption (Edited)

6: Lifelong Fears

"There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. We need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or our potential to create. Evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life."
―John Lennon

Hey guys! I present to you: change.

Chapter 6:
Lifelong Fears

"Red." A boy he doesn't know the name of snaps as he exits the library, a grossed out look in his blue eyes and a sneer leveled at Bar when he's spotted. The brute is leaning against the wall outside of the doors, waiting for Clementine.

Not in the way, just—there.

"Don't you have anything better to do than loitering around here?" He asks, looking him up and down before scoffing.

"That depends on what you say next," he replied nonchalantly, staring at the boy with a glare. "I'm always up for a fight, especially with ignorant assholes who like to make other people's lives harder. Seems like a better use of my time, no?"

Scowling, but now pale with fear at the not-so-subtle threat, the boy eyes the scars over his knuckles before muttering another insult and walking away.

The frown stayed on Bar's face as a low sigh escaped him, arms tightening as they crossed over his chest.

He felt so sick and tired of people acting like he had no feelings.

They thought he was a monster, a beast—so the fuck what? Did that just automatically make him emotionless? Did that mean the only thing he was capable of was anger?

Why and when did people decide it was okay to treat him like that?

And why does he let them?

Something warm—a hand—touches his arm and Bar jerks back in a flinch, not expecting the touch even if it doesn't hurt, shoulders tensing as his head slams against the wall.

The hand instantly pulls away with a bewildered apology soon following, but it was drowned underneath his swear.

"Fuck!" He grunts, squeezing his eyes closed as an aching pulse shot from the back of his skull towards his eyes.

His hands fly up, one towards his head and the other out in front of him. It's instinct by now to try to protect himself from on-coming blows.

His father did a number on him the night before, getting annoyed when the boy dropped by to grab something Gwen, his sister, forgot and needed for school. He was piss drunk and the yelling only ended up when the back of Bar's head slammed into a door.

It was a long night, so he's a little sore.

"Oly, I am s-so sorry." A voice—Clementine's voice, he realizes—whispered out. His eyes squinted open, seeing her worried face looking up at him, and rubbed at the back of his head. "I didn't, I didn't know you'd have that reaction! I'm s-sorry, I won't touch you again!"

"It's fine," Bar put his hand down, not wanting her to know it still hurt, and stuffed it into his hoodie's pocket. "You didn't do anything wrong, and you don't have to avoid touching me. I'm okay with it, you just caught me off guard."

"Are, are you sure?" Clementine stammered out, wide eyes looking up at him, concern still mixed into her expression.

"Yeah, I'm sure." He forced his shoulders to relax. "Where do you want to work?"