Bar Red's Redemption (Edited)

10: To Call It Survival

"We make our own monsters, then fear them for what they show us about ourselves."
― Mike Carey & Peter Gross

Hey guys! I hope you all enjoy and if you see any writing mistakes, please point them out - thank you! (Don't be afraid to comment either, lol. I know it's a little different than the og but, hopefully, just as good?)

Chapter 10:
To Call It Survival

Bar and Clementine were sitting on the gym's bleachers, relaxing.

The building was attached to the cafeteria and since they had a free period every day after lunch, the pair decided to take advantage of the empty space. Here, they could speak without whispering like they had to do in the library.

They've gone here every day of the past week after lunch.

It seemed abandoned with its dim lights, silent rooms, and large, open floors but despite this, Bar found it comforting.

He always enjoyed silence.

Anything that was loud or crowded reminded him of home where his father would scream for hours on end. It reminded him of shattering glass bottles, slammed doors, and the fridge being closed so roughly that it shook the house after every new drink was grabbed.

In the quiet, Bar's mind found peace—there was nothing dangerous in it besides his own mind and he already survived the worst of what it had to offer.

His little goddess seemed to enjoy the silence too, which he was grateful for.

A lot of people thought they needed to fill the empty space with words, they thought it was awkward and would always anxiously try to fill it, but not her.

She sat next to him as he read, humming softly as she wrote something—or drew, he wasn't sure—in her small leather-bound journal. He didn't ask what she was doing, too scared not to get a good answer.

Days like these, where it's peaceful but his anxiety is high, always seem to drag on the longest.

To get away from it all, Bar would usually be able to disappear into a book.

For just a moment, he could live in a world where he had no responsibilities; a world where there was no little sister to protect and no mother whose grave he wasn't allowed to know the location of.

Books have saved his life more times than he could remember.

It was easier to drown into words printed on paper than to gather up the courage to drown in water that would take the air from his lungs.

Gus called it a coping mechanism. He called it survival.

Right now, though, the book in his hands went neglected. The only thing Bar seemed to focus on was the look on Clementine's face—how it pinched with concentration right between her eyebrows—and the softness of how she would switch between whisper-singing and humming.

She's existing, and it's so simple, but he's captivated by it.

He wanted to wrap himself into her and see how she sees and feel how she feels, he wants to hold her and be held, he wants the gentleness of her hands and the silkiness of her hair through his fingers. Wants her laughter and smiles and sharp comebacks.

He wants to kiss her.

But he couldn't do that.

It's been over a month now, almost eight weeks, but that's not enough time to make up for all those years of hurting her. It's not enough time for either of them to be okay with these kinds of desires.