Bar Red's Redemption (Edited)

11: The Little Dipper

"Broken people don't hide from their monsters. Broken people let themselves be eaten."
― Francesca Zappia

Don't be afraid to comment! I hope you guys enjoy the chapter :)))
Not a lot in this ones or the upcoming ones are going to chance much plot or content wise. The biggest things are going to be the final fight between Bar and his father, the moment with his mother, and the chapter where the lovely couple get reunited.

Warning: this chapter contains depictions of abuse.

Chapter 11:
The Little Dipper

Saturday morning, the day he would be going out on a date with Clementine, Bar was awake for only a minute or two before the sound of a beer bottle shattering against his bedroom door echoed in from the hallway.

Eyes snapping open, the drowsiness he felt moments before was swapped out for the drop of anxiety in his stomach. Nausea crawled up his throat as he forced himself to sit up, legs swinging over the edge of his bed too fast, dizziness hitting him.

It's familiar, the fear in his chest.

He knows what comes next.

"Open this door, boy," Talmai, his father, spat out from the other side, voice muffled. "Open the door!"

Bar's heart pounded heavy, he could feel it in his throat, his hands.

"Bart." It's just one word—why is it capable of scaring him so much?

Not saying a word, tongue feeling too thick to move, the boy pushes himself off his bed, toes flexing at the chill of his hardwood floor. He stands there, frozen, only in his boxers, his father's voice and his heartbeat melting until they're indistinct.

He wishes it would end, wishes for silence.

He doesn't know if the desire makes him a killer or a coward.

On autopilot, Bar picks up a shirt off the floor and pulls it on, hiding most of his tattoos and scars from sight. The fabric felt itchy over his skin, suffocating, but it smells clean.

There's the sound of glass crunching on the opposite side of his door, under his father's boots. Talmai must be heading out for work, or just coming in.

It's bad when he's still in uniform.

Makes him feel more powerful, which makes him cruel.

Bar grips the headboard, eyes screwing shut as he takes a rattling breath in. His muscles strain to keep him up, weak-kneed, but he's strong.

He's strong but that doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because he couldn't fight back, not if he wanted to keep Gwen safe. She was only eleven, too young to fight for herself, too small. She shouldn't have to hide bruises or clean up her own blood.

So he had to take the insults, the hits. It wasn't a choice, it was a necessity.

Besides, kids like him—they don't get choices.

"M'warnin' you, son." His father slams a fist against the frame, making it shake. "Open this door. Don't make me ask again."

Tomorrow, Bar tells himself, after Gwen is back at her moms, I will be safe. Tomorrow, the worst thing I will wake up to is the nosy fucking neighbors one apartment up.

That was the agreement: once every month Gwendolyn had to stay with their father for his mandatory visitation time. They didn't speak up against the abuse—not that anyone would believe them, not like anyone ever believed them before—and Talmai doesn't push for more.