Bar Red's Redemption ✔

c h a p t e r. 12

"The sea speaks more honestly to those willing to drown."
—JH Hard

chapter 12

The little goddess was unstoppable.

Bar knew that now and he had known that for a while.

She was fierce and strong and stubborn and shy and fearful of many, many things but Clementine never let it get to her.

She was determined and it was a subtle kind of determination that told Bar she'd get exactly what she wanted even if it hurt and she'd earn it in such a way that everyone around her didn't even blink.

Which is exactly why Bar wasn't surprised when the little goddess finally managed to catch a cute, little blue butterfly in the large, glass jar Bar had given her as soon as they got to Butterfly Land after almost twenty minutes of failed attempts.

Silent, frowning, failed attempts.

And Bar just watched Clementine as she did so, seeing the confused and slightly frustrated look in her eyes.

They haven't talked about the bruise or who caused it, they haven't talked about her brother's best friend or why someone touching her freaked the little goddess out.

They haven't talked about anything Bar so desperately wanted to ask her.

But that was okay.

Bar could wait— he was willing to wait for as long as it took for the little goddess to be comfortable talking to him on her own free whim.

He's been pushed around and uneasy his entire life.

The last thing Bar wanted to do was make Clementine feel like he has been for the last eighteen years.

"Oly, look at t-the pretty but-butterfly!" Clementine giggles out, finally saying something. She skips up to where he was leaning against the tree watching her, carefully holding the jar so it didn't shake and hurt the bug.

"Cute." Bar says, stopping himself from touching the little goddess. When, comparatively in a situation like this, he'd gently grab her by her waist and tug her towards him in a half hug— wanting to be closer to her.

Resisting touching the little goddess was a hard job, but Bar was a dedicated worker.

Clementine blinks up at him for a second before asking, "What should we name her?"

"Hmm..." Bar looked at the butterfly, noticing the rather bushy antennas and darker blue markings on the side. "Well, she's a he and I'm really fucking bad at naming things."

"Really?" Clementine giggled. "Like what?"

"When I was younger," Bar said, "I had a single stuffed animal that I used to drag with me everywhere. It was a rhino, so guess what I named it?"

His eyes were glazed over with memories of when he was a sickly and lean, stick looking shortie. He was a sad kid, always quiet and not wanting to play with anyone but himself. His dad was better back then, the beers were less and farther in between and his anger was a lot more manageable.

But just as scary.

When Bar was younger it was easier. He could hide, he could block out the screaming, he could ignore any vexation his father went through with ease— back then it wasn't his responsibility, back then he didn't have anyone to protect.

Everything gets harder with age and abuse is no different; it gets crueler.

"Horny."

"What?" Bar snapped his attention back to the little goddess. Did she really just say that?