Bar Red's Redemption ✔

c h a p t e r. 26

"There are all these moments you think you won't survive. And then you survive."
-David Levithan

This isn't important, but I really want a cookie right now.

chapter 26

Obsidian and Adriel didn't say a single thing about Bar's scars.

They, at first, stared for a moment and served the damage as if they were calculating just how many times his father had to beat Bar to get those results and then moved on, as if witnessing a crime and having no desire to report it.

They didn't look at the self-harm lines crossing over his wrists, they didn't gape at the whip marks going over his spine.

They didn't ask questions, either.

Adriel just asked if they wanted to play chicken first or marco-polo and like that, they were just four teenagers in a pool, goofing around.

Bar was relieved.

He didn't have to lie. He didn't have to make up some fake fight just to cover for his pathetic father's ass.

He was just able to be himself... Bar liked it.

But then— then it happened.

Obsidian and Adriel didn't notice but Bar did.

He watched Clementine get out of the pool, the water trickling down her skin making it seem like it was glowing, her wet curls tugged to the side and showed off the neck that Bar wanted to mark up.

Her swim shirt over her bikini and Bar saw as the shirt got caught on the ladder, feet already in motion to help but Clementine didn't notice.

She stumbled, her knees crashing into the tiles next to the edge, and her shirt ripping— the sound of the fabric tearing echoed and exposed her in just her bikini.

The scar just wasn't on her face.

No, it curved from the left side of her collarbone and down, edged in a jagged line toward her right hip and swerving over her thigh in some kind of cruel signature.

It was a white, angry line too. Bar could tell that it had been done under the pretense of causing pain.

It was made on purpose.

And it caused a bone-deep kind of rage to settle within Bar, something primal; something that had his broad shoulders tensing and for his fists to clench.

But this wasn't time for such trembling anger, this wasn't the time to be full of ire and unreasonable.

Bar knew that.

Bar didn't stare, he didn't even look at Clementine's voluminous body as he quickly grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his goddess's shoulders, making her jerk as she came out of the shock.

"I..." Clementine didn't know what to say— she just looked up at Bar.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to ask: how does someone as kind as you get a scar like that? How did whatever greater being that's out there think you could deserve that? How? Why? When?

But he didn't say anything.

The horror in her eyes was answer enough; he wasn't meant to see that.

Bar, the towns beast— her beast, wasn't meant to witness what cruelty had befallen Clementine and whose tale now would be forever told by her skin.

Even after she saw his scars.

But the goddess didn't ask him anything then, either.

Bar had no expectations of her explaining to him what happened but he was curious— a hungry curiosity that made him gently hold her as she shakily told her brother they were going to go get changed.