All night long, Barry tossed and turned. If tomorrow's events didn't send him into a panic enough, his father not coming home until one in the morning certainly did. It was never good when he came home late on a Friday.

His phone didn't light up or buzz at all while he tried to sleep much to his disappointment. It seemed she was keeping herself a mystery girl for as long as possible.

At eight o'clock, when he heard his mother preparing breakfast, he finally left his room, the notebook securely tucked away in his backpack.

"Morning," he whispered when he reached the dining table. His mother jumped, placing a hand over heart, but a smile spread over her face when she saw it was him.

"Gracious, Bear, you scared me,"

"Sorry. I just don't want to be too loud,"

"Too late," his father said from behind Barry. This time it was his turn to jump but the fear didn't fade the way it did with his mother. This one stayed, making his heart race and eyes widen.

"Those stairs are too damn creaky. You need to fix it so you don't wake me up early every damn weekend," he grumbled, walking further into the kitchen. His mother studiously scrambled the eggs in the skillet, averting her eyes.

Barry sat down on a dining table chair to save his shaking knees. He stared at the table's surface, listening to the gas stove sizzling and his father rifle through the pain killers in the shelf in the kitchen. When the door slammed, he jumped three inches off of the chair, landing hard on his tailbone.

"Where's my Tylenol?" His father snarled.

"You used the last bit yesterday. You said you were going to get more before you came home," Barry supplied.

His head was yanked up by his hair and his father's stale-beer breath blew in his face, hot like an angry dragon's.

"I didn't ask for your sass, boy," he snarled.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Barry mumbled, rubbing his head when he was released. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and tell his father that he was only trying to be helpful.

"Bear, do you have any homework today?" his mom asked, tipping portions of scrambled eggs onto paper plates.

"A little bit. And Gregory needs me at the coffee shop today at five. They're short a guy," he said, inserting his lie without a twitching eye.

"Alright," she frowned, "I think I'll be able to take you. No doubt the hospital is going to call me for the night shift. Sheila is always cutting out too early."

No, your "friend", Vincent, is going to call and tell you he has news for whatever you're planning, Barry thought, viciously tearing a large chunk of egg into smaller pieces.

Why couldn't he just convince himself to let it go? Why did he have to care that they were finally getting a chance at escape, even if it seemed like running away?

The hand he had left stretched out on the table was smacked hard enough to turn red and Barry looked up through his eyelashes to his father's glowering face.

"I asked you a question, boy," he growled.

"Sorry, sir. I zoned out and didn't hear,"

The apology didn't earn him anything, not that he had expected it to. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and not in a good way. Judging by the way his father's temper didn't decrease, he had a feeling today would be a living hell.

After breakfast, Barry dashed upstairs to his room, changing out of his pajamas and into his typical attire of t-shirt-hidden-by-hoodie, with jeans and his Converse. He stayed there as long as he dared, trying to ignore the ever increasing volume of the television and the slightly muffled sound of beer bottles clinking together as they gathered on the coffee table.

Around one o'clock, when Barry couldn't stand the growling demands for lunch that his stomach made, he went downstairs to an unpleasant sight.

His mother, it seemed, had stepped outside to take a call, no doubt from Vincent, and his drunken father was leaned against the door, listening to every word of her end of the conversation.

Barry froze on the last step, watching the rage twist his father's features into that of an angry bear. The last of the conversation filtered through the door and there was nothing he could do when his mother walked back in.

"Vincent, you have no idea how much this means to me, you helping Bear and I get away from him. I've been trying for so long but," his mother trailed off, most likely choked by tears, "well, let's just say that those plane tickets will be the greatest thing that's ever happened to us. Bye, Vince. See you soon."

The outer glass door swung open and Barry's mother ran into his father, in the middle of stowing her phone in her back pocket with one hand while wiping away tears with her other.

"Grant, I-" but she didn't get to finish her sentence as he yanked her by the upper arm so hard that Barry was sure she would have bruises from his fingertips.

"Trying to escape, are you, baby doll?" he crooned, but there was no love in his voice. There hadn't been for many, many years.

"No, no, no," she tried to say as he slammed the inner wooden door closed, practically dragging her into the room they were supposed to share, but was mainly hers since he slept on the couch so often.

Barry was conflicted as to what he should do. Walk in and suffer the same fate, or remain painfully aware while hiding in his room, pretending to be oblivious. Of course, being the son he was, he chose the former and stepped into the hell that was the punishment of the wicked monster with his father's face.

Already, the belt had been unloosed from the belt loops and his mother was huddled against the wall, impossibly small on the dark wall.

"Stop it," he said but his voice was hardly loud enough for his dazed father to hear, much less to evoke any kind of prevention of harm coming to his mother.

"I said, stop it!" he shouted, stepping further into the tiny hell. The belt that had been about to raise stalled in mid air.

Very slowly, Grant Atkins turned and stared at his son, who looked nothing like a son to him. He took a menacing step forward and Barry took a very small one back.

"Leave her alone. She's done nothing to you,"

"She's cheating on me," he roared, stopping inches from Barry's face.

"Well, you can hardly blame that on her, can you?" Barry replied, swept away by boldness as he got right back in his father's face, "if anything, this is your fault! If you weren't so drunk all the time maybe you would-"

He was abruptly cut off by a stinging punch to the stomach, causing him to double over into a position he knew was too vulnerable after his outburst. A foot knocked his knees to the wood floor and it was all too similar to Barry's nightmares. He was ordered to remove his shirt, which he did rather obediently, throwing them into the hallway outside of the room.

The belt, hard, sturdy leather that he was all too familiar with, was coiled like a cobra in a snake dance and before he could brace himself, it was released, striking him lightning fast, again and again. Each whip came with a reminder of how insolent he was, how ungrateful he was, how his father provided everything in their household, that he had for years, whether they were too self-centered to see it or not.

After a while, with his mother screaming in the background and the beginnings of cuts along his bony spine and shoulder blades, Barry started to loose consciousness. He prayed to the god he didn't believe in to come and maybe take away some of his pain, at least make him go numb, although he was already pretty close.

Of course, being a nonbeliever, his prayer was revoked, sent to the devils to do as they pleased. And what they had in mind made Barry all too happy to wish death upon himself.

Hauled to his feet by his hair and a rough hand, he leaned heavily against the wall. Black spots danced over most of his field of vision. The sound of metal hitting the ground seemed twice as loud in his already ringing ears.

"No, no, Grant. Don't make him do this," he heard his mother pleading but she sounded miles away, "Grant, he had nothing to with any of the things you heard me say on the phone. Grant!"

"Put your hands up, boy," he said, shoving Barry's chest into the wall. He gave an involuntary gasp as some of his half-cuts hit the uneven wall.

"I said put them up! Fight like a real man!"

So Barry put his fists up, intent on just evading, on trying to get out of the room, away from the horrors. But his father blocked the door, grinning with yellow teeth as he took the first punch. Even drunk, he was a decent hit and Barry stumbled sideways, barley managing to block with his thin arms.

He widely attempted to hit back but all he did was meet air, and a right hook almost knocked his breakfast back up his throat.

"You're pathetic, boy. Took me years to toughen up to my old man. Didn't take me as long as you though. You're a dumbass, weak and stupid. What? Didja think I would let you leech off of me forever?"

A cruel laughter bounced off the thin walls, and even after it stopped, Barry could hear it ricocheting in his head. Nothing his father said made sense. Was this some sort of rite of passage into manhood? Well then, Barry would be happy to stay in boyhood forever.

Another blow to his shoulder knocked him into the wall, knocking his skull against a crooked picture frame of a winder wonderland scene.

"Why won't you fight back?" his father snarled, his fist glancing across Barry's left cheek as he magically pulled away with what seemed no serious injury.

"You're supposed to fight back,"

This time the blow was to his jaw and it sent him reeling backward into open space, falling hard on his tailbone. Kick after kick landed on his rib cage, but years of that abuse had made his bones strong enough that they wouldn't break any time soon.

It was useless, fighting back, after so many years of it, the constant abuse. There was no reason for it, though, Barry had tried to explain to the mystery girl when responding to her journal entries. Just a lie for himself. And how funny, that he thought of her, just before he passed out.

***

I'm not gonna lie, abusive scenes are not my forte, but if you tell me how you felt about it, then I'll go back and change it slightly. Unless you thought it rocked, then I'll leave it as is. Personally, it still broke my heart to have to write that. Barry is my baby and I hate to have to put him through that. Anyone else waiting for when he meets Mystery Girl because I have been dying to get that already written chapter on here. I just need to transfer it from paper to Wattpad XD Anyhow, have a lovely day or night, wherever you are!

~Selene Rose