Frozen

Chapter 10)

As soon as I closed the door behind me, Barney took my hand and led me to my bedroom.

"How did you know where my room is?" I asked, sort of stalling, sort of curious.

"Shh," he said softly. 

He didn't let go of my hand until he was standing next to my bed. Then he sat down on the edge, grabbed my hips, pulled me so I was straddling him, then swung his legs over so we were both fully on the bed.

"Umm, Barney-"

"What would I have protected you from, Brianna?" he asked in that same soft voice.

I swallowed, resting my hands on his chest, taking comfort from this position and strength from him.

"My dad," I said slowly, tracing invisible patterns on his crimson tie.

"He beat you, baby?" he asked, his body so tense it was frozen solid, his eyes burning, but his voice still gentle.

"No," I mouthed, biting my lip and meeting his gaze.

It took Barney about a second and a half to understand what this meant.

He closed his eyes in pain and a short, clipped, "Fuck," escaped his teeth.

I curled my hand around his neck and stroked his locked jaw with my thumb. When his eyes opened again, they were on fire. Brilliant. Consumed with rage. I could see the anger swirled in with the baby blue. Knowing that all that violence and anger was for me, the solid, warm, safe feeling that I always got when he was around seeped into my bones and I bit my lip against the sudden urge to cry in relief.

His hands were shaking when he lifted them up, one tangling in my hair the other cupping my cheek, his thumb idly running across my cheekbone.

"When did it start?" he asked, his voice straining with a control that he held on to by a thread.

Because of the potency of his rage for me, I hesitated to answer.

"First time, I was six. Bentley's age."

I saw the fragile control he had slip for a second, and his hand tightened reflexively in my hair before he got it back and took a deep breath.

"Is that what happened the other night? It all came back to you at once?" he asked.

I nodded slowly.

I saw guilt and shame cross his features and my eyebrows drew together.

"Don't you dare, Barney," I whispered, leaning down so my face was right in his. "You don't get to feel guilty for the outcome of his actions."

Barney grated his teeth together and stared at me for a long couple of seconds.

"Is he still alive?" Barney asked.

I knew where this was going, still, I nodded.

Barney made a low humming noise.

"Figure, a couple phone calls, I could change that," he murmured, then loudly asked, "what prison is he in?"

There it is. Shoot.

"He's not," I said hesitantly. Barney's head jerked and his eyes narrowed.

"What the fuck?" he whispered dangerously. "How the fuck did the fucking judge not send the sick fuck to a fucking penitentiary?"

I bit my lip at his liberal use of the word 'fuck' knowing my giggling would not improve his mood.

"Never went to court. Night I turned eighteen, I took Bentley, my savings, two suitcases, and my dad's car and got the hell outta dodge."