2 - Becky and Ben bickering in the barn

It was a short walk to the barn, but the fall air was chilly, and Becky was wearing short gym shorts and a bikini top under her T-shirt. She walked faster, and slipped through the barn doors to find Ben sitting in a small wooden model convertible, carving something out of wood.
The entire barn smelled just like that--like carved wood. It had been her dad's workshop and de-facto man-cave before her mom took the house. There were a lot of cars, large and small, some on shelves and some on the floor. A model spaceship sat in the loft with its nose peeking out over the doorway. Becky would have allowed herself to be impressed, if most of these things weren't carved by an abuser.

"Are you sorry?" Becky heard herself ask.

"Are you?" Ben replied. He stood up before she could respond, and gestured toward the car he'd been sitting in. "This is a model of the first car Dad ever bought with his own money. He wanted to help me get one like it someday, before Mom got all his money and spent it on jewelry."

"Why not spend that scumbag's money on things that help her pull a better man?"

Ben glanced at her. He did not glare, which unsettled her. Instead, he gestured to a shelf full of little toy cars.

"The top shelf is the cars Dad carved, the bottom shelf is all mine, both lined up from earliest to latest. He helped me get better and better with every one. I was so proud that I could see my own improvement so clearly, but these days I'm more impressed that Dad was still improving even as he taught me what he knew."

"Which was nothing," Becky said. "It's so annoying that you still call him Dad. That creature is no father of mine."

Some small part of her mind, situated tightly in the back behind everything else, told her to shut up and stop provoking someone much stronger than her. It was indeed small, but she heard it.
But Ben had never hit her before. Why would he start now?

Ben had said nothing in response, and instead had grabbed the rope of a full-sized guillotine. Becky remembered repeated stern warnings from both parents not to play on it, back when she was in her single-digits.

"This is a 1:1 model of one of the guillotines used in the actual French Revolution," Ben said. Becky tried to read his expression. Surely he was angry, but he had gotten quite good at concealing it. Or maybe he was reminiscing to distract himself from what he felt. "Dad built it and put a watermelon through it when I was learning about that time period. Terrible time to be French aristocracy. The history written by the people who didn't have their heads chopped off says they definitely deserved it. Do you think we ought to believe them when their opponents aren't around to defend themselves?"

"Dunno. That should be the penalty for abusers."

"I agree. Anyway, take this book I found, I think it's up your alley."

Ben shoved a book into Becky's hand with a little more force than he needed, stepped aside, thought for a moment, and then handed her an energy drink. He pushed past her and headed for the door. She somehow felt like she had lost for a second time that day. Her goal was to win the argument, right? Or was it to get a reaction out of Ben?

"Yeah, go jerk off alone in your room!" she called after him. "Loser!”

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