Chapter Text
The house was quiet when John left.
Nevertheless, it didn’t stop Holland from tiptoeing out of his room and into the kitchen, the omega’s mind only on one thing. Beer.
He didn’t care what kind. He didn’t care what percentage. He just wanted to be numb.
He and John had gotten into another fight, both of them screaming some bullshit that he knew they’d regret come morning. Thank god Holly was at Jessica’s–if she were home, he’d never hear the end of it.
He approached the fridge, his hand trembling as he grasped the handle. As slowly as possible, he pulled the door open and bent down, the cool air that hit his face making him wince as he peered at the contents inside.
His mouth watered as he stared at the top shelf, his wandering eyes meeting John’s prized collection of authentic German beers. Sucking in a breath, he reached in and grabbed one, his hand wrapping around the bottle's stout.
He pulled it out and shut the fridge. As he stood upright, he stared at the bottle, his eyes tracing along the label as he debated whether or not he wanted to continue with his actions.
Eventually, the side of his mind that craved alcohol won, and without further hesitation, he placed the top of the bottle against the side of the counter. Using minimal force, he popped it open, the cap making a soft hissing noise as it dislodged from its grooves.
“Finally,” he muttered to himself as he brought the glass to his lips.
A flash of light hit him then. He lowered the beer and placed it on the counter before he looked down, his gaze catching sight of his left hand. He swallowed.
Right.
On his ring finger sat a gold band, the tarnished metal shining in the soft glow of the kitchen light. To him, it was an omen, one that promised a world of hurt if he were to continue on with the actions that led him to this moment.
He swallowed again and looked at the beer, still sitting proudly on the counter, an enticing glow hitting the dark green of the glass as condensation rolled down it in little droplets. His mouth watered again.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
But he had to, John be damned.
Without a further thought, Holland grabbed the beer, tilted his head back, and chugged.
Holland awoke to a cup of water being splashed on his face. With a gasp, he shot up, his hands immediately coming up to wipe the liquid from around his eyes.
“Finally,” a female voice said, her tone drenched in annoyance. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”
“Well, that was the plan,” Holland bit out, flicking the water from his hands at her. She shrieked, the sound causing the omega to smile softly.
“Need something?” he asked, stretching.
“We’re out of Yoo-Hoos,” she reported, flopping down on the bed next to him. “John refuses to buy any more, something about how they’re quote-unquote unnecessary expenses.”
Holland makes a face at that, his hand reaching down and over to gently card through her hair. “You want to go get some?”
She sighed and turned her head, her eyes meeting his. “Go with me?”
He sucked in a breath, her puppy dog eyes doing a number on him. “You know I have work, Holls.”
“You always have work,” she complained as she sat up. “C’mon, Mom, please? We haven’t done anything together in forever.”
“Okay, now that’s a lie, we just got ice cream yesterday.”
“Yeah, with John,” Holly said, spitting the alpha’s name out like a bad piece of food. “I want to do something with you. Just you. No John.”
Holland sighed, his hand coming up to run through his hair. As he did so, he eyed the clock on the far side of the wall, the seconds ticking by as he stared at its hands.
“Mom,” Holly whined.
The man let out a teasing groan, his inner omega bending to his pup’s will. “Let me shower.”
Holly let out a cheer as she bounced off the bed, her joyful noises echoing around the empty crevices of the room. She then ran out, her shouts cascading as she entered the living room.
Holland let out a chuckle at that, her happiness bouncing off of him in waves. With a huff, the omega stood, his joints popping as he leaned down to begin making the bed.
It was a tedious task, one that he had developed after a harsh punishment from John. According to the alpha, the bed always had to be made, and the house had to look neat and tidy. However, Holland called bullshit. Before John, his house had never been tidy.
His late wife loved it when the house was messy. According to her, it made it look lived in, open, and inviting. “A messy house is a sign of love,” she would say, her fingers running through Holly’s hair as the three of them lay on the couch.
Holland longed for a messy house once more.
He finished making the bed, the sheets all tucked meticulously from end to end. After staring at his work for a moment, he bent down to retrieve the pile of clothes he had shoved under the bed frame the previous night.
That had been the cause of his and John’s argument, and the reason why he was out in the kitchen at three in the morning, stumbling around in his socks for a beer. Despite John’s instructions, he hadn’t been able to start the load of laundry the alpha had requested. In hindsight, it was his fault; he had gotten so caught up in one of his cases that he had lost track of time.
The moment he got home, though, he remembered, and with fire burning in his veins, he made his way to the bedroom, his mind racing a mile a minute as he picked up clothes, his hands trembling with every article he grabbed.
By the time he had finished gathering them all together, it was too late. The door had clicked open, and with minimal hesitation, Holland had knelt and shoved the clothes under the bed.
He shouldn’t have done that. He should have kept track of the time. He should have–
“Mom, are you finished?” Holly called.
He should’ve done a lot of things.
The omega stood once more, the pile of clothes bundled in his arms. With a deep inhale, he walked out of his room, his feet harshly hitting the floor as he walked toward the laundry room.
“You haven’t showered,” Holly exclaimed.
“I need to put in a load of laundry first,” Holland explained, his voice muffled as he hiked the clothes higher to ensure they didn’t fall while he opened the top of the washing machine. Once it was open, he stuffed the clothes in, added a bit of laundry detergent, then shut it and started the machine.
“Can you go shower now?”
The omega turned, his hands on his hips. “Holly, just give me a second, okay?”
She huffed and flopped on the couch. Holland resisted the urge to walk over and ruffle her hair.
Instead, he sighed and walked back into his room. After shutting the door, he made a beeline for the bathroom. He flicked on the lights and shut his eyes, blindly maneuvering toward the sink.
He didn’t want to look at his face. He didn’t want to see the damage that John’s fist caused.
Holly, bless her soul, had learned not to say anything after the fifth time she had asked about the bruises he had acquired. It hurt to lie to her, but he didn’t want her to think he couldn’t stand up for himself. He didn’t want her to know how weak he actually was.
He opened his eyes and winced at the bruise coloring his face. It looked disgusting, with different shades of greens and purples littering the marred skin around his eye.
He poked it and winced. He was definitely applying makeup after he showered.
Without a second thought, he started the shower, stripped, and stepped in, the cool water hitting his skin like harsh rain. For a moment, he breathed in, allowing the pelting water to wash away the ache in his bones, skin, and heart.
He knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be subjecting his daughter to this abusive lifestyle, but what other choice did he have? Without John, he would be a single omegan mother once again, forcing the two of them to live paycheck to paycheck, and as much as he adored his work as a PI, he knew that the job could end in disaster. He refused to leave Holly an orphan.
John was a safe choice. He was a reliable choice, and because of that, Holland could deal with the abuse. Besides, didn’t he deserve it? After all, he was the reason his wife was dead.
If only he had listened to her about the gas.
He shook his head, expelling the thoughts. He then bent down and grabbed the shampoo, scrubbing it on his scalp before rinsing it out, the foamy substance running down his skin and to the shower floor.
A few minutes later, he finished up and stepped out of the shower, immediately grabbing for a towel that was hanging on the towel bar. He dried himself off before wrapping it around his waist and making his way over to the mirror.
Underneath the mirror sat a small cylinder of concealer, an item John had gifted him after their first fight. For the longest time, he refused to use it, and if he were honest with himself, at the time, he didn’t know why John had even given it to him.
Now he knew, and every time his fingers touched the plastic container, his heart ached just a little bit more.
Gently, he picked it up before walking back into his room, the bathroom door shutting behind him. Throwing the concealer down on his bed, he glanced around the now tidy space before he opened his closet and selected a cream colored top and brown pants. Quickly shucking the towel, he dressed himself, the action making his muscles cry in protest.
Once finished, he grasped the concealer again, pocketed it, and then stepped out into the living room.
“You ready?” He asked, his attention now directed toward his daughter. She smiled.
“Yup!” she said, standing.
“Turn the TV off.”
She groaned, and the omega leveled her with a look. With a huff, she walked over to the set and flicked the switch.
“Thank you,” he said, holding out his hand to her.
She took it, and as soon as she did, he squeezed her hand and led her out of the house.
The walk to the grocery store was uneventful, and for that, Holland was grateful. He couldn’t count on one hand the number of times he had walked to the store only to end up on the wrong side of an interaction.
He chalked his luck up to Holly.
“Do we need anything other than Yoo-Hoos?” he asked her as they walked through the doors.
She hummed. “I wanted to try and make spaghetti tonight.”
“Sounds good,” he said, leading her over to the carts. “You wanna push?”
She nodded and reached for the handle. He backed away.
For a little while, they walked along the aisles of the store, Holly regaling him with stories about what she had been up to during school the day before.
“Janet’s still being an asshole,” she reported as she turned the cart down the aisle where the pasta was located.
“Language, missy,” Holland responded, his hands stuck deep into his pockets. “And when is she not? Little brat told me off for calling God a dimwit.”
“You kind of dug yourself into that hole,” Holly said, tossing the spaghetti noodles into the cart. “You know she doesn't like it when you insult the Lord.”
“She needs to grow up,” Holland grumbled. “Why are you still friends with her anyway?”
“Because she and Jessica are friends, and by default, I’m her friend too,” Holly replied. “It’s girl things, Mom, you wouldn’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” the omega mocked. She glared at him.
“Just for that, you’re not getting any cookies later.”
He gasped, his hand flying dramatically over his heart. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve wounded me, whatever shall I do?”
She rolled her eyes and pushed the cart forward.
Silence ensued, and by the time they had made their way to the front of the store, their cart was stocked with more junk food than Holland would have liked. He peered over the edge of the cart, his nose crinkling as he observed the various sweet and salty snacks Holly had stuffed in it.
“We do need to get a vegetable or two,” he said, reaching in and retrieving a pack of Oreos. “And do we really need three packs of these?”
“I’m going to make Oreo pie for dessert,” Holly replied, taking the pack back from him. She then looked into the cart, a frown forming on her face. “Can we get strawberries?”
He let out a sigh. “I guess. Want to go grab them?”
“Can you? I want to look at the magazines while we wait,” Holly said.
Holland blinked. “Since when were you into magazines?”
Holly shrugged. “Since Jessica gave me a copy of her Cosmopolitan.”
“What?” The omega choked out, his breath catching in his throat with a violent cough. “Jesus Christ, Holly, you don’t need that shit.”
His daughter shrugged and turned toward the magazine rack, effectively cutting off any further response she was going to give him. He scowled at that.
“Little brat,” he muttered as he shoved his hands into his pockets before making his way towards the produce.