Chapter Text
Clink!
Another glass drops over the counter, the god-forsaken liquid staining the granite countertop you had spent all day cleaning.
‘At least the glass didn’t break this time,’ you tell yourself, looking down at the few shallow cuts on your hands from previous incidents exactly like this one.
You braced yourself for the scream, you knew he would call you over. He always did.
“Come clean this fucking mess, bitch!” The raspy voice calls from the kitchen, you had already automatically gotten up from your spot on the couch. Your gaze felt unbelievably heavy, dragging along the floor as you made your way to your kitchen. The one you worked so hard for. He was there, staring at you with his arms crossed accusingly, almost as if everything was your fault.
“Yes, dad,” you replied softly, the slightest hint of defiance would send him into a frenzy. Ironic how the man who created you had turned into pure destruction. He reeked of cheap rum and whiskey, his black sleeveless shirt covered in nasty wet spots, be it alcohol, saliva, or sweat you’d rather not find out.
“This house is fucking disgusting,” he growled, looking at your trembling hands as they held onto the rag. Yeah, it was disgusting because of him. He kept spilling drinks, breaking glasses, leaving his clothes everywhere and not cleaning after himself. “I’d rather live on the street than with such an useless fucking hag,” he kept going, downing the bottle of whiskey he was holding onto. You choked back tears, your trembling lower lip finding way under your teeth as you bit down into it.
Your dad used to be in the marines, he used to love his wife and treat you like a princess. He was the perfect man, or at least that’s what you had been told your entire life. Your first memory of him was the first time he got arrested. He had seen one of his best friends die, which left him in a godawful spot, he lost it. He started drinking heavily, going to bars and picking fights with total strangers. Eventually, one of the fights he got into ended up getting him thrown into a cell for a couple months and fully out of the marines. You were 10. When he got out he was the same man you know to this day. Your mom managed to leave him, but she didn’t take you with her.
He was your father, you had to take care of him. So you decided letting him stay in your house would maybe help him, and you’d do the best you can to try and turn him into the man people told you about. You weren’t even sure if that man ever existed, but a little girl can dream, right?
“You’re fucking disgusting you know that?” He spat out, slurring over his words and swaying the bottle from side to side. He stared at you, taking in your outfit. You were just in your pajamas, a lazy black slip on and a gray jacket over it. “No man will ever love a whore like you.”
You stayed quiet. What would you even say to that? What could you even say to that?
“You’re so unlikeable. Maybe I should’ve let your mom abort you those 20 years ago,” he kept going, his words were barely comprehensible, and his raspy voice sounded even worse than nails on a chalkboard. You kept trying to choke down tears, quickening your movements to finish wiping all the nasty whiskey off your previously clean counter. Your lip trembled, and so did your hands. You needed to get out. You needed to leave.
“You don’t even reply, you think a man would ever want to wife up someone like you?” He said, leaving the kitchen and throwing himself onto the couch. You kept scrubbing and scrubbing.
It wasn’t long until you finished cleaning his mess.
And it wasn’t long until he passed out on your couch, the bottle slipping from his grasp and falling onto your carpet, pouring and pouring whiskey.
You didn’t care.
You’d deal with it later.
Now was your chance, you grabbed your keys and sneaked out of your apartment.
Knock Knock Knock.
You knocked on your neighbor’s door.
“Hey, I heard the shouting, is he drinking again, princess?” Simon said as he opened the door. His imposing figure towered over you, his head tilted down to stare into your teary eyes. He was always so sweet and gentle with you, his gaze always showed such deep understanding.
You nodded. Trying to comfort you, one of his big arms wrapped around your shoulders. He felt so warm against your cold skin. “You wanna stay the night? You know the spare room is always there,” he whispered softly, his rough and calloused hand caressing your hair.
“Could I? I wouldn’t wanna be a bother,” you said softly. Simon was so used to seeing you with your gaze down. His hand kept softly running through the soft locks in your hair. He hummed a soft ‘hm’ and opened his door more, allowing you to come in. He slowly guided you inside, his big strong hand wrapped around your trembling and tiny hand.
Why couldn’t your dad be more like him?
“I’ll make you some tea.” He let go of your hand, allowing you to sit on the big brown leather couch in the middle of his living room. His apartment was twice as big as yours and it looked so nicely furnished, so clean and perfect all the time. Maybe because Simon was barely ever home, always out for his job.
Why couldn’t he be your dad?
He knew your father, he knew the person he was before everything. They had met in military training, both having shared a couple words and eventually calling themselves friends. He had heard the way he used to talk about you, how he had always said he’d do anything for his ‘princess’. He had also seen his downward spiral into pure despair. After your father moved in a couple months ago, he started hearing all the screaming matches, all the disgustingly vile words constantly getting spat out at you. One day, a specially awful one, he heard the sound of glass bottles getting thrown around and glass shattering. He barged into your place and pulled you into his home while a huge black eye grew across the entire side of your face. You had cried rivers onto his chest, you had a couple panic attacks, and since then he had given you free access to his home whenever you needed.
“I got you your favorite,” he said with the tiniest hint of a smile, handing you a warm cup of steaming hot tea. “It’s strawberry, right? I think that’s what you told me last time?”
He remembered.
Last time you two spoke, after your father went on another drunken rampage and kept screaming top of his lungs at you to stop being such a slut, you had shyly admitted to Simon that you were a huge fan of flavored teas, your heartbeat lowering when you reached his safe home. The British man was slightly teasing about it, saying how Yorkshire Tea was better than any other fake stuff.
Not only did he remember but he got it for you.
“Yeah, thank you so much, Simon,” You said, both your trembling hands holding onto the cup as he sat on the other edge of the couch. You were sitting with your back against the armrest, your legs spewed across the couch and ending right before his thigh. You had childish fuzzy socks on, you had run out of your house looking like a humiliating mess.
“The little bunnies suit you, princess,” he said playfully, staring down at your socks and trying to cheer you up. His lips were slightly curved up. Your cheeks blushed and you tried to hide your embarrassing socks away from view, causing a few couple of piping hot tea droplets to drip down your chest, burning your skin. “Hey, hey, careful there, sit up,” he said, placing a gentle hand on your exposed thigh and guiding your legs forward. His other hand slid behind your back, running across your spine to straighten you up. “There you go, love, try not to spill on yourself anymore.”
Your heart was beating painfully fast, threatening to shatter each and every single one of your ribs and jump out of your chest. You kept fucking up. Again and again.
“Sorry, I should pay more attention,” you mumbled, your voice merely a whisper. The couple spots on your chest were burning a deep red and you were struggling to stop trembling so much. The cup was too hot for your hands, you knew they were growing redder too, but there was no way you’d ever complain about anything to Simon. You feared tainting your relationship with him.
“Hey, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” He said gently, looking down and caressing your hair again. His hand felt so good against you. It was everything you ever lacked. Warmth, protection, care. “I’ll get your room ready for you, okay?” he added, getting up from the couch and tilting his face down to face you. There was no smile on his face, but his gaze reflected concern, pity even.
You felt your stomach turn. You felt so disgustingly weak. He probably thought you were so delicate and emotional. You wanted to throw up.
You gulped down your self-disgusted feelings and tried to flash him a smile, which ended up as an awkward gesture, your factions contorting into the saddest smile he had ever seen. You nodded up at him, allowing him to leave you alone in the dimly-lit living room. What time was it? It was probably late, around 2 AM maybe?
“How are you doing in college?” He asked from inside the room, his voice sounding very far away, yet it was clearly so different from your fathers tone, he sounded like he was genuinely curious, like he actually cared.
No reply, you kept staring at the tea steam flowing out of your cup. You were too ashamed to tell Simon that you were failing almost every single one of your classes. You were ashamed to admit you had been skipping lectures. You were ashamed to admit you were struggling to even wake up in the morning.
“Hey, it’s ok if you aren’t doing well, princess,” he kept going, you could hear the sound of rustling fabric coming from inside, he was making your bed. “You know I wasn’t any good in school,” he chuckled deeply, the sound reverberating across the apartment. He was trying to cheer you up. “It doesn’t mean anything, plus, I trust you’ll figure it out. You’re smart, kid.”
You blushed, still quiet. You weren’t used to words of praise, fuck you were only used to disgusted and perverted remarks. You raised the cup to your lips and took the last sip of your tea, all the little leaves that had gone through the teabag adorning the cup. Without even thinking you stood up and headed to the kitchen. You were greeted with a couple dirty dishes, probably Simon’s dinner.
Your brain was on autopilot. Your hand moved to turn the water on, there could be no dirty dishes in your house unless you wanted your father to scream and throw a tantrum. You reached for the sponge and the detergent. Your soft hands, now red and slightly painful from the hot cup, held tightly onto the cleaning supplies, quickly and efficiently cleaning each and every dirty dish piled up on Simon’s sink.
“What are you doing?” Simon asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned over the door frame and looked at you wide eyed. You jumped, you didn’t notice he had come up, the rushing of water muting his steps.
“I-I’m sorry, Simon. I-I do-don’t know what came over me, I came to leave my cup here and then I saw all the dishes and it’s like my brain forced me to clean everything up,” you started blabbering, spewing words before your brain could even register them. You didn’t stop cleaning though, you couldn’t leave a job half-way done. He slowly walked up to you, standing to your side and staring at your nimble fingers as they scraped away his grime.
“Leave it, ok? We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” He cooed softly, his hand turning the water off and taking the sponge from your hands. His movements felt so gentle, like he was scared of breaking you. Can you even break what’s already so broken? “It’s late, and you need rest. It’s three am, and you need to wake up early for class tomorrow, kid.” His eyebrows were raised, his hand still holding onto yours. His blue eyes stared down at you, his gaze was stern and harsh. He was looking down at you just like a father would look at his daughter.
You blushed and looked down, one of your arms dropping to your side while the other stayed in Simon's grasp. You nodded and started walking to your room, Simon trailing right behind you.
He said his goodnights as he reached the door to the guest room. The bed still had one of your plushies resting on top of it. You had stayed over so many times that you were slowly starting to leave your mark.
“Thank you, Simon,” you thanked him shyly, the plushie already between your arms as you stood next to your bed and looked at him standing on the doorway.
“You’re welcome, princess. And trust me, I took good care of him while you were at home,” he said playfully, though his face remained as stoic as ever. He pointed at the fluffy dinosaur between your arms. It looked cleaner than last time, he had washed it and perfumed it. It didn’t smell like Simon though, it smelled like coconut. “Lights out now, princess, goodnight,” he added, turning the lights off and gently closing the door.
The following day, for the first time in weeks, you managed to stay awake through the entire university day. You even caught up on work you had been missing. All because you had a safe place to sleep.
The next time you saw Simon was not even a week after this.
You were sitting in your house, your face buried inside a huge textbook, your eyelids heavy and your eyes unfocused. It was one of the few times where your house wasn’t exploding out with your father’s loud shouts and mean words. He was nowhere to be found.
Exhaustion ran through your veins, pulling your head down against your desk, making you close your eyes and let go of the heavy book your nimble fingers were holding. Your body couldn’t take it anymore, you ended up passed out while sat at your desk.
It wasn’t long until a hard calloused hand pulled you by the hair, propping your entire body up on your feet. The world spun in a mix of hazy exhaustion and disorientation. You could barely register the sharp stinging pain shooting through your scalp before you got fully woken up with a loud growl.
“Stay away for a bit.” The unmistakable rasp of your father’s voice sounded out. As your gaze slowly focused, you saw he was holding a woman’s hand. Her disheveled appearance, cheap wig and skimpy clothes made it obvious that it wasn’t just any woman, he had clearly brought an escort. To your house. And she was high off her mind too, vacantly staring through fully blown out pupils.
You felt the vile raise up your throat, burning your insides as you rushed to the bathroom. He kept pestering you about leaving the house for a while, shouting insults and filthy remarks, even filthier than the whore he brought to your fucking house. You tried rushing to the bathroom, but his pull on your hair made you stumble back and smash against his chest before he pushed you off towards the already fully opened front door.
Your eyes were teary, your stomach was twisting, you were choking down your gags, and you were rushing to the only place you could ever begin to consider as safe.
“Jesus, what’s wrong?” Simon said, opening his front door after the loud pounding you gave to it. Without a single reply, you barged into his place. It was wrong, intruding in his house like that, you knew that. But god you had to throw up at the thought of your father fucking a disgustingly high whore in your apartment. You already knew the place, rushing through the small hallway and into the first door to the right. The door stood open as you bent over the toilet and spilled out the disgust and nasty rot that had covered your stomach.
He stood wide-eyed, never since you started hiding in his house like a little mouse had he seen you so distressed. He kept asking what was wrong, if you were ok, if everything was fine. His concern only grew larger as he leaned on the bathroom's door frame, watching you retch and gag onto his toilet.
After what to you felt like hours, but was actually not even five minutes, you tried bringing your face up to look at Simon. You couldn’t. You were beyond ashamed. You barged into his house, vomited all over his toilet and now you were softly sniffling and sobbing with your cheek softly pressed against the cold ceramic, the sensation calming down your burning face.
“Let’s get you all cleaned up, alright princess? Then you can tell me what’s wrong,” Simon said softly and calmly. He crouched next to you, one of his hands finding your lower back and his other one moving some hair out of your face. His hands were warm. So warm. And so cozy. Your eyes fluttered closed at the lulling soft tone of his voice and the comforting feeling of being caressed like a little girl. “Come on, don’t go falling asleep on me, at least help me clean you up first,” he said playfully, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
“Sorry,” were your first words to him this night, your eyes opening softly. He could see you were still feeling a bit iffy, your eyebrows furrowed and your breathing ragged. Your stomach fluttered when he gave you a soft smile in response, ‘no need to apologize’ it very clearly meant.
“Can you get onto your feet?” He soothed softly, as if he was dealing with a tiny little girl. His strong calloused hand wrapped around your waist. Were his hands always that big? His other hand rested on the bottom of your upper arm, his fingers holding softly onto plush skin as he used both hands to prop you up. His hand on your waist remained steady as he flushed your disgusting vomit down, you felt his concern through his grip.
“We’ll get that pretty face of yours clean and then you can head to bed, alright?” He whispered, steadily bringing you to his bathroom sink. As you caught your reflection in the mirror you blushed in embarrassment, your hair and makeup were a mess from your nap earlier, and the tears that streamed down your face as you threw up made it even worse.
Too busy checking how disgusting you looked you didn’t notice Simon reach for a washcloth and wet it. You flinched at the contact with your skin, your burning face heavily contrasted by the cold cloth against your face.
His hand shifted from your body to hold your jaw, locking your gaze with his as he took care of you and the mess you had made of yourself. You were 19 for fuck’s sake, and he was treating you like you were 5. And you were enjoying it. You enjoyed the care, the fatherly worry behind his movements. You enjoyed the way his gaze was stuck to your lips as he wiped you clean. You took the time to stare at his face as he busied himself with getting you all perfect.
His nose was slightly crooked. You never noticed before.
The scar on his lip was getting lighter, it was aging, maybe it would even disappear in a couple years.
He had blonde eyelashes, they looked shiny against the cold bathroom light.
His stubble was growing in, and you knew it’d be days until he was fully clean shaven again.
“There we go, all clean,” he said gently, finishing wiping the remaining mascara under your left eye. His hand left your jaw, causing your lips to part slightly at the sudden loss of his warmth on your face. Your eyebrows were still furrowed as you stared up at him, your bottom lip trembling as all the memories of just a couple minutes earlier rushed back into your head.
“Hey, hey, princess. Come on,” he cooed, his hand reaching for the back of your scalp and pulling you towards his chest. You buried your face there, trying not to cry, or at least trying to mutter the explanation to why you were there.
“The couch or your room?” He whispered against your hair, his nose nuzzling into it softly and inhaling the scent of your shampoo. Coconut. Your hands tangled on his black shirt, part of his usual outfit as he lounged in his house. You fisted the cloth against your trembling hands as you mumbled the word ‘couch’ onto his torso. You needed him to keep holding you, and asking him to hold you in bed felt like overstepping, even if you truly convinced yourself that he was like a father to you. You felt more like his little girl than your actual father’s. He’s the only one who ever took care of you.
He walked with his arm around your shoulders, your face buried onto his side. One foot after the other, watching focused for neither of your feet getting tangled against each other’s. It was an awkward way of walking, but he felt how desperately you needed the comfort. As you reached the couch, he lowered himself onto it first, expectantly gazing up at you as you fidgeted with your fingers. Should you sit cuddled up to him? Should you keep your distance? You were too shy to even ask.
“Come on, don’t act as if you weren’t clinging up to me a couple seconds ago, princess. I can hold you for a bit,” he smirked slightly and teased playfully, trying to make light of the situation and get you more comfortable. At his permission you practically jumped onto his side, your tiny arms wrapping around his hard and extensive body, his chest vibrating as he chuckled softly. His hand traced soothing patterns on your skin, trailing up and down your spine to half-way down your back.
“He brought a whore,” you whispered, your nails digging into the side where your face wasn’t buried.
“What?”
“He brought a whore. To my house. He kicked me out to fuck a whore in my house,” you mumbled, each word making your stomach start turning more and more, the nasty feeling of vomit climbing back up your throat.
“Princess, I’m sorry,” He said, his hand trailing up your spine and neck until it reached the back of your skull, tangling in your hair and gently pushing your face closer to the side of his chest. He sighed, playing with the soft and long locks of your hair. “You don’t deserve that.”
You pressed yourself against him more, the room falling into a comfortable silence. The only sounds heard were those of Simon’s breathing, the soft rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a state of drowsiness as you hid into his large frame. You were hunched over, looking so so worryingly small next to him. He was a big man, a large build of pure muscle and fat. He was also extremely tall, around 6’4, while you stood at 5'2 on a good day.
“You want to spend the night?” Simon asked, his hand continuing to trace absentmindedly against your clothes. ‘Do you want me to protect you for a bit longer?’ felt like a more appropriate question. You were already half asleep, and seeing your father’s face would probably have you gagging over the clean toilet again. You nuzzled your face against him, nodding yes. He hummed softly in response. “Your bed is already made,” he cooed, his head leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your hair.
You tensed, not in a bad way, you tensed at the sheer tenderness of it. You tensed at the unknown feeling of being truly cared for. He could feel all your muscles react, your fingers twitching against his shirt and your nose pressing slightly harder against his shirt, he just sighed and continued to pet your hair. “Sorry, princess. Kisses are not your thing, got it,” he said playfully. His eyes widened as you quickly shook your head no against him, still hiding your face.
‘No, I love it. It makes me feel cared for. It makes me feel loved. It makes me feel like a daughter’
Your lips trembled softly with unspoken words. “It’s ok. I don’t mind them,” you mumbled, your voice trembled and Simon knew there were things you weren’t telling him. He also knew what you saw him as. He didn’t mind playing daddy for you, you didn’t bother him, and he found you… Interesting in a weird way. How you seemed to jump from your composed persona from outside and with other people, into this desperate little girl every time your father raised his voice or put his hands on you. But what he found most fascinating was how you seemed to cling to him. And only him.
He leaned down and placed another kiss to the top of your head. “You’ll go to sleep now, right princess?” He wasn’t asking. It was time to sleep, and you both knew it. You felt his hand stop caressing your hair and instead reach down to unwrap your arms from his body and raise your face up to look at him. Both of you felt like the temperature had dropped a couple degrees as Simon lost your body heat. You nodded softly when your eyes met his, his eyes were slightly narrowed, not wanting (or even expecting) any resistance from you. “Atta girl,” he said softly, holding your hand as he stood up from the couch, helping you to your feet and guiding you to his guest room.
Once he made sure you were fully tucked in, the big plushie held tightly between your arms and your body covered up by the comforter he spoke again, “I’ll have to leave for a bit soon, work stuff.”
“How long?” you blurted out almost immediately. He always left for work, he was in the army after all, but lately things around your house had been getting worse, and you were spending more and more time here. You were growing dependent on Simon, on his house being always available for you. Shit, you had already started leaving some of your things here, some clothes inside the closet, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, your plushie on your bed, and the list went on.
“A month,” he sighed, he knew you weren’t safe alone. “I’ll make you a copy of the keys, okay? Don’t ever feel guilty about using my apartment.” He moved to the side of the bed, looking down at you as you gazed up into his eyes, your own eyes wide and doe-like. You were like a deer in headlights, it was so cute. But before you could complain or even say anything about not wanting to use his house when he wasn’t here he was already speaking again.
“I’ve made up my mind, princess, I’m getting you a set of keys. Besides, I don’t really mind having a little mouse on my house,” he said playfully, nudging your exposed shoulder. Just as he expected, you bashfully buried your face on the plushie in your arms.
As he started walking away, he felt your gaze shift on to him. Your lips were parted, aching to ask for a goodnight kiss, your cheeks were flushed in embarrassment at how utterly stupid he made you. You felt like a kid again. Maybe this was your brain’s way of trying to give you any resemblance to a good childhood, and a nice dad.
He smirked and leaned down, his hand on your cheek, angling your head up so he could perfectly kiss your forehead. His lips made contact against skin now, not just hair.
“Goodnight, little mouse.”
“Goodnight, Simon.”