Through Hell [AOB/LGBT+/mpreg]

3

Somehow, Oliver finds the strength to move from his fetal position after hours of being on the floor and finds himself functioning on autopilot.  His omega takes over so he can pick up the jagged  pieces of his fractured mind clouded with fear. 

He does laundry in the sink, air dries his uniform in the midst of destruction and goes back to staring at the entrance of his apartment, half expecting the alpha to reappear and go back on his word, to just shoot him then and there instead of having him think about the next coming days.  Of expecting his death at every sharp turn of a corner when he can't conjure the money like he was told.

No such thing happens but he still can't find the will to move, to breathe properly.  He feels oddly... empty.  Like a shell of any ambitions he could've strived to live for.  He feels lackluster but there's a sense of... relief?

If he dies... if he dies he doesn't have to worry about rent or food or surviving.

His will to live has slipped through his fingers and he never realized just how feeble it was to begin with, how weak he truly is.

Oliver thinks about it, about the life he's lived so far.  Thinks about how he was a disappointment to his parents for not only turning to be an omega, but being transgender and queer.  Being a disappointment for amounting to nothing.

And he truly has nothing to live for.

No one to come home to.  No alpha or omega or beta, no friends, no family (not anymore and not for the longest). 

He comes to the realization that he's alone and no one... no one would miss him if he were to die.

His omega whines deep within his soul, urges him to move, to stop thinking.

Alpha will be mad, we need to move.

Oliver furrows his brow.

Alpha?

What alph-

His eyes widen.

Oh for fucks sake!

An alpha gives him the time of day by threating to kill him and his omega imprints on the man?

What in the twisted fuck is this?

His omega whines again and urges him up.

He stumbles on numb legs, pins and needles racing under his skin and making him shiver.

"There is no alpha," he mutters under his breath, willing his stupid omega to realize the gravity of their situation.  That alpha was not theirs, that alpha wants to kill them!

Despite all the red flags, his omega uses it as enough motivation to get him moving again, to do as their [not their] alpha ordered.  

He puts on his stiff but clean uniform, grabs his keys, and heads for work, internally hoping he still has a job to return to.

He's directed to the back, to the office where his manager is seemingly waiting, face scrunched in distaste when her eyes land on his shrunken form.

"Oliver," she greets, voice clipped.

"Hey," he croaks, throat scratchy from his tears and misuse.

"Nice of you to join us."

Oliver swallows thickly, "sorry about that, an emergency came up and I-I couldn't reach out and let you know, I'm so sor-"

His ramble is cut off as the woman leans into his personal space and sniffs.  Her nose scrunches up immediately and her eyes widen in realization, "you're an omega."