A/N This story takes place before the outbreak and during it. From Negan's point of view.
"Fuck!" My palm thrusts against the steering wheel in frustration when I remember I forgot Lucille's laundry list of shit at the grocery store. I lied to her at lunch, telling her I got the groceries to shut her yapping up.
Don't wait until after work, you'll forget.
Nag fuckity nag bitch bitch. If I take too long to circle back in town to get groceries, she'll know I lied then bitch about that, too.
There's this rundown supermarket on the outskirts of town I pass by but wouldn't dare step foot in normally. Probably have to fight off rats for produce. It doesn't even have some witty name. Just UPERMARK T. The letters have been missing for two years.
Yet, tonight, I don't have a choice.
I yawn and scratch my balls until I remember that I'm in line. Christ, this place is depressing and fucking filthy. Yes, this is coming from a grown man scratching his balls in public, but this place is disgusting. My lip turns upward watching this child run around barefoot in only a saggy diaper. Supermarket feet. Gross.
I scan the store, hopeful they'll open another register. I'm getting impatient. Lucille is going to rip me a new one. I should have been home forty-five minutes ago and this is taking forever! I thought young people moved fast but this girl is acting like she's got some flu fuckery.
She sneezes and blows her nose.
Alright, maybe she does have the flu. Great, and she's touching everything I'm going to be putting in my mouth.
When I get a better look, she's some frumpy looking girl. I really don't understand these millennials. Her shirt is a denim button up that looks like something I used to paint in on a Saturday. And I'm pretty sure she took her uncle's black horned rimmed oversized pervert glasses. Her nose is redder than her hair. She smells like hand sanitizer and vapor rub.
"Did you find everything ok, Sir?"
"Should you really be working sick like this? I ain't trying to catch whatever it is you're sneezing out."
She blinks several times. "You're my last customer, and I need the money-"
"Don't touch anything else, I'll do it." I bag my shit, put a twenty on the counter, and tell her I don't want any change. "Buy you a mask or some shit."
I set my groceries down by the payphone and dial Lucille. "It's-"
"Where the fuck have you been? Dinner is ruined, I'll have you know."
"I'm leaving now."
"Leaving her house?"
I grip the phone as my knuckles turn white. "I'm not seeing anyone. I told you-"
"Save it. I'm going out with Marlene."
I sigh and slam the phone against the cradle hook. "Fuck." And by Marlene, she means that dickhead with the boat three streets over. I'm not stupid. I almost plow right into someone as I turn to leave. It ends up being the checker girl. Her plastic bakery bag falls to the concrete and a single bagel rolls out.
"Sorry," she sniffles, putting the bagel back inside the sack and rounding the corner of the store.
Once I get to my car, I drive around aimlessly. Lucille has been going out more and more with the sailor these last few months. I need a fucking hobby. With it being right before the holidays, the gym is running a special. Why the hell not?
"Sigh here, and here," the woman tells me. "We close at ten."
Fine by me. Luckily, I have all my coaching stuff in my bag so I can change and start my work out tonight.
It's not as helpful as I thought because my mind races thinking about Lucille. Knowing what she's really doing.
As I'm exiting the locker room, out of the female one comes the girl from the grocery store. I didn't see her in the gym. It ain't that big to begin with. She's showered. A giant colorful, children's camping bag is slung over her slim shoulder. She's still holding onto the sack with the bagel in it.
As I'm about to start my car, I see the cashier walk across the street and have a seat on the bench in the park. That's not safe, especially when you're hot. I mean, she might dress sloppy but I'd hit it. She's eating her floor bagel. Then drinks from the water bottle she filled in the gym. The park lights shut off on her once it's ten thirty.
I watch this daily routine of hers for over a month until I finally have the balls to go after her one night when the lights go out in the park.
Just as I figured. She's homeless. Now everything makes sense.
Her routine is quite tragic. She wakes up, packs her tent, then takes the tent to the gym with her belongings and, I assume, puts it into a locker in the ladies locker room. The gym is actually part of a hospital, and the hospital serves complimentary coffee, which she partakes in. She does her laundry in the morning at the laundromat and takes advantage of dryers that are unattended by sneaking her clothes in it. Then it's off to work until her shift is over, which she returns to the gym. Fills her bottle of water, collects her things, warms up until the gym closes, then to the park to eat her bagel or whatever discount bakery item she can get that doesn't require cooking before the lights shut off on her.
I'm without words. It's smart to use the gym but so fucking sad. It'd be sad for anyone but this girl is maybe twenty? Twenty-two-ish? I feel compelled to help her but what can I do? How do I tell her I just happened to be following you and noticed you're homeless.
It's not until a rainy Tuesday, that I find some common ground to talk to her. Her name tag says 'Vin'. What the hell? "Is your name like Vanessa or something," I blurt out. "That what Vin's short for?"
Her dark eyes meet mine. "If my name was Vanessa wouldn't it be Van for short?"
"Unless you stole that name tag."
She pats her pocket with the plastic identification on it. "I didn't steal this. They give these to you free when you start."
"Wow, that's some incentive," I reply sarcastically.
"It's just a name tag. You're weird." Vin scoots up her glasses with her knuckle. "Two seventeen, Sir."
I'm weird? Ok, I am if you think about it. I already have thirty-one bottles of soda in my back seat because I can't think of another excuse to come in here and see her. Oh, fuck. Is this stalking? I can't lose my job over this shit. I take my receipt and hurry to my car. As I chuck the bottle in the back seat to make thirty-two, I don't know what comes over me.
I hustle back in the store and press my hands to the conveyor belt. "Look, Vin, I come in here day after day and buy soda. I don't even drink soda. It's all in my back seat. I come in here to see you. These three minutes are the highlight of my day. If you don't want me to come back, I won't. But if it'd be ok, I'd like to come in here tomorrow and buy soda."
Her finger extends outward.
I figured it was her way of telling me to get out until I notice that she's pointing at a giant cardboard box at the front of the store.
"Perhaps you could donate the soda to the food drive."
I sigh relieved and nod. "Ok," I smirk.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she smiles.
"Yeah." I stand up and puff my chest out some. "See you tomorrow."
