Fear and Desperation

Chapter 2

With every passing second, the world around her slowly drew back into focus. There was light, there was warmth; but it was quiet, she realized.

Am I dead?

Abigail groaned as the throbbing ache on the side of her head began to pulse hotly.

No, no… definitely not dead… but where—?

As if being held underwater, Abigail suddenly shot up into a sitting position with a choked gasp, hand clutched at her chest as the events of the previous night came crashing back with the same force she remembered being struck with. Her head spun violently and her stomach lurched, its contents spilling onto the floor as she grabbed the railing of the bed and leaned over.

Raising her hand to wipe her mouth, Abigail's other hand stopped short. To her dismay, she realized she was handcuffed to the railing of the bed; the cold metal of the cuff formed an even colder knot in the depths of her stomach. She shook her wrist once, the rattling of metal on metal echoing throughout the room, and then twice, before sighing in defeat. Everything ached; the muscles in her legs wheezing in protest when she tried to move, but it paled in comparison to the sharp pain in her upper left arm. Her vision blurred threateningly once more, and Abigail fell back onto the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes.

"You belong to me now."

That voice… so frighteningly calculating and controlled, made Abigail to shiver.

"You provide for me, and you answer only to me."

Her gut clenched in disgust as she painfully remembered willingly handing herself over to him – to Negan.

"I own you."

Shutting her eyes, Abigail let out a deep sigh. An inexplicable feeling of dread had replaced the feeling of disgust as her thoughts immediately trekked into dangerous territory.

It didn't take a genius to figure out how a man like Negan would act on her plea of willing to do anything if he spared her life; Abigail had escaped from enough groups of men to know what exactly was on their mind if a woman had begged him the way she had pitifully begged Negan for her life.

But if it would keep her alive long enough to escape, then she would bite the bullet. As much as it made her stomach turn, and as much as it crushed her pride, this world wasn't the same as it had once been – and if you didn't fall in line, then you were either killed or left behind.

A soft click resounded throughout the room and Abigail's eyes shot to the door as a figure slowly entered. She could have cried in relief as the figure that had stepped into the room wasn't Negan, but a doctor – judging by the white lab coat he wore.

Abigail stiffened and watched him intently. He hadn't said anything yet, nor even spared a glance in her direction. Instead, he'd moved to the wall of cabinets and began rummaging through the contents of a draw to his left, taking out what Abigail recognised as antiseptic and cotton swabs followed by a dowel of string and a proper surgeon's needle.

The man himself wasn't anything out of the ordinary. He was tall and slim and looked like any other doctor with a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. While he appeared to be calm, Abigail's heart was hammering. She then saw that he grabbed a needle from a different drawer, and she stiffened as he turned to face her.

"Hi Abigail, I'm Doctor Carson. How are you feeling?"

She didn't speak; her eye was still trained on the needle in his hand as if he would lunge at her at any given moment. He must have noticed her scepticism, and let out a little chuckle.

"It's just a little numbing serum – for the stitches." Placing his tools, and the needle, down onto the small wheeled table, he approached her gently, motioning for her shirt. "May I?"

Abigail turned to face the window, which wasn't much of a window, as he carefully unlocked the set of handcuffs and then proceeded to unbutton her shirt – a light blue one with long sleeves, now that she noticed it – and her only other item of clothing was a pair of black shorts. She rubbed at her wrist as she tried to look out the window; the frosted glass of the windows provided enough light, but sadly, no insight into exactly where she was.

She could be miles from nowhere.

Reaching for his stethoscope, he hooked the ear pieces in and placed his free hand on her back. The metal was cool on her chest and sent goosebumps prickling over her flesh. He instructed her to breathe in, and then out.

They repeated the process another four times before he seemed satisfied. When he turned away to fetch something from the table, Abigail quickly buttoned her shirt.

Dr. Carson grabbed a clipboard from the counter. "You've been out for a couple of days with a concussion. How do you feel? Any headaches or nausea?"

Abigail nodded.

Dr. Carson's lips pursed as he noticed the puddle of vomit on the floor and scribbled something down onto the paper. "Could be from the concussion. We'll keep an eye on that. Any pre-existing medical conditions that I should know about?"

Again, she shook her head. Again, he scribbled something down, most likely for their records. She didn't care; she knew as well as anyone else it was standard protocol as a health physician.

"Negan says you're a doctor."

Abigail hesitated, but quickly composed herself.

"Uh, yeah."

Dr. Carson returned the clipboard to the counter and then turned around, a small smile on his face. "Can I see? The wound, I mean."

Abigail obliged and tentatively rolled up the sleeve of her left arm, thanking her lucky stars that Negan hadn't shot her dominant one. She hissed a breath through clenched teeth as the fabric came over the poorly dressed wound.

Craning her neck, she could see the angry red flesh surrounding the abysmal attempt at pulling the flesh back together. It throbbed painfully when Carson lifted her arm toward him for a better look.

"You did this?"

She nodded.

He chuckled. "Well, considering the situation, it's not a bad job. But I'm going to have to give you that numbing serum first so that I can clean and dress this properly, okay?"

Again, she nodded, and the doctor went about his business. The sting of the needle paled in comparison to the throbbing the wound had already caused, and after a brief pause to see if she was in any discomfort, Dr. Carson dabbed a cotton pad of antiseptic around the angry flesh before cutting the existing string with a set of surgical pliers.

"Hmm… the flesh is a little agitated, but there doesn't appear to be any sign of an infection," he said as he assessed the wound, giving it a gentle prod. She flinched, but didn't say anything.

Looking around, Abigail was surprised to see all kinds of medical supplies and tools that she thought hadn't existed anymore since the world turned; atop the counter were numerous containers with labels, bottles of all shapes and sizes, and God only knew what else was kept in the other drawers and cupboards. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished – or perhaps it was just clean, she thought offhandedly.

To her right, however, was another door; a large metal one with a red and white KEEP OUT sign on the front that Abigail knew contained more supplies and medicine – but she didn't fail to notice the three large, ugly padlocks hanging like ornaments just above the knob.

Once the serum had kicked in, Dr. Carson went to stitching the wound back up with practised ease, as if he'd done this procedure a thousand times in his sleep. Abigail let her eyes follow his movements, unperturbed at the thin bit of metal that was going in and out of her skin.

She'd seen worse things.

"We could always use another doctor around here, you know," Dr. Carson suddenly spoke as he finished the last stitch.

He sighed when Abigail pointedly ignored him.

"Negan – he looks after us here," he said, his tone serious, almost pleading. "We have plenty of food, water and electricity; you'll never go hungry. You can either work to earn your keep, or I can speak to Negan and ask him to let you be our second doctor. I know it's not a glamorous job, but—"

"—I'll think about it," she quipped, desperate to end the conversation. "Thanks."

Dr. Carson didn't appear entirely satisfied with her answer, but he didn't press any further, and for that, Abigail was thankful.

As he began to wrap the wound, the door suddenly opened. Two sets of eyes fixed onto the figure that entered; one set of eyes remaining impassive while the other set grew wide in terror. That same chilling smile was on his face, and the cruel mirth in his eyes was not lost on her.

"Hey, Doc," Negan greeted, swinging Lucille onto his shoulder and letting his eyes heavily settle on her. "What's the good word?"

Negan's gaze never left Abigail as Dr. Carson spoke. "She's fine, just needs some rest," he informed him, moving to pack up the tools he'd used to stitch her wound. "She managed to close it herself before any infections could set in." Dr. Carson paused, his eyes briefly flicking over to Abigail. "It was an impressive job, I must say; and I could always use—"

Lucille was immediately at Dr. Carson's nose, and Abigail's heart sank as he took the hint, gently placed down his tools with a sigh and disappeared into the hallway, leaving her alone with Negan; all the while, his penetrating gaze never leaving her own frightened one.

Now that she was alone with him, Abigail took a hard look at the man she'd resigned herself to that night.

The first thing she noticed was his height – he towered over her without even having to try. Not in the physical sense, of course, since she herself was a mere five-three; but in the way that made you cower on the inside, too. Despite his relaxed posture, there was an obvious strength there lying dormant underneath the leather jacket and red neck scarf. He appeared to be around his late forties or early fifties; the darkness of his hair and the light grey patches in his beard made it difficult to tell.

Abigail swallowed thickly as he took a step forward, determined to hold his gaze. He said nothing for a moment, taking enjoyment in her torment.

"Comfortable?"

Despite the fear and his intimidating presence, Abigail forced herself to speak.

"As much as I can be," she replied evenly.

Negan chuckled. "Not in a fighting mood today, sweetheart? I gotta say, I'm disappointed. And here I was hoping to see a little of that fight in you," he said, coming to a stop mere inches from her knees.

There were a plethora of words bleeding behind her lips, but Abigail held firm and bit her tongue. He crouched down slightly, bringing his eyes level with hers. "Not much of a talker today, are we?"

"I've got nothing to say."

A cruel smirk peeled across his lips. "Is that so?" he said, leaning Lucille against the cabinets and bringing his hands to her shirt. "Well, listen up, sweetheart, because I've got lots to say."

The first button on her shirt came away with a short flick.

"It's pretty simple, actually. You do as I say, and you live."

The second button came undone with ease.

"You help me get shit, or I turn you into shit."

The third followed, quickly by the fourth. Abigail was trembling now, but Negan made no move to stop as his hands flicked open the last button of her shirt.

"That being said," he continued, placing both hands on her shoulders, "you and I both know what that little… stunt of yours meant the other night." In one swift motion, his hands slid down her arms, forcing the shirt to pool around her waist and exposing her breasts.

Negan then stood back, eyes lingering at her chest, a low whistle echoing throughout the room. He then reached for Lucille, gently gripping her by the handle. Abigail watched as Lucille's head came to her chest, and gasped as one of the barbs met her bare skin.

"But lucky for you, sweetheart, I'm an old fashioned, stand-up kinda guy." His smile was wide, and if it weren't for the cruelty of the situation, would have been considered genuine. The barb slowly continued its southbound journey, Abigail still shaking but determined to use every ounce of her being to hold his gaze. "I enjoy the thrill of the chase; ain't much fun in it if there's nothing to work for. You gotta at least try a little."

Negan smirked and then pressed Lucille a little harder, drawing blood just below her breasts, causing Abigail to gasp.

"And as the stand-up guy that I am, I've decided to take you up on your offer."

He then stood, removing Lucille from her chest.

"You see, Abigail, I had plans for you; pretty big plans, actually. But I've come to realize something – you're not like the other women who have begged for their life the way you did. You want to know why I've changed my mind?"

Abigail didn't move.

"I can tell you're not like the others. It ain't a fuckin' compliment, sweetheart, so don't get it into your head that I like you. I see the fight you have in you, I will admit that – but to me, you're still a piece of shit. You are still mine to control, and mine to use. So," he said, cocking his jaw to the side, "when I say jump, what does Abigail do?"

The amusement left Negan's eyes as Abigail glared and refused to answer him.

Suddenly, his hand flew to her injured arm, his grip on it so tight that the pain caused Abigail to see flashes of white. She shrieked when she felt his thumb push hard into the wound, and with a great force, he hauled her from the bed and slammed her against the wall, his grip on her arm still tight; the tools on the small medical table scattering across the room as it was sent crashing to the floor.

"In case you forgot, sweetheart, I own you. I made that pretty fuckin' clear when we first met." His voice was low and menacing, despite her screams that rattled the windows. "So, when I say jump, you fuckin' jump. When I say get on your knees, you'd better do it with some god damned enthusiasm. And when I say pull the trigger, I want you to fuckin' smile as you do it."

Negan then released her, and Abigail slumped to the floor, clutching her arm.

"So, I'm going to ask you one more time, and do not make me have to ask twice," he growled, coming to stand over her. "Jump."

Lucille swung threateningly at his side, and Abigail looked up to meet his gaze. Slowly, she stood to her feet, eyes never leaving his.

He smiled. "Glad to see we are at an understanding, sweetheart. I'll be coming for you, so you'd damn well better be ready."

Abigail watched as he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Nice tits, by the way," he said, Lucille coming to take her rightful place on his shoulder. Abigail watched through strangled sobs and with a silent fury as he exited into the hallway, grimacing as the fresh blood seeped between her fingers.

Dr. Carson entered the room almost as quickly as Negan had left. He moved silently and swiftly; gently helping her back to the bed and tending to the re-opened wound once he'd picked up the scattered tools and buttoned her shirt back up.

"You shouldn't make him angry. Just do as he says, Abigail."

Dr. Carson didn't press for a response as he set her arm in a makeshift sling. Abigail watched as he opened the nearest drawer and produced a small package of caplets and handed two small white tablets to her before moving to the sink.

The sound of the water almost drowned out the soft knocking at the door.

Abigail watched as a woman with short brown hair carefully enter the room. She wore a short, dark sundress that was quite pretty, and suited her slim figure well. Her eyes were a light shade of brown, and her facial features were soft as her eyes moved from the doctor to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't realize you were busy," she said, making a move to leave.

"Nonsense," Dr. Carson replied, turning his attention back to Abigail's arm. "It's in the top left drawer."

Abigail watched as the girl hesitated before walking across the room. She opened the drawer, but whatever she had pulled out, Abigail couldn't see as the woman had it clutched tightly to her chest. She then disappeared through another door that Abigail noticed was a small bathroom.

She tore her gaze away when Dr. Carson handed her a small cup of water.

"They'll help with the pain," he said, nodding to the tablets in her hand.

Suddenly realizing how thirsty she was, Abigail tossed back the pills and very nearly cried as the cool water greeted her lips. She tipped her head back and ignored how the water trickled from the sides of her mouth and onto her shirt.

Having realized the same thing, Dr. Carson took the cup from her hands and refilled it another three times for her, watching in silence as she downed each cup with loud gulps. Placing the cup down, Abigail wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and muttered a small thank-you to the doctor, who began to talk some more, but his words were lost on Abigail as her thoughts drifted.

This wasn't anything like the other groups she'd come across in the past; this place was well-equipped and run by a man who enjoyed torturing others for his own personal enjoyment. This place was dangerous, and Abigail needed to escape – and soon.

But it would be incredibly difficult, she thought; especially with a man like Negan running things around here. She'd need to be extremely careful, but more importantly, she'd need to earn his trust.

That thought made her stomach clench.

The door to the bathroom suddenly opened, and out came the woman from earlier. Abigail watched as she placed something on the counter, but from her angle, Abigail couldn't make out what it was.

Abigail hadn't realized she'd been staring.

"Who's this?" she asked.

"Sherry, this is Abigail," Dr. Carson said. "She'll be staying with you from now on."

Abigail didn't miss the way her expression changed from curiosity to panic.

"Is she—?"

"—No, she's not."

Sherry's fear immediately dissipated.

"Oh, well all right then." She then turned to Abigail and smiled. "You good to go?"

She looked to Dr. Carson, who gave her the briefest nods before turning back to his tools. Abigail then stood and followed Sherry out the door and into the hallway, grimacing as the muscles in her legs still hadn't recovered yet.

The two walked in silence, Abigail taking in her new surroundings. They were in some sort of factory or compound; perhaps a mix of both. The walls were a dull forest green, rust lining the edges of some of the walls and doorways, the concrete floor cold on her bare feet. A handful of men passed them as they headed for what looked like an exit, and Abigail was desperate to change into something that didn't attract so many leering eyes.

Sherry must have noticed her discomfort.

"You get used to it," she said. "But they won't touch you."

Won't touch me?

"Why?"

Sherry hesitated before answering. "Negan."

Of course.

"So," Sherry sighed, clearly desperate to change the subject as she plastered a smile on her face, "how old are you, Abby? Is it all right if I call you that?"

Sherry's smile seemed sincere enough, so Abigail nodded at the question.

"Twenty-five."

Sherry nodded as they came to a door. Abigail stood to the side as Sherry opened it and gestured for her to exit first.

The weather outside was pleasant enough; the sun warming their backs as they walked across to what looked like the main part of the community. A gentle breeze flitted through her hair, and Abigail couldn't help but notice how large the place was; she could see several large buildings, a sectioned-off area that appeared to house a garden and some livestock, as well as a communal area and a place for washing and drying clothes. People walked about, relaxed and… happy, even.

As they walked, they came past a munitions area along with a firing range. The shots echoed like fireworks around the area, rows of men poised to aim at their targets. Despite the humidity, a chill cascaded down her spine.

So much spare ammunition, she thought in disbelief. Just how big is this place? And just how many men does he have at his disposal?

Her earlier thoughts about planning an escape seemed more impossible by the second; this place was built and protected like a fortress. Everything from food, to weapons and to medicine was most likely heavily guarded, and any attempt to steal anything would end with a nice conversation with Lucille.

After a few more minutes of walking, they came to another building.

"Big place," Abigail commented.

Sherry turned to her, seemingly stunned that she'd even said anything. "Oh? Ah, yeah, it's pretty big," she said. "After you."

They both stepped into the building, Sherry leading her up a flight of stairs.

"So, since you and I are going to be sharing a room, let me give you a quick tour. Over there are the bathrooms, which are communal. There's also an activities room down the hall with a couple of couches and a bookshelf, but we mostly just play cards to pass the time," Sherry explained.

"We?" you asked, curious about the others.

Sherry sighed. "Yeah, there are a few other girls who live here as well. I'll tell you about them once we get settled," she said as they turned a corner. "Also, we eat breakfast between seven and nine, lunch is around noon, and dinner is between six and seven-thirty. If you miss out, tough luck. It may look like we have a lot of food, but we're careful about how much we use."

"Be on time or starve – got it," you said.

Sherry giggled. "Yeah, that's pretty much it, really. Oh, here's our room."

The room wasn't as small as she'd expected – in fact, it was large enough to house them both comfortably, and was generously furnished. There was a bed over by the window, covered in numerous throws and a fluffy quilt cover that practically begged Abigail to surrender to it. To the left was a set of drawers that sat next to a partially opened wardrobe.

"It's not much, but it's home," Sherry sighed.

Abigail spied a mattress on the floor that opposed Sherry's bed, coupled only with a rumpled white pillow.

"This mine?"

"Uh, yeah," Sherry smiled sheepishly. "I know it's not very glamorous, but it'll have to do."

"No, no, it's fine," Abigail said, turning to smile softly at Sherry and finding herself becoming more comfortable by the second, the tension slipping from her shoulders. "It's more than what I've had for a long time."

"Well then, let's get you out of those clothes," she said, moving to carefully grab her by the shoulders and steer her toward the wardrobe, eyes roaming from her toes to her face. "You look about my size."

Sherry then began to rummage through the wardrobe, pulling out a few items. "Would you like some pants, or a dress?"

"Pants, please."

Sherry continued to rummage, tossing out a few more items of clothing onto the bed. She then crouched down and pulled out a pair of black boots that were much nicer than the ones she had been wearing when she as picked up by Negan.

Ignoring the chill that his name often brought, Abigail made her way over to the bed and used her uninjured arm to rummage through the clothes, puttied aside a couple of t-shirts and a pair of pants. Sherry had since moved to her set of drawers and tossed her a set of mismatched underwear.

"Take what you like. I have more, or you can go pick some up from the laundry house," she informed her. "That was the red building we passed earlier. Feel free to change in the bathroom while I go get you something to eat," she said, giving her a once over. "You look like you haven't eaten in days."

The thought of food made Abigail salivate. Sherry then left the room, and Abigail took a seat on Sherry's bed, letting her eyes slid shut at the way she sunk into the mattress. As she looked around the room, memorising where everything was located, she almost didn't recognise herself in the mirror.

To put it plainly, she looked like shit.

Her hair was abysmal and wrangled with so many knots that she considered cutting it the first chance she got. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was sporting one hell of a crescent shaped bruise on the side of her head, courtesy of her dear friend Lucille. Coupled with her gaunt cheeks and exhausted expression, she was the pinnacle of shit.

Sherry returned moments later with a tray of food that made Abigail's mouth water.

"It's only bread and beans – nothing too fancy, I'm afraid."

"Thank you," Abigail said sincerely, taking the tray and placing it over her lap and picking up a piece of bread.

Sherry then busied herself with tidying up the room; folding blankets and straightening up various parts of the room. It was silent, but comfortable.

As she ate, Abigail decided that she liked Sherry. She was kind and sincere enough to let Abigail share half of everything that she owned. Not many people would willingly do that while in the middle of an apocalypse; most were selfish, and looked after only themselves.

And if Abigail needed to start gaining the trust of this place and its people, now was as good a time as any to start.

"Where are the other girls?"

"I'm not sure," Sherry answered.

Abigail swallowed her mouthful of food. "What are they like?"

Sherry sighed, an unexpected reaction if she were honest. She then turned to Abigail, her lips pursed in a grim line.

"Abby," she began, appearing to choose her words carefully, "what did… what did Negan say to you?"

Well, that certainly caught her off guard.

Abigail feigned innocence. "What do you mean?"

Sherry then took a seat next to her on the bed. "I know he was in there with you earlier today," she said. "He was, wasn't he?"

Abigail nodded, unable to read the expression on the brunette's face. "Yeah, he was."

"Did… did he say anything to you? What did he talk to you about?"

Not only did Abigail need to earn their trust, she needed to trust them too.

"Well, he told me that… that he owned me," she admitted. "That I answer to him, and only him."

Sherry thought for a moment. "Did he ask you anything?"

"No, nothing specific…" she replied, brows furrowing at Sherry's expression. "Why?"

Abigail watched as the girl beside her struggled to choose her next words.

"He didn't ask you to marry him, did he?"

Abigail's eyes went wide.

Marry me? What on earth is going on here?

"Abby, the other girls here, they're not like you," she confessed, avoiding her gaze. "They… well, they're Negan's wives."

Noticing that Abigail was at a loss for words, she quickly began to explain.

"You see, the people here work on a points system, which acts like currency. However, some of the women have had the option to forego the points system and become one of his wives, where the points system doesn't apply to them. You get whatever you want, you'll be protected, and no-one can touch you – on the condition that you accept his proposal and everything that comes with it."

Abigail's stomach clenched. She didn't have to think about what that last part entailed.

She shook the thoughts from her head. "No, he didn't ask."

Relief flooded Sherry's face.

"He did say he would be coming for me, though," Abigail admitted. "And to be ready for when he does."

The relief immediately washed away.

"Abby, I need you to promise me something," she said, taking her hand. Abigail's confused eyes met Sherry's desperate ones. "I need you to promise me that whatever he says, whatever he asks of you, just do it. There's no reward in testing his temper. Whatever he's done to you, there's more – there's always more."

Wow, I didn't expect such a response from the first chapter! Thank you all so much for your kind words, follows, and favourites. I didn't expect this chapter to be so long, but I'm glad with how it turned out. Let me know your thoughts!

Be kind to one another, and get ready for TWD's 90 minute episode this week! *squee*