Negan breezes through one of the doors that will take us back into the factory, whistling that infamous tune. His long strides make it hard to keep up, so I have to speed up my pace in order to match his. It's harder than it seems since I have to practically scurry and manage to look out for a swinging Lucille. There's a myriad of sensations tearing around inside me like a hornet swarm. I know Negan has to be taking me inside because that's where the platform and biggest audience will be for whatever punishment I'm in store for. I feel as if I could buckle under the weight of all the physical pain that the anxiety and anger have stirred up in me. But I maintain a marble expression as best I can. For as long as I can anyway.
Once we get to the catwalk near the stairs, Saviors and point-earners alike stop what their doing and kneel before the prick. I remain standing behind him, not really sure if I should be kneeling too and because I'm afraid if I do my knees will give out. The last thing I need to do is display how weak and afraid I am.
"As you were!" Negan shouts as he descends onto the factory floor and people pick up again. But not without noticing me with him. I tread lightly down the metal stairs, watching as each foot meets a step until I reach the bottom and see Negan's boots pointing in my direction. I timidly crane my head up enough so that my eyes meet his. Negan has a closed smile drawn across his face and his eyes are chillingly lit. I would wager at the thoughts of my pain and suffering at his hands.
"Well?" Negan raises his eyebrows expectantly. I nervously gulp and try to prepare my raw feeling throat for a pitiful explanation as to how Daryl got out. Although, I really don't know how he escaped. I know I locked that door; I remember hearing the bolt slide into the wall when I turned the key.
"Aren't you gonna take me back to your place?" He said after a few seconds. I furrow my brows in confusion that makes him laugh. He playfully sighs, "I mean I suppose we could go to mine, but I figured since your place is closer and because you let a guy almost escape," he drifts closer to me, "you would be gracious enough to invite me over for a drink."
"A drink?"
"Yes, Nan, a drink. I'm thirsty. That is why we came inside, right?" Is he kidding? I thought we came inside so he could maim me in front of an audience. Negan steps to the side and extends his arm to the left in an 'after you' manner.
I shrug past him and keep my eyes from wandering to any of the people who are watching as the man follows me back to the living quarters. This is utterly mortifying, Negan never goes into the quarters, at least not since I've been here. Even when someone's been caught with contraband, Negan doesn't make an appearance until it's time to publicly dole out the punishment. I can feel the daggers digging in from every person's eyes we pass.
I walk through the curtain, not holding it open for Negan and stand over by my trunk. I hold my hands in front of me and wait for him to duck into my quarter. He looks down at my mattress, "What a lovely home you have, Nan!" He chuckles. "Bit of a rough neighborhood, though, you should consider moving." I stare at him with an arched brow, waiting for him to finish making fun of my quarter.
"Jesus, lighten up, sweetheart. I'm fucking kidding with you," he smirks, "How about that drink?"
I bend down and open my trunk to reveal the jug of water I have. "I don't have any cups." I say embarrassed. Negan cranes his neck over to take a gander at all my worldly possessions. He briefly glances up at my perplexed face and snickers.
"Just making sure you don't have any prohibited items in your treasure chest," He jests. Prohibited items for point-workers include weapons, tools, stolen items, and medicine. Weapons for obvious reasons and tools because they can be used as weapons. Stolen items are things you have but didn't pay or trade for them. Weapons and tools also count as stolen items since you'd have to take steal them in order to have them. People aren't allowed to have medicine in their quarters because Negan doesn't want them stock piling and trading it to other people like a black market. If you need medication, you have to pay for it and if you need medicine frequently, then you have to go to Carson every time you need it. Negan wants people to depend on him and all the goods and services his Saviors provide. The Saviors do "inspections" sporadically where they rarely find contraband, but almost always find items to make their own.
"Yikes, you are not fairing well, are you?" He scoffs. I've about had it with him joking about how I live, since his system is what has me sleeping on a dirty factory floor with nothing of value to my name. "You, sweetheart, need someone who-"
"I'm sorry that Daryl escaped. I don't know how he got out, I know I locked the door." The words burst out like vomit from all the nerves that have been building up through this whole thing.
"Fat Joey unlocked the door." Negan announces. My mouth hangs open a bit at his placid tone. He laughs at my response and licks the corner of his smiling mouth. "Oh, man, D didn't tell you?"
"I don't understand." I nearly whisper.
"Actually, you do understand, Nan. That's why you're here and Daryl is out there," Negan steps closer to me and speaks a little lower, "Because you understand and abide by the rules. All Daryl had to do was stay in the damn cell like a good boy and show that he gets it. But he didn't, so now he's gotta learn. Right?" I submissively nod my head, intimidated by the tone of his voice and how near he is.
"Fan-fucking-tastic!" His voice picks up, causing some people near by to look over at us. My face reddens with embarrassment from all the attention he's attracting.
Negan turns around and lifts the curtain back. Oh, thank God, he's leaving! "Reed!" His deep voice echoes loudly through the area. Negan looks back at me and points to the water jug. "Bring that over here." I hand it to him and he twists off the top and takes a good swig from it. I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back how annoyed I am. Reed walks over to my quarter with his clipboard.
"Reed, what is the point count for this little lady right here?"
"Let's see," Reed flips through his logs, clicking his tongue while do so, "34 currently has a hundred and seventy-five points."
"Ho-ly shit!" Negan laughs. Yeah, I know I'm behind by a lot, but making bread isn't a lucrative position here. "You poor thing, how the fuck have you not starved to death?" He chuckles.
I've managed to keep from starving to death and maintain a healthy-ish body weight because all I eat are those gross protein bars. That doesn't mean I'm a one-woman army, it just means I have a fair amount of calorie intake. Hal is also kind enough to share his powered eggs and oatmeal from time to time. And when he occasionally splurges on vegetables, fruits, or hot meals, he insists that I eat some, the angel. He says it's like having a family meal.
"I manage." I reply coolly. Negan looks me over before smirking.
"Reed, my good man, why don't you double 34's points?" What? That's a lot of points.
"Sure thing." Reed jots down on his log while flashing me a look of warning not to object. Negan puts a hand on Reed's shoulder and nods, giving the okay to return to work. Once Reed's gone, Negan glances over at me with a clearly proud-of-himself smile for having been so kind. It makes me uncomfortable; this is too kind which means there must be catch.
"I figured you earned that for the good behavior Dwight has reported on and because you could stand to gain some weight." Was that supposed to be a compliment? "What do we say, Nan, when we're graciously given something?" Negan speaks in a patronizing tone like I'm a child who forgot my manners.
"Thank you." I force out. Negan leans his head back and chuckles throatily.
"You are very welcome, sweetheart!" He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and lets two ungloved fingers trace my jaw line. His eerie delicacy sends a shiver through me, making him smile so much that I notice dimples appear that I never knew he had before. I left my chin up and turn my head while clearing my throat to indicate discomfort.
"Well, thank you for having me over, but I'm gonna go get something fuckin' stronger, " he hands me back my water jug, "maybe you'd care to join me?" I glance to the side at him, disinterested. "Maybe next time," he lifts up the curtain to leave, "Oh, and Daryl doesn't need to be checked on until D gets back."
That worries me about Daryl's condition. I know the reason that Negan doesn't want me down there is not because he doesn't want me to see how badly Daryl's been beaten, but because he suspects I'll sympathize with him and Negan doesn't want Daryl to be shown kindness until he submits to him. Some clanking sounds remind me that Negan and I weren't alone. I survey the unhappy faces that saw Negan here with me. All the unwanted attention really makes me want to go down to the cells, where I was planning on going before I was told not to by Negan. I leave my quarter anyway to take a walk for a chance to clear my mind.
I aimlessly wander through the Sanctuary, dismissing all troubling thoughts. Mindless shuffling isn't just for roamers. I inadvertently make it to the cells and I stop at the door to listen. Quiet. Of coarse, why would it ever been anything other than quiet. Daryl never makes a sound. Maybe he's unconscious. What if he has a concussion? He could die. Crap. I start to go for the keys that I have tucked in the waistband of my leggings, but I stop myself. You understand and abide by the rules. Stepping away from the door, I choose to keep walking. I'm no savior, no real one anyway. Daryl has to learn the rules if he wants to survive. To save himself.
The staircase I'm about to climb is occupied by two shadowed figures leaning against both sides of the walls, smoking. I instantly recognize one of them to be Dwight. Normally, I would turn back, but some wild hair compels me forward up the stairs. The two people look down on me, the other is that wife of Negan's who warned me about Daryl. She seems to be worried like she's not suppose to be here. Dwight, who's leaning on the right side of the wall, shifts his body towards me while putting his cigarette out on the wall. He looks like hell, but I don't care. He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't give him the chance.
Smack! The woman gasps at the sound of my hand colliding with Dwight's face. "You left and didn't tell me Negan was gonna test Daryl and so I freaked out when he wasn't in the cell and I went looking for him, thinking I had fucked up!" I point an accusing finger at him. I don't know what possessed me to slap Dwight without so much as an ounce of fear or reason, but the moment I saw him here on the stairs, anger overwhelmed me. He should have warned me about that little trust exercise. He just stares at me, scanning my face.
"Hey, look-" The woman begins to speak but I put my still burning hand up at her. I pull the keys from my waistband and fling them at him, but he doesn't attempt to catch them so they clink on the step below him. Whatever. I turn around and descend the stairs, not caring what sort of hot water my words or action will put me in. Right now, I feel so exalted I could laugh although, I think I might throw up.
Fifteen minutes after I puked in the bathroom on my way to the quarters, Hal comes back from working out in the mechanic's yard. Hal said he was in the British armed forces for a few years and is a pretty skilled sharpshooter. He keeps that secret from the Saviors for obvious reasons; he doesn't want to have to do the horrible things that we all know they do for Negan. According to Hal, he's always been good with his hands, quick to learn, and can jerry-rig anything. So, he's an excellent addition to the mechanic's yard. "Evenin', gorgeous."
I smile feebly and sit on my trunk, facing him. More people are here as well and some look down right pissed at me, while others are standing in close circles, whispering gravely. One woman has a hand over her mouth like she's heard something really upsetting.
"What's going on?" I ask Hal.
"Nothin'."
"Hal, after the day I've had, trust me when I say I handle whatever's being said about me. So, what is it?"
"Well, okay. For starters, no one's really keen on you hangin' around with the Phantom of the Opera and-"
"Hal!"
Hal rolls his eyes. "And helping him tote around that guy they brought back. And to make matters worse, some people said they saw Negan with you in here and that he was rather sweet on you. So, people are a bit bothered with you at the moment."
"It's not like I want to help Dwight or that asked Negan to follow me back here. They know how it is. You do what they tell you to do and you live."
"Yeah, well, it doesn't stop 'em from thinking you are taking up with 'em." That hurt a little. I know Hal doesn't personally think that, hell he told me to listen to them the other night, but his curtness of tone really stung.
"What's she crying for?" I scoff at the woman who's still holding one hand to her mouth and is now wiping tears from her eyes with the other. What the gossip, mere gossip, of me drinking the kool-aid is that hard to handle?
"Gordon ran off today." Hal explains. Gordon is a kind man who works in the coops and the small garden. He must have been the Grab n' Go situation Dwight was handling. Almost all of those situations are resolved by the Saviors bringing the runaway and the stuff they stole back. The punishment for stealing is getting either a finger or, in some cases, a whole hand cut off.
"Where's he at?"
Hal looks up at me solemnly. "He's a deader, on the fence. Bullet hole in his back."
"Oh." I shamefully get quiet. Now, I really don't regret slapping Dwight in the face. I wish I would've hit him harder. "Um, how about I buy us some dinner?" I awkwardly grin, trying to change the subject. Hal snickers at that, shakinghis head.
"You buy us a hot meal? With what, your charming personality?"
"With the points I earned...from working with...Dwight." I suddenly lose my appetite at the thought of Negan doubling my points for aiding Dwight with feeding Daryl dog food. The most points anyone can earn in one day are thirty and that depends on what your job is. Hal earns thirty for doing a more important job. As a baker I made ten. When Negan told Daryl that he'd wish he were dead if he worked for points, he wasn't lying. That's too many points; there has to be a catch.
" S'alright, love," Hal says after reading my face, "I just bought some ramen packets, so how about I get us some hot water?" I smile at him.
"At least let me buy the hot water."
I make it to the small kitchen that's really more of a small room like the commissary where I could buy the hot water. The people who work there boil the water on camping stoves that sit on those collapsible recreation tables. It's where hot meals are prepared and served, except for bread. I hold the small bowl that Hal gave me to get the water with. This place is always crawling with Saviors coming in and out around this time of day. Normally, I could keep close to the other point-earners, but they all shoot me a look that makes me reconsider. Once I get the hot water, I attempt to get out as quick as possible to get away from the wolf-whistles and heckling.
"Hey, sweetheart!" I cringe at the sound of Davy's voice. He's one of the worst Saviors to inhabit this place. He's hot-tempered and sure as shit scares the hell out of me. Davy always leers at me and any other woman he knows he can easily intimidated.
I pretend like I don't hear him but, as my luck would have it, he approaches me. "How's it going, sweet cheeks?" He puts himself in front of me and grins like a predator. When I don't answer him, he puts his hands under my chin and turns my face towards him. Other Saviors pass by, snickering at his actions.
"Look at those bruises," Davy says with mock concern; "You must really like it rough, huh?" My face blushes with anger and I give him a disgusted look. It only makes him grin bigger and lick his teeth. "Am I right? Are you a kinky girl? 'Cause I can be rough if you maybe wanna go back to my room and..." Out of nowhere he grabs one of my butt cheeks and squeezes it. It startles me forward a bit and I accidentally drop the bowl of hot water that spills all down Davy's mid section, making him yell out in pain.
Oh. My. God. What is wrong with you?! You just spilled boiling water on his dick! I hastily pick up the bowl and hold it in my hands like some poor Joe who's trying to apologize, hat in hand. Before I can say I'm sorry, Davy furiously grabs my arm.
"You stupid fucking whore!" He reaches his hand back and brings it fiercely across my face, bloodying my lip. Davy's about to backhand me again, when someone yanks his hand down and steps between us.
"That's enough!" Dwight yells at Davy.
"Stay out of this, D," Davy growls, "That bitch fucking dumped scalding water on me!"
"It was an accident, man, I saw it!" Dwight lowers his voice a little, but not quiet enough that the other people around us can't hear him. "You made her jump when you grabbed her ass." His tone makes Davy draw back. He sneers at Dwight's implication that he touched me suggestively without my consent, which could get him into trouble with Negan. All the other Saviors got quiet at his words, too.
"What-the fuck-ever." Davy grimaces. He threateningly points a finger at me before huffing off.
Dwight turns around to look at me and all I can do is stare at him with my saucer eyes, mouth agape. Did he just save me? Not help, but save me? Davy is volatile and unpredictable, who knows what he would've done if Dwight hadn't intervened. He sighs through his nose and looks down at the water on the floor. "Clean this up!" Dwight orders me and I get a mop, still stunned. After I've cleaned up the spill, I hastily exit the room. Dwight's waiting outside, probably to make sure I cleaned the mess.
As I move past him, he follows. I look at him concerningly, "What are you doing?"
"Davy's still pissed. You want him catching you alone?
Dwight walks me back my quarter, which doesn't make me anymore popular with everyone else.
"Nan!" Hal jumps up from his bed. I suck in my lip self -consciously and taste the blood. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing, I'm okay." I insist. Hal looks behind me with angry eyes. I turn to see Dwight still standing there.
"Thank you, Dwight." I rasp.
"Yeah." He replies dryly, walking off.
"Hey, wait a sec!" I call softly. He turns a little, the scarred half of his face illuminated by the lamplights of the factory. "I'm sorry for earlier."
Dwight scoffs and then continues to go. It's then I realize he's sort of limping.
That night I didn't sleep well. I kept replaying the day over in my head, especially the last few hours. Daryl escaping and being beaten up in the east yard, Negan standing here in my quarter, having Reed double my points, me slapping Dwight in the stairwell, and then him saving me from Davy's assault. I strike him and he saves me. Why would help me after that? He didn't step in the other day when those three guys stomped Russell to death.
The next morning is Thursday, so I get up and gather my dirty clothing to take it to the laundry room, which is just a room down near the cells where you can use points to get a bucket of lukewarm water that, like the water in the "kitchen" is warmed on a camping stove, and a little detergent to hand wash your clothes. If you have enough points, you can have someone wash your clothes for you, but the people who work there are always so swamped with washing the Savior's clothes that no one really ever does because the laundry workers won't have the time and then it'll be points wasted. I sit on a stool and scrub the fabric of my clothes together to work out the dirt and flour. After about thirty minutes or so, I leave to go hang my damp, rung out clothes on the line that runs along the quarters for drying clothes. People are even more pissed at me then before. I guess having both Negan and Dwight here yesterday was not a good thing, although I didn't choose for either any of this.
As I get closer to the cells, I can hear a Roy Orbison song serenading the halls.
'I was all right for a while, I could smile for a while
But I saw you last night; you held my hand so tight
As you stopped to say "Hello"
Aw you wished me well, you couldn't tell
That I'd been crying over you, crying over you
Then you said "so long", left me standing alone
Alone and crying, crying, crying, crying'
I round the corner to find Dwight leaning by Daryl's door with his crossed arms resting on the wall. It looks like he's listening for something. Oh, no. Did Daryl die? Is he listening for the snarling that that kind produces? A wash of guilt nauseates my stomach. I should have looked in on him yesterday, Negan be damned.
"Is everything okay?" I nervously ask, making Dwight turn his head that's resting on his arms. I dart my eyes to the door to relay my concern.
"He's fine." Dwight answers quietly but bitterly as he faces back the other way. I lightly walk closer to the door and listen intently. Underneath the sorrowful music, I begin to make out the sound of...crying? Daryl's crying? I turn my head slightly so that my left ear faces the door, hoping to get a clearer understanding of what I'm hearing. Yes, he's definitely crying. Which means he's still alive. I feel Dwight's eyes on me, which makes me want to look back. His eyes are inquisitive, wondering why I haven't burst into tears at the sound of Daryl's choked out sobs. It's a heartbreaking sound to hear, but I remain reserve as I look at Dwight. Heartless bitch.
A few seconds pass between Dwight and I, before he sits up and turns his back on me to leave. Don't go. What? I shake the feeling of disappointment. Get it together, Nan. It's just the music.
'Yes, now you're gone and from this moment on
I'll be crying, crying, crying, crying
Yeah, crying, crying, over you.'
When the music stops, I can hear Daryl attempt to calm himself down and stifle his crying.
Later on in the day, Dwight fetches me from my quarter so we can take Daryl to Negan. When Dwight opens the door to the cell, the faint smell of vomit hits my nose. He's lying on his stomach asleep near a puddle of sick, a ruined sandwich, and an overturned Polaroid picture. Where'd he get that? Dwight tells him to get up and he stirs to his feet. His jaw looks to be a little swollen from the beating he took yesterday. Daryl doesn't look at either of us as Dwight pulls him out of the cell. I look back down at the Polaroid and wonder what its a picture of. I crouch down and flip over the picture. What the-
"Leave it," Dwight startles me, "He can keep it."
The three us step inside that room Daryl and I were placed in front of the day before. Negan's already there, sitting in the leather chair with his leg resting on his knee. I 'm hoping I'll be told to just wait out in the hallway, but Dwight closes the door behind us and sets his cross bow down to the side.
"Well, look at you," Negan addresses Daryl as he gets up from the chair with a glass of water in hand, "you look awesome, thirsty?" Daryl takes the glass from Negan but doesn't drink from it. "Hell, I forgot. Your mouth is all puffed up like a baboon's ass. Need a straw? D, get him a straw, what's wrong with you?"
Dwight walks over to the counter behind Negan. "Don't worry, Carson will fix you up." Negan glances over and winks at me with a smile. I meekly avert my gaze. "And look at you!" I suck in my lip that's a little busted from where Davy smacked me last night.
"Let me guess, I should see the other guy, right? Am I down another prick?" I lightly shake my head and Negan scoffs amusedly with his tongue in his cheek. I can feel Daryl's eyes looking at me.
Dwight sticks a straw in the glass Daryl's holding.
"See that guy?" Negan gestures to Dwight. He takes the glass from Daryl since he hasn't drunk from it. "He hustles. I like hustle. But believe it or not, things weren't always cool between us. See, D here, He worked for points. Him and his super hot wife and her super hot sister." Dwight had a wife and sister-in-law? "But see, sis. She needed meds and that shit is hard to scavenge, so it cost more. Sis fell behind on points, so I asked her to marry me. Told her I would take care of her in sickness and in health, blah blah blah, because I am a stand-up guy!" His eyes flicker over to me and his smile spreads. I turn my head away and focus on the glass in Dwight's hand.
"She tells me she's gonna think about it. Next thing you know, I'm dealing with an orange situation! Dwighty boy here stole all the medication and took off with his super hot wife and my super hot maybe soon-to-be fiancée!" My head drifts upward to view Dwight's blank face. Negan continues with a little more seriousness to his zeal.
"So I had to send my guys after him, because I can't let something like that stand," Negan lightly bangs Lucille on the floor and gives Dwight an affronted glare which makes Dwight hang his head a little, "There are rules. Cost me an arm and a leg going after him and you know what? Dwighty boy? He still got away!" What?
"But here's the thing. D, he saw the light. He manned up. He came back. He asked for my forgiveness! I like that. Made me take notice. But Lucille, " Negan waves her in Daryl's face, "Well, you know how she is. A real stickler for the rules. So, Dwight, he begged me not kill Sherry, which I thought was kind of cute, so I was just gonna kill him. But then Sherry says that she will marry me if I let Dwight live, which, if you think about it that's a pretty screwed up deal, 'cause I was gonna marry her sister until she wound up dead, but Sherry is super hot!" Every time he says 'super hot' I cringe. Does this guy own everything except a thesaurus?
"Anyways, it was a start, but it wasn't enough. So Dwight, he got the iron. And then I married his super hot wife. Ex-wife," He gloats in Dwight's direction. Dwight's face remains unphased. "And after all that, he still got on board. And now look at him. Pow! One of my top guys. And we are totally cool! The point being, I think you can be that guy. I think you are ready to be that guy." He spreads out his arms, wanting Daryl to take in the room. "All this could be yours! All you have to do is answer one question for me: who are you?"
Daryl watches Negan silently. After a few moments of Daryl remaining quiet, Negan speaks playfully but agitated. "What's a matter cat got your tongue? I know, you're just overwhelmed by the awesomeness of this," He takes a big step towards Daryl, "I'm gonna ask you one more time." Now he's dangerously close to Daryl, trying to intimidate him." Who are you?"
The next few second are long and excruciating. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Even with his terrifying, unwavering stare, Negan seems to be holding his breath in waiting for Daryl to speak. After what feels like an eternity, Daryl finally breaks the silence.
"Daryl."
Dwight turns to him, "This is the only wa-" Negan clears his throat irritably which silences Dwight.
"It's cool, D. He made his choice," Negan drawls displeased, "Ain't my problem if he made a dumbass choice."
The walk back to the cells is all a blur to me. My head is pounding with the all the information that Negan dropped on the table. Dwight escaped? Like actually ran from this place and got away? And then he just came back and... I glance up at his scars. Dwight, he got the iron. I never knew until now how Dwight got his scars. I've had to witness a lot of punishments, but I've never seen someone get the iron, so I didn't even know it was a thing. I always figured Dwight's scarred face was just another hazard to living in this world like losing an arm that was bitten. Or dying. How come no one told me all of this before? I mean, Hal and the others would know what happened, right?
"You're gonna wind up in that room, or hanging on the fence!" Dwight's angry shout calls me back to reality and I realize he's thrown Daryl in the cell. Exasperated, he steps back to shut the door.
"I get why ya did it," Daryl's gruff voice stops him, "Why you took it. You were thinking about someone else. That's why I can't." Dwight stares into the cell for a minute then shuts the door with a frustrated sigh.
Our eyes meet again and I feel the impulse to speak to him. To say something that wouldn't seem like I was just being nice or pitying to him because of what I just heard. Something like a normal would person would think to say. Instead I say nothing, like the weak, pathetic person that I am. He looks me over and brushes pass me. I trail behind him, not to follow, just because it's also on the way back to the floor level. He stops at a random door, opens it, goes inside, and shut it loudly. I thought the room we were just in with Negan was Dwight's room? Guess not. I awkwardly linger in the hall for few seconds. I'm not sure why.
I sit criss-crossed on my mattress with my elbows resting on my knees and my head in my hands. The wriggle my nose in frustration and because the damn factory air dries out my nose which bothers me nose ring. Every time someone looks my way, I raise an expectant brow that makes them timidly turns their heads. Hal comes back to the quarters with a damp load of laundry.
"Here's your shirt back." I toss him his folded shirt he lent me.
"Thanks. Everything alright?"
"How come you didn't tell me about Dwight escaping?" I ask tersely. Hal 's brows knit together.
"What?"
"Dwight, he escaped the Sanctuary and go the iron when he returned," I look directly at Hal, "why didn't you tell me that?"
"I don't know. I didn't think it was relevant."
"You didn't think it was relevant?" I laugh sardonically. "You and the other people who told me about Dwight, skipped over the part where he fled this fucking place with his wife and her sister and then came back because none of you thought it was relevant? The part where he begged for his wife's life and how she married Negan to keep him alive wasn't relevant? Him getting the iron, whatever the fuck that means, wasn't relevant?"
People begin to stare at me since each new sentence gets louder. "What?!" I snap at the crowd. They all look away.
"Hey, cool it, Nan!" Hal steps forward, touching my shoulder.
"Why Hal? Why did everyone omit a huge chunk of the story?" I demand.
"I don't know!" Hal sighs and looks down. "Dwight was alright when he was one of us. But then he changed and I guess everyone can't really sympathize with a man who went from never having killed someone before to killing anyone without question."
"That's not fair! He kind of doesn't have a choice." I recoil at my own words. Sticking up for Dwight?
"Not fair? Ask Gordon what's fair, he's right outside!" Hal puts his hand up towards the front door, "Gordon was kind to Dwight and look how much it mattered to him. Dwight chose to work for Negan; he wasn't forced to become a Savior. And even if that was part of the condition of him getting to live, it didn't mean he had to become an arsehole like the rest of them and kill a man who he didn't have to kill! "
I know Hal has me there. Dwight didn't have to kill Gordon; he could have just brought him back. "Whatever." I mutter defeated. I walk over to my trunk; snatch two protein bars from it, and storm out of the quarters. I'm flustered and confounded at my sudden defense of a man whom I have always disliked. A man whom just yesterday I slapped across the face.
When the coast is clear, I get down on both knees and unwrap the peanut butter protein bar. "Daryl?" I call softly. He's not going to talk to you. I slide the bar underneath the door. "You have to eat it before tomorrow." I listen for movement but there is none. "Please eat it. Negan will know I gave it to you." As I leave, I still hear nothing, so I just have to hope that he'll eat it and not spitefully leave it there. Why would he care if I got in trouble? If I were in his position, that's what I'd probably do.
I eat my "coconut cream pie" flavored bar as I make my way to the entrance. Don't do this, Nan. I have to. The factory entrance's big metal doors are wide open and I see a familiar silhouette outside. Dwight has a beer bottle in his one hand, looking out at the fence. The fence workers have an old water cooler jug with the top cut off over the biter's head as they add him to the fence. They seem to be fastening him tightly to the chain-link. After he's secure, one of the workers swiftly removes the jug off Gordon's head while the other worker uses a pole to push him back as they dart away from him. He writhes on the short leash they have him on and he quickly snaps around to face our direction. Gordon's fingers clutch onto the fence as he stares at Dwight who's more easily in view. Dwight stares back for a while before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand and then angrily throwing it over the railing.
This action makes him catch sight of me, which makes me want to sheepishly turn away. But I don't. I let my eyes meet his, more humanely than I usually do. "Hi."
"Hey," He barely says before shuffling back into Sanctuary. Wait. Come back. No, it's okay that he left. I didn't come out here to see or talk to Dwight.
I look out at Gordon who's managed to turn himself back to his original direction. There's a bullet hole in his back.
Once again, thank you for the kind reviews and for following/favorite-ing! I'm glad Nan is getting such a warm reception, too! Well, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to review!