CW: Minor gore/violence

Hal's elbow bumps into my arm as he gently crawls off of his mattress. My eyes flutter to adjust to morning light as I watch Hal stir around his crates. I yawn which makes him look over at me.

"Didn't mean to wake you." He says.

"I should be awake anyway." I stretch. I groan lightly at how stiff and sore my upper body feels. Negan was right; I was going to be sore after yesterday. And wet. I put an elbow under my head. "Oatmeal, again?"

"Taste better cold than powdered eggs do. Reed said we have to conserve water, so they're not boiling water for points."

"How long's it gonna take to fix the problem?"

"Marcus said it wasn't as bad he thought, so...maybe a day. Here." Hal hands me a bowl of oatmeal.

I shake my head. "Not hungry."

"Suit yourself." He sits back down on his bed and eats from a different bowl. "Where'd you get that?" He eyes the shirt I'm wearing as he tips a little cinnamon from a small, plastic spice shaker into his bowl.

"Oh, um...I fell in the river yesterday and Dwight had this under his flannel, so he gave it to me." I stare casually at Hal deliberately to shirk off suspicion.

He looks at his bowl and nods. "Klutz."

"What were you gonna ask me yesterday before I hit you?" I ask out of nowhere.

Hal's face grows sober and I prepare for him to play-stupid. He glances out to the other quarters. "I was gonna ask..." He thinks for a moment, "if Dwight or Negan, um..."

"Spit it out, Hal." His face winces and I suddenly am up to speed. "Oh." I snicker.

"It's not funny."

"You want to know if either of them wanted me to put out in order to 'work my way up the ladder'?" I walk two fingers up his arm teasingly and he shrugs them off.

"Excuse me for being concerned." He says embarrassed.

"Thanks for your concern, but I assure you that nothing like that is happening." My faint grin stays in place, but my mind wanders to what happened last night in the closet. Well, that wasn't for a job promotion. I stretch some more and finally stand up. "I better go." I roll my neck.

"What about that?" He tilts his head to my murdered mattress.

"I'll deal with it later." I say as I open my trunk, refusing to look around at all the eyes I feel burning into me. Truthfully, I'm not going to do anything, really. I guess I could, but I won't. Why give these people the satisfaction of knowing that this little trick got to me. I spot my folded shirt by the side, scoop it up, and bashfully throw it inside. The only other shirt I have is what I change into. "See ya later."

I fold Dwight's shirt as I wander to the cells. On the way there, I find Reed leaning against yellow railing, drinking something from a mug.

"Reed?" I sheepishly approach him.

"34?" He mimics me. He knows my name and almost everyone else's. He's the only Savior I think who does, but Reed still calls us by our numbers sometimes to remind us of our place. He's not our friend just because he deals with us more than other Saviors do, or because he's somewhat more approachable.

"I was just wondering if any of the mattresses from the pick up the other day made it back here. Maybe there's one available in the commissary?"

"No. No mattresses got brought in. Why?"

"I was just wondering." I answer as I shuffle off.

Dwight's heading down the hall from the opposite end, when I turn the corner. My chest tightens anxiously as the distance between us grows shorter. What do I say? Do I say anything? Should I wait for him to speak first? Ugh, it feels like I'm in college all over again. He makes it to the cell door a few steps before me. He unlocks the door and tells Daryl to get up. Dwight has yet to acknowledge me and it feels like my breathing has suspended, waiting for a look or a word.

We take Daryl to the fences. That seems to be Negan's favorite task for him, although it hasn't made him break, if that's what Negan's waiting for. It's a dangerous job, but Daryl can manage like the rest of them. When he's in, Dwight turns sharply back towards the factory. I lag behind him with his shirt in hand. After climbing the steps, I realize the door is still open and as I go inside, Dwight closes the door. He then continues walking.

"Um, Dwight." I mutter. He stops but doesn't turn around. I hold the shirt up with my hands under it like I'm offering him a precious artifact. "Here's your shirt back." Dwight shifts and upon seeing it, moves forward and snatches it from me. My hands shrink back at his forceful grab. Is he pissed?

"Thanks." He rasps while whipping around and stalking off. My eyes drift to the people down below. Some are glancing up at me as they work. Well, that's just great. I start after Dwight, but once he notices I'm following him, he calls over his shoulder, "You can go back to your quarter, I'll come get you later." Yeah, he's pissed.

The next two days are spent in near silence. The tension is pretty uncomfortable, but I understand, in a way. I recall what I overheard Negan telling that guy the other day about Dwight turning down opportunities to sleep with women. And he did make up an excuse to Laura as to why he couldn't hang out her. She's seems like a real go-getter, he's probably aware of her interest in him. Maybe the divorce, so to speak, of his wife is hard to handle. Particularly, because of the circumstances and that Negan obviously has no problems gloating to Dwight about it. So, I suppose, knowing what I know, I shouldn't have initiated what happened in the closet. When we broke from each other, maybe I should have walked out of the door instead of closing it with us inside. But all he had to do was tell me to stop and I would have. If he's not interested in sex, or a heat of the moment blowjob, then why he didn't stop me?

I sleep next to Hal each night and offer to get dinner to make it up to him. I go into my trunk with the guise of making sure no one stole anything, but really I'm just going sneak Daryl the last of my good protein bars. After I do just that, I get in line for the commissary. I buy a light pink t-shirt, since I only have the one I'm wearing until washday. I buy two sleeves of stale crackers, a jar of peanut butter, and an even smaller jar of preserves. It's actually the best meal I've had in a while. Except that sandwich half Dwight gave me.

"Don't laugh, you dick!" Hal chuckles as he holds his side, "That really hurt!"

I put my hands over my face to cover my smile. "It was an accident." I muffle through fingers. I accidentally brought my elbow down on his ribs when I woke up in my usual fashion of bolting from my dreams. He's sitting up; milking his "injury" and I can't help snickering. I pat his back, "Shake it off, handsome."

"Fuck off." He laughs. "You got crumbs all over my bed!"

"It wasn't just me." We both chuckle.

The curtain pulls back and who else but Dwight walks in. His eyes are fixed on the two of us on Hal's mattress. His expression is unreadable, but not necessarily blank. I get up and dust off some crumbs on my shirt. Hal moves as well to make himself breakfast. Dwight finally looks down at my mattress and his face twists. I mosey around Hal's quarter and work my way to the entrance where Dwight stands. His eyes are still focused on the mattress. I clear my throat to get his attention. It works and he looks me over.

"C'mon." He says tersely.

Daryl's taken out front to help prepare Simon and a select group of Saviors for an outing. From the looks of it, it would appear that they are going far and might be gone for a while. Simon gives me the hibbies and the jibbies. He's just a weird man who has this eerie energy to him. The very day I met him, I was chilled by his odd friendliness that I learned could turn sour easily.

I let Simon bring me here when him and a team of six Saviors saved me. They were driving down the road when they came upon a swarm of roamers pawing relentlessly at a car. I was alone by this point. I had been with a small group of twelve for a while, but I exiled myself two months back and had been roaming around alone ever since. I usually just stuck by the road without actually traveling on it and had managed to wander down into Virginia. I had fallen asleep in the abandoned car the night before and got spotted by the dead when I panicked awake from a dream. I could barely make out the people who jumped out of the old mustang and ford bronco that had been lifted, because of the murky windows that were made worse by the blood spatter. The people dispatched the biters fairly quickly and to my astonishment. When the biters stopped biting, a door was abruptly opened and a mustachioed man lowered his head to look in the back of the car where I was sitting on my knees on the seat. He looked at me and I stared back at him, waiting for him to say something. "Well, good morning, " his smiled buoyantly, "Need some help there, friend?"

Had I known what I know now, I would have closed the door and locked it along with all the others. But I know that wouldn't have done shit for me and that I was going to go with them whether I agreed to or not. I meekly nod my head and the man reached in to take my hand. I put a trembling palm in his calloused one and he yanked me out of the car. He explained to me that he could take me to a safe haven, far from the terrors of the world. Made the Sanctuary seem like a wholesome community that only asks that everyone chips in to keep the place running. I almost turned him down, but my gut told me not to. People in this world are unpredictable and I was too weak to try and run. He put his hand out and introduced himself as Simon. I, once again, took his hand and told him my name. He could've broken my arm with how zealous his handshake was. I rode with him back to this grand sanctuary. The small talk was dominated by him, which he didn't seem to mind. I just kept quiet and grew more and more anxious about my decision. Turns out, Simon wasn't necessarily lying about The Sanctuary being a haven from the terrors of the world and about it being a community where everyone has to pull their weight. He just left out the fine print about being owned by an even more charismatic madman, being oppressed by a volatile class system, and not ever being allowed to leave.

"You should be alright," He said as he welcome wagoned me around for a bit with his arm around me, "Pretty dames tend get taken care of around here." He grinned as he winked at me. A few hours later, I witnessed a brutal punishment, started by Simon and ended by Negan, that quelled any notion I had of leaving as well as gave me a good understanding of the pit I had fallen into.

"Well," Simon's voice brings me back to the present, "long time, no see!" His mustached face grins at me. That's because I avoid you. Dwight is over by the trucks, talking to someone. My eyes are begging for him to look this way and rescue me by motioning me over. "Earth to Angel face." I roll my eyes back to him. "From what I hear, you're really takin' back the night, as they say."

"Simon!" A random Savior calls out.

"Yeah?!" Simon answers back.

"We're all good to go!"

"See ya later, friend." Simon smiles as he takes a radio from his belt and walks away. I hear him tell Negan that they're heading out and there is a response, but it's inaudible between the static and growing distance. Don't forget to not write, creep..

Dwight leads Daryl back to the entrance to mop the second floor again, since it had more flooding last night. Turns out the problem wasn't as simple as Marcus had originally thought. Inside, Dwight tells me I don't need to be there and that he'll come find me later. His tone attempts to be plain, but there's some sting there.

Hal's there when I get to the quarters. "What are doing?" I ask.

"Marcus said he needed a break after slipping in some water and landing hard on the bathroom floor," He smirks," so the few of us he picked to help him with the pipes also get a break. You?"

"Dwight has Daryl, the guy in the 'A' suit, mopping the floors and told me I didn't need to hang around," I raise a mischievous brow, "one of the perks of letting a Savior with some pull nail me." I snort in dry humor.

"Not funny!" Hal fights back a smile.

I go to sit on my dead mattress to get into my trunk and immediately regret it. "Ouch!" A spring scrapes the side of my left thigh, poking through the fabric of my pants.

"Look, mate. You got to get rid that. It's depressing...and dangerous."

I sigh. "Yeah, you're right. Help me take it outside."

We hoist the mattress up on different ends and work our way out of the quarters. I plan on taking it to the east side where there are dumpsters. Everything that winds up there is later burned in a control fire, or taken to the incinerator. Our dead are burned either way, according to how well the incinerator is working on a particular day. We make it to the cement steps.

"I'll go down backwards, pivot it a ways." I instruct and we slowly guide the mattress down. I take cautious steps down the stairs.

"Careful," Hal warns. Just as he says that, his foot misses a step and he slips, dropping the mattress. It knocks into my shins and I fall forward, sliding down on top of it the rest of the way.

I feel the scraping metal of a spring etch across my skin. "Shit! Fuck, Hal!" I push myself off the mattress. Hal struggles to hold in a laugh. "Jackass!" I chuckle.

"Ha-ha, slut!" He laughs. I glance down at the mattress with my hands on my hips. Ha-ha, slut, indeed. My shoulders rise up and down as I cackle. "Oh, shit! Nan, you're bleeding!"

I move my hand over to the pain coming from the bottom of my right ribs. Some blood paints my fingers, so I lift my shirt up and discover that the cut is deep. "You need to go to the infirmary. That might need stitches." Hal winces. "C'mon, I'll walk you."

The two of us go down the halls and as we approach the second floor, I get the feeling to turn back. "You know, it's not that bad," I say unconvincingly as I hold my hand to it. It isn't life-threateningly, it just hasn't stopped yet.

"No, you need to go see Carson," Hal sounds like a mother hen, "Even if its not that bad, you still need to get it clean. You could get tetanus." I roll my eyes and keep walking.

As we round to the second floor, I see Dwight leaning against the wall opposite to the bathrooms. He stands up straight when he notices the blood on my hand and shirt. Marcus and some point-workers are in the bathroom working on the pipes. Dwight turns towards us. "What happened?"

"She fell on a spring from that cut up mattress we were tryin' to get to the dumps." Hal answers.

"Hal?" Marcus' voice echoes in the bathroom. He pokes his head out. "Good, you're back. We figured things out, so get in here."

"I've got to take her to Carson." Hal replies.

Marcus looks at my bloody fingers. "She ain't dyin'," he diagnoses, "Let her walk herself. You need to earn you bread, kid."

"It's okay, Hal." I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I'll take her." I gaze over at Dwight, bewildered, and then nod for Hal to go ahead and get back to work before his points get suspended for disobeying Marcus.

Our walk to the infirmary is excruciating and can't end soon enough. Carson is moving some things around in the infirmary when we enter. He quickly notices my bloody shirt. "My goodness, what happened here?" He inquires.

"I fell on a mattress that had springs sticking out and I got cut." I briefly inform.

"Well, you will definitely need some antibiotics, in hopes of keeping the wound clear of any bacteria if it was metal that cut you." He approaches me, "Can I have you lift your shirt, please." I nod and hold my shirt up so he can see the gash. Carson places his fingers delicately around the wound like I'm made of glass. He tilts his head here and there, while examining the wound. "Mmhm, one inch across. You'll need a few stitches, my dear."

"Okay." I mouth and go over to the examine table to have a seat. Dwight has stuck around, for some reason. I would've thought he would leave as soon as we reached the infirmary, since he's been treating me like a nuisance again for the last couple of days.

"Do you have a another shirt you can change into?" Carson asks while rummaging through the cabinets. "I don't suppose the stains will come out."

"Not unless we have lemon juice and club soda," I murmur stiffly. Carson smiles, not taking my acrid comment rudely. " I can go get my other...clean one."

"I don't recommend you go with the blood loss." Carson asserts. "But I guess if you-"

"Just stitch her up and I'll go get the shirt." Dwight interrupts, annoyed. "Where would it be?" His eyes move to me.

"In my trunk." Dwight leaves promptly, closing the door behind him.

Carson starts to put the needle and stitching down, along with gauze and a thing of rubbing alcohol. "Any other injuries?"

"I got poked really hard on the side of the leg, but I don't think it's deep."

"What about the rips on your pants?" I furrow my eyebrow in confusion. I look down and, lo, there are some tears down the front of my pants with a little blood on them. How did I miss those? "If you don't mind, I'd like to clean those, too."

"Sure." I grin subtly.

"It will require you to remove your pants," He explicates, "If your uncomfortable with that I-"

"It's okay, I don't mind." I tell him.

He pats down his coat and sighs in frustration. "I left my glasses in my room. I can't patch you up with out them." He heads to the door. "You can undress in the bathroom, there, and wait for me to come back."

I hop off the table and remove my shoes, pants, and shirt. I stand in the infirmary in just my underwear, bra, and folded socks. While waiting for the doctor to come back, I inspect my tattered clothes. Jesus, I'm not going be able to get these stains out. I hold the ruined shirt to my wound and I sit back up on the table. I inspect my cuts and scrapes on my legs and knees. The door finally opens, but it's Dwight who enters instead of Carson. He's taken aback by my being half naked. His eyes wander the room, presumably, looking for Carson.

"Carson went to get his glasses." I rasp. Dwight makes eye contact with me and forces himself to keep his eyes forward.

"Here," he holds out my seashell pink shirt, "this was the only shirt you had that was clean." My cheeks redden at the thought of Dwight looking through my trunk. First of all, trusting a Savior to poke around my trunk is a huge deal for me. Dwight has no qualms about taking things from point-earners, so its not like I'd be paranoid. But, that's not what makes me feel worried. It's the fact that he saw the shirt I was wearing the other night, folded inwardly to conceal his dried semen.

"Thanks." I take the shirt and set it to the side near all the medical equipment.

"I also brought these," He removes my black leggings from under his arm, "I, uh, figured you might want them since your pants are torn."

"Thanks." I repeat, accepting the leggings. Neither of us says anything for a while. What's taking Carson long? I, of all people, decide to break the silence. I count to five in my head. One- two- three- four- five go! The words stick in my throat. Damn it. One- two- three- four- five go!

"Hey, um, Dwight?" Atta, girl. Dwight, whose head is turned to the cabinet, looks over at me. "I, uh...I'm sor-" before I can say more, Carson walks back in. He eyes the two of us, but doesn't question. Dwight leans against the wall with his arms crossed, looking down to the floor.

"Alright, if you could just lie back on table, I'll begin as soon as I wash my hands." Carson washes his hands with soap and a bowl of water like they do in the period movies. I lean back and put my left hand behind my head. Dwight can leave at anytime, but he oddly doesn't. Carson offers to apply a numbing gel around the gash, but I turn it down to spare my points. I breathe deeply as the rubbing alcohol stings and Carson pats the area with some gauze. I close my eyes to shake the focus off the feel of the needle and stitches weaving through my flesh. "Interesting tattoo you have." Carson remarks suddenly. I open my eyes and look up at the piece under my upper arm. People usually don't notice it because of my shirtsleeves. It's of a Georgia O'Keefe painting.

"I got it when I was twenty." I say.

"How about the other ones?" Carson's questions make me feel like I'm a kid he's trying to distract while giving a booster shot.

"The others I got along the way. Here and there." I answer about the three other tattoos on my now visible body. Carson nods.

"Alright, you're all done," He smiles. I glance down at the gauze that covers my stitched up cut. The air raises goose bumps as it licks the cool spots on my skin where Carson put rubbing alcohol.

"Thank you." I grin as I push myself off the table and shake his hand.

"Here's some antibiotics, you need to come back for another dose at least once a day for the next two. To be on the safe side." Carson hands me a pill and some water from a pitcher. I nod at him while thinking about how many points this will all rack up to. He writes on a note card and gives it to me. Yikes. As I dress, I notice that Carson is carrying on with his work, instead of trying to peep at me like some Saviors I know would. I appreciate it and it reminds me that Carson is considered a Savior only because he's our only doctor and Negan allows him the same privileges to make sure he's healthy enough to keep being our doctor. That he is professional and didn't have to earn it that same way the others did. And doesn't let the power go to his head. He isn't a cretin like Davy. "You should eat something, just to cope with the blood loss. And antibiotics can be tough on an empty stomach."

Dwight and I leave Carson and I plan on just going back my quarter. We turn a corner and Dwight stops at the door he entered a few nights ago, that I assume is where he lives. I continue walking.

"Wait." He calls. I look back at him and he enters the room. Like the weird S.O.B that I am, I just linger in the hall where I stopped. I clasp my hands together with uncertainty and listen to the clinking sounds coming from inside the open room. He finally emerges from the room with a sandwich on a plate. He extends it over to me and I look at him curiously. "Doc said you needed to eat."

"I have stuff in my trunk."

He scoffs, probably a little offended. I am looking at him like he might have poisoned the sandwich. "Peanut butter and jelly...and half a sleeve of saltines?" Hal and I polished off most of the crackers last night. I reluctantly take the plate and walk off.

I go to the yellow railing that Reed was leaning against the other day and sit down, resting my back on it. Dwight has followed and leans on the railing. I balance the plate on my knee and begin eating one half. Goddamn, that's good. It's just lettuce, tomato, and a little mayonnaise but man, oh man is it good. Where'd he get non-expired mayo? Is that a hint of pepper? I don't know what Dwight is doing here; I'll return his plate. He barely says anything to me for two or three days, except to tell me to go back to my quarter until I'm needed, and now he's taking me to Carson and making me a sandwich. Say something. Okay. One- two- three- four- five go!

"I thought you said that guy wasn't your boyfriend." Dwight breaks the silence. Ah-ha! He had an agenda in all this.

"He isn't." I claim.

"Didn't look that way this morning." His tone sounds blandly accusative.

"You saw my mattress," I retort, "And we burned all the mattresses from Alexandria." You. You burned all the mattresses from Alexandria. "Hal and I are friends. He shared his mattress with me...and his blankets since mine were stolen and burned." Poetic justice?

Dwight's quiet for a minute. I can't help but feel sort of affronted by his inquiry about Hal. "Who did that?"

"Don't know, don't care." I sharply answer. I really don't care.

"Whoever did it, used a knife, which is a weapon. Which is prohibited, which means it was stolen." He elaborates.

"Go look for it then." I mutter while taking another bite. He scoffs. He does that a lot.

"It doesn't bother you that someone stole a knife and your bedding before shredding the shit out of your bed? That would worry me."

I shrug my shoulders. Nobody's going to stab me in my sleep. They don't have the guts...maybe. " Why do you care?"

"I don't." Dwight sneers.

"Then why ask?" Cool it, Nan. I hear him sigh through his nose, irritated. I stand up and basically shove the plate back to him. "Thanks for the sandwich." I turn to head towards the stairs. I'm usually not a bold motherfucker, but something comes over me. "I sucked your dick, I didn't leave a spare toothbrush at your place. So, you don't get to give the third degree about me innocently sharing a mattress with my friend." With that said, I continue to causally walk to the stairs. I'm both proud and nauseous.

I go back outside to the mattress and because it's still early enough for my day to worsen, Negan is there. He's got his hands on his hips, looking down at the mattress. I walk down the steps. "I was taking it to the dumps." I sound apologetic. He's probably pissed that someone just left a mattress lying here. He looks at me with a dark expression.

"This is yours?"

I nod my head yes. "I fell while trying to get it down and cut myself. I just came from the infirmary." Negan's eyes look like stones as he stares at me. He finally huffs.

"Well, let's get it to the dumps." He goes to one end and picks it up. "Don't just fuckin' stand there, get the other end!" I obediently grab the end. Negan walks backwards to the east side of the factory. The dumpsters are to the right of the east yard. "Who did this?" Negan asks.

"I don't know. I wasn't there when it happened." It doesn't take us long to get there and Negan does most of the hoisting it takes to get it in the dumps.

"Well, time to go fucking find out, right?" Negan's smirk returns to it natural habitat.

"I'm not bothered by it. Really." I say hoarsely.

"You might not be, but I fuckin' am!" Negan booms. "Not only has one my mattresses been destroyed, but with a knife that I'm gonna say was fucking stolen. So that is big deal to me, I can't have some prick running around stealin' knives and slashing up my shit!"

I swallow nervously. I don't want anyone to get hurt for this. I mean, it was a shitty thing to do, but not worth losing a hand over. This means that Negan will organize a raid through the quarters to find the stolen knife. It'll be a nightmare.

"Th-they probably returned it." I say breathlessly as I try to keep up with him. He ignores my words and walks back into the factory. Shit, shit, shit! He puts his hands on the railing and the people below kneel.

"Reed!" He shouts. Reed stands and looks up at him. "It would appear that someone in the quarters has taken something sharp and carved some mean words into 34's mattress. Leave no stone unturned until you find that shit and the person responsible. Unless...someone wants to come forward, now." Nothing. Negan nods at Reed and Reed and some other Saviors start heading to the quarters. "Oh, and Reed?" Reed stops. "No need to search 34, she obviously didn't do that to her own bed." He then walks off while telling the people still kneeling to get back to work. The workers all look scared. Even if they're not the guilty party, they still don't want the Saviors trashing their living spaces. Or witness the punishment that will result once the prohibited item is found. I don't follow Negan or give him the chance to make me. I head to the second floor.

Once I get there and I don't find Dwight or Daryl, I head to the cells. Daryl's not in his cell yet when I finally find them. I'm out of breath by time I reach the two from running through the halls. Dwight looks at me with a raised brow as he turns the key in the lock.

"They're...They're raiding the quarters." I try to steady my breathing. "Negan found the mattress and wants to find the stolen knife."

"So?" Dwight opens the door and Daryl glances at me as he enters the cell.

"Please!" I plead. " I don't want anyone to get in trouble because of me." Daryl's standing by in his cell, watching my reaction. Dwight looks over at him and them pulls him out by the shirt.

"Better get you back that mop." Dwight tells him. "You'll need to clean up the mess." I chest and burns with fury and anguish.

"You-"

"I," Dwight stops, his scarred side is turned to me, "Can't do anything. And if I could, I still wouldn't. Rules are rules. Whomever did it is gonna get what's comin' to 'em."

I wallow behind them, sickened. Tears well up in my eyes when we get to the sight. Everything is chaotic. The only noises to be heard are of the Saviors dumping things out of crates or containers. Things breaking and clanking against the smooth, hard cement floor, while papers sweep against it. Some of the numbers from the lines have fallen down. The people in the quarters stand and watch, as that's all they can do as they're spaces are pillaged. A guy suddenly calls out that he found it. A knife is found in quarter 78. The resident is a baker that I hardly know. I've never done or said anything to him before, so I can't reason why he would do this out of nowhere. As the man grabs the baker by the arm, a woman shrieks out for him to wait. It's the woman who I argued with the other day. She cries out that the baker is her boyfriend and she put him up to it. That makes more sense, though I can't believe she had him do something like this for a few, snappy words. If anything, she walked away the champion of that spat, since she did ruffle my feathers. The Savior takes both of them. Negan is radioed about finding the knife and the two thieves. Everyone is told to gather for the "show." Ten minutes later, Negan strolls to the stairs and we all kneel. Dwight pulls Daryl down with him. Negan descends half way.

"You all know the rules." He says calmly. "Folks who work for points are welcome to majority of what we Saviors go out and scavenge. So long as you work hard and earn it." Scavenge? Extortion and scavenging are two different things in my opinion. "But, there are some things that are prohibited in the quarters and off limits." He points to me in the crowd. My cheeks redden as some heads turn in my direction. Stop making things worse. "This good lady, here, has no where to rest her pretty little head, because those two people violated the rules and stole a prohibited item; a knife and proved my point. On your feet!" We all stand as he walks the rest of the way down the stairs. I spy Hal standing with Marcus and the other workers. Carson's standing in the crowd with his hands sheepishly in his coat pockets. Both culprits are brought to a table. The man's left hand is brought down flat onto it and held in place by a Savior. The man's breathing is quiet, but fast. Negan works his way to the table and is handed a butcher's knife. "Point-workers can't have these items, because they're not trustworthy enough with 'em."

The Savior removes his hand, so that Negan can hold the guy's wrist. "This is gonna make a big 'ol mess." He chuckles. Negan swiftly brings down the knife on the guy's exposed wrist, lopping off the hand. The man yells in pain and blood pours out of the severed space. My jaw nearly drops in shock. The woman whimpers and tears run down her face. The Savior who held him down ties a tourniquet around the man. The woman's hand is placed on the table next and Negan shakes his head. "You, Darlin', are way luckier than that poor bastard." He points to the guy who Carson's now attending to, with the butcher's knife. "You're only losin' these two digits, here." She cries out in fear and he brings the knife down again. The woman screams in agony and holds her hand that's now missing half of her pinky and ring finger. Blood spurts out of the wounds and a Savior has to grab her to take her over to Carson. The freezing factory air stings my left cheek as a tear escapes my eye. Carson mutters something to the two Saviors and they pull the two disciplined up and drag them to the infirmary. Negan has blood splattered on his face and in his beard.

"Let this be a reminder of the consequences every fuckin' person here faces, if they steal and,or posses contraband!" He drops the knife on the table and heads for the stairs. "Follow the rules and nothing like this has happened, again. Why?"

"The rules keep us safe." Everyone answers almost simultaneously. My stomach lurches as I mindlessly mumble the well beat in phrase.

"That's right." He says back as he climbs the stairs and goes back from whence he came. Everyone clears out and returns to work silently. Even the Saviors keep their traps bolted. The crying of the woman can still be heard from the factory floor. I hurry to the stairs and scale them unevenly to get outside the factory. Once I'm out to the front entrance, I grip the yellow rails and vomit over the side. You did this. I vomit again. No. Negan did. I didn't want this to happen. You should have kept the mattress inside; no one would have known. Dwight knew. Dwight, that son of a bitch. I vomit once more. The door opens and closes behind me.

"Alright?" Hal asks.

"I'm fine." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Here." I turn and Hal gives me his water jug. I waterfall some of it and swish it around in my mouth. "That wasn't on you, love. That was on them. Don't put that guilt on yourself."

I spit the water out over the railing and take another drink. " I said I'm fine, Hal." I walk past him and go back inside. Daryl's scrubbing the blood from off the table and another guy mops the floor. Dwight looks up and sees me standing by the stairs. I scorn down at him and storm off to God knows where. If I was being shunned before, this ordeal has officially accelerated me to maximum exile. Not only did Negan make it seem like I tattled, but now I'm the girl whose quarter was the only one untouched and got two people mutilated. Before I know it, I'm down by the cells. I walk over to the cell I was put in when I killed Ronnie. I grab the knob and turn it. It's unlocked. I go inside and close it. I slowly pace the tiny room in an attempt to calm down. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It is. As I put my hands on my hips, I crack. I bend over and place a hand on my mouth to stifle my crying. I put my other hand on the wall, as I slink down. My knees are pulled up to my chest and I place my head in my hands.

Time passes before I hear footsteps stop before my cell. I hear keys enter the lock of Daryl's cell. I get up and open the door and both Daryl and Dwight look at me. Dwight swings the Daryl's door open and shoves him inside before angrily shutting and locking it. He pounces immediately, grabbing the door and opening it wider. "What are you doing?" I don't answer; I numbly walk back into the cell and sit criss-cross on the floor. "Get up."

"No." I feel like a pouting toddler, but I'm not leaving here until I'm good and ready. Dwight scoffs and quickly looks down both ends of the hall, before stepping inside the cell and the shutting door behind him. The cell is nice and dark with the door closed.

"You need to quit feeling sorry for yourself and get up." He growls.

"Leave me alone."

"Those people got what they deserved."

"Fuck off." I murmur.

Dwight gets downs on one knee to be eye level with me. "You don't care about them. You're just worried that everyone else blames you." He says matter of factly. "And they will. I've seen the way they look at you."

I look at him with red-rimmed eyes and push myself to my knees. I reach my hand over to him gently, before clutching a fistful of his button down shirt. "I just want to sit here and be left alone." I bring my fist forward a bit. "I don't need a pep talk from you, okay?" His hands wraps around my wrist and tugs my hand free from his shirt. His grip isn't hurting me, but I still reach over to pry his fingers from my wrist. His other hand seizes my other wrist and he pulls it away. I struggle to break free from his firm grasp. "Let go!" Dwight releases me and I push him back so hard, I lose my balance and topple onto him.

I stare furiously down at him with a heaving breath. His gaze matches mine. Prick. Without another second, I bring my mouth down on his, hard. He reciprocates the kiss and puts a hand around my arm. He turns himself over with his other hand pressed on my back. He's now on top of me and we continue to heatedly kiss. I reach between our pressed bodies and push down my underwear with my leggings. I start to sightlessly fiddle with his belt, when I feel his hand brush roughly against mine to undo it. I hear the clinking of an undone belt and his pants zipper glide down. In an instant, the warmth of his legs is against mine and the hardness of his penis between them. I slide my legs up slightly and a gasp huffs out as he enters me.

Dwight stops kissing me and his head nearly settles in the crook of my neck as he begins to thrust. I close my eyes tightly and snake my hands under his arms and up towards his shoulder blades. His moans breathily and quietly and I feel myself start to unravel with each deep buck. Within a matter of seconds, my breathing inclines faster and faster, until it reaches a pinnacle and I'm over the edge. A moan escapes the back of my throat as I feel my self flutter around him, so I place the back of my hand over my mouth. My cheeks flush as he keeps thrusting and the sensation doesn't end. Shortly after, he groans and pulls out of me with a ragged breath. He hovers over me while he pants heavily. I put a hand over my chest and feel the lub-dubbing of my heart. Dwight finally gets up, still catching his breath, and starts to collect himself. He looks down at me and then shrugs off his vest and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

He hands it to me. "Here, you can use this to clean up." I take the shirt and clean his spill from my thighs and tummy. Luckily, it doesn't get on my clothes. I toss the shirt to the side when I'm done. Dwight puts his vest back on over his white t-shirt and extends his hand out to me. I pull my leggings back up and shake my head.

"I have nowhere to go." I say coolly. "I can't go back there after what just happened."

"C'mon, get up. You can't just stay in here."

"I'll be fine. Just go." Dwight shakes his head, frustrated. He grabs his shirt from the floor and exits the cell.

I close my eyes. I just want to be alone for a while.

Alright, two chapters in one week lol! Thank you everyone to everyone who took time to review. Your sweet and humorous thoughts, as well as, honest feedback is valuable and encouraging! It's good to hear that my fic is being enjoyed.