"One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began..." Mary Oliver, The Journey

"Anna!" The voice of my grandmother calls out from the front of the shop. I'm lightly dusting powdered sugar with a sifter on the top of a cake. "Anna!" She repeats. I brush my hands on my apron and head up. I can hear two old ladies laughing.

"Yeah?" I answer as I emerge from the back kitchen and into the front of my grandparent's bakery. There are two customers standing in line. One's a usual customer, Yoon, who knows my grandma from the book club they're both in. She loves my grandma's lussekatter. The other is a younger man with a baseball cap and his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. I've never seen him in here before. He's looking intently at the glass counter that shelters the baked goods.

"Oh, good," my grandma beckons me over with her hand, "can you help this young man, please." The man and I's eyes meet as she walks past me, putting a tender hand on my arm as she does. Her and Yoon prattle on, off to the side about "the nerve" of some character from a book.

"Hi," I greet while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "What can I get for you today?" His blues look at me and then back to the counter. After a few seconds, he sucked air through his teeth and lightly shakes his head.

"I don't know," he admits, "I've never come in here before. My mom had surgery yesterday and she's always talking about this Swedish bakery. So, I thought I'd find it and bring her something from here, but to be honest I don't really know what to get."

"How nice!" My grandma chimes in, while walking over to us. "You are so good to your mother." She smiles.

The man smiles back. "Bit of a mama's boy." They both chuckle and I grin. My grandma always makes friends with the customers. It's one of her admirable qualities.

"Let us help you. We will pick the good stuff." She suggests. She goes over to get a white box and begins to fold it.

"Yeah, why not?" He puts an agreeable hand up. "Who knows better than the professionals, right?" He grins at my grandmother and then me. I smile weakly back at him, not use to customers being so laidback and friendly. Not to say that our customers are all rude jerks, but most just make believe that the glass counter that separates us doubles as a wall that prevents social interactions. I kind of use it like that, too.

"I like you," My grandma laughs, "You are a smart boy."

"I have my good days." He replies, which makes her light-hearted laugh carry as she places some cardamom rolls in the box along with a few lussekatter and gingerbread. She closes the box and places a stick with "Henricksson's Bageriet" written in black, glossy letters.

"Here you are," She hands him the box over the counter and they walk towards the register, "That will be ten dollars and forty-five cents." The man puts the box down on the counter and reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He hands my grandma a twenty and she opens the register to get his change.

"Thanks." He cups his hand and takes the change and starts to put it in his wallet.

"I'm Sanne," My grandma extends her hands which the guy takes, "This is my granddaughter, Anna." The man offers his hand to me and I politely shake his hand. My grandma's admirable quality can be equally annoying.

"Hi," I meekly say.

"Hi, I'm Charlie," He smiles kindly, "Nice to meet you both. Thanks for the help. My mom will be happy to see me for once in my life." The two laugh and I can't help but to do the same under my breath. "You ladies have a good one." He nods before glancing back at me. When he opens the door, the bell that rings when someone goes in and out sounds a little strange. He looks back and smiles as he closes the door behind him. The bell rings the same, odd way again. I don't know why it bothers me, but it does.

"What a nice boy." My grandma comments as she watches him cross the street. "Very handsome, too." She pats my arm as she moves past me. I roll my eyes, knowing what she's getting at.

The bell rings again and that eerie chime makes me jump a little. "Is the bell broken?" I ask.

"No." She replies on her way to the back of the bakery. I go to follow, but the bell rings again. What the hell? The door is closed. It rings again and it's starting to make me nervous. My eyes are fixed on the bell, waiting for it to ring again. It doesn't, so I turn around to return to the back. All of the sudden the bell rings again and I spin around and witness the bell ringing itself in that slow, creepy tune. I'm jolted by the loud, pounding knock on the door. I don't see the person who's knocking, just the thing they're knocking on the glass pane in the door with. A barbed wire baseball bat.

My heat throws itself against my chest and my eyes open to the dark cell room. I grab a fistful of blanket and hug it tighter to me. Wait...blanket? My eyes move cautiously to my shoulder and I slowly turn to get a better view of the khaki green fleece blanket that is draped over me. How the hell did this get here? And then I quickly recall the events of yesterday...or today; it's hard to tell in here. The punishment of the two who stole the bread knife to rip apart my mattress with. Me, coming here and then Dwight...Dwight.

I sniff the blanket. Yep, this is Dwight's. I pull the blanket off and sit up. The incident that occurred in here floods my brain. I, once again, instigated whatever that was. What's wrong with me? Dwight is such an asshole. I let myself forget that for a few days because of that sob story Negan told Daryl. I allowed myself to block out that fact that he's where he's at in life, because he "earned" it. I hear what sounds like keys jingling outside and then the grating of a key sliding into a lock. The door right next to mine opens and I hear Dwight's voice. A minute later, the door closes and it's locked.

A shadow glides through the light from underneath and the door is opened instantly. Dwight stands in the doorway, peering down at me. He walks in with a plate in hand and crouches down. He leans his back against the wall and hands me the plate. I take it and set it down on the floor next to me.

"You should eat," He says softly, yet hoarsely, "He wants to talk to you." I don't have to ask to know that he's talking about Negan. Great. I glance at the plate. There's a two slices of bread with preserves spread them. I pick up a piece and hold it without taking a bite.

"What does he want?" I ask while looking at the bread.

"I think you already know." Dwight answers curtly. "Be smart," He adds, "You were right, yesterday. You can't go back to the quarters. After what happened yesterday, it's too late to try and go back to how things were before."

"It's not like I was voted Miss Popularity before."

He scoffs lightly. "Maybe not, but now..." He knows he doesn't have to finish the sentence. I bitterly bite into the slice of bread that I'm holding.

"Why did you come back?" I ask after swallowing the first bite.

"What?"

"The blanket?" I lift the crumbled up blanket that's on the side of me. "This is yours." I don't tell him how I know that.

"I don't know." Dwight looks at his hands, "Hurry up and eat, so we can go."

Dwight takes me up a couple floors and through a ton of corridors before we finally get to what, I think, is the top floor. A potent smell of perfume or incense fills my nostrils as we work down the hallway. There's a room that's double doors are open and as we pass, I glance in and see whom I assume are Negan's wives sitting around gaudy furniture. Some of them look towards us as we walk by. Finally, Dwight stops us at another set of double doors, except these ones are closed. Dwight knocks on one of the doors and a second later, Negan's voice shouts on the other side.

"What?"

"It's D," Dwight answers loudly, "I have Nan with me." There's sharp whispering from behind the door, a woman's voice, and Negan answers the other person by telling her to open the door. A moment later, the door abruptly opens and the woman from the stairwell walks hurriedly past us. Her eyes avoid ours and she's got a hand over her chest to keep her silk robe closed. Both of us watch as she hastily goes into the room we passed before.

"Come in," Negan calls out of sight. Dwight signals for me to go in and it makes me realize he isn't going in with me. I step in to find Negan shrugging on his leather jacket. "Good morning!" His teeth are annoyingly gleaming. "Close the door." He orders. I reach behind me to close it and notice that Dwight has gone. Wonderful. I turn back around and take in the kingly quarters of our sadistic leader. What, did he loot an Ethan Allen store? His bedroom is good sized and like the room we passed on our way here, it's brilliant, but a tad over the top. It's way more extravagant than what everyone else has. "Sit down." Negan motions to a chair. I sheepishly go over and plant it. He has a seat across from me on a black, leather sofa. A glass, gilded coffee table rests between us.

"What a crazy day that was yesterday, huh?" He snickers as he swings right foot over to rest on his left knee. "Where'd you end up sleeping?" I look up from my lap.

"In the cell next to Daryl's." I reply honestly. I don't see how I could get in trouble for that. He laughs at my response.

"Shit, sweetheart, you didn't have to do that! All you had to do was ask and I would have found some place cozy for you to sleep." His eyes glint and I catch them flicker over to his unmade bed right before he blinks.

"What was it you wanted to see me for?" I ask while picking at my thumb.

"Straight forward." He grins, "I like it." I meet his grin with a blank expression. "Alright, down to business. You've been working for me for about a week or so, and I think you are ready to move on from trailing D like a damn dog. Breaking Daryl really is a one man job, anyway." I nod my head to show I'm listening. "So, what do you say we cut those aprons strings from Dwight and find you a fuckin' job, workin' girl?"

You mean like the one I had down at the baker's station? I bite my cheek. Dwight was right, though. Things can't go back to how they were. I have no place among the point-workers anymore. The only one who would accept me is Hal...maybe Sharon. I think I can only go forward at this point, or risk whatever may come if I refuse to work for him. My thought drift to Daryl.

"What do you say, Nan?"

After weighing my options, I glance up to him and take a deep breath. "Okay." I nod heavily.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he says smoothly, "Head down to the front gate, you start guard duty. Six hours, from nine to three. Then you'll be on control burn duty. Go over to the east side, Keller already knows to expect you."

Already knows to expect me? Negan knew I wouldn't turn down my promotion.

"Okay," I repeat as I rise to exit.

"Nan?" Negan hums, making me turn around. His face is more curious and sober than before. "Who are you?" Negan's eyes pierce me as intensely as his question did. I feel my eyelids numbly blink as I harden myself to keep from crying. Please, don't say it. A familiar voice echoes through my head. "I need an answer, before you go, sweetheart," Negan smiles, but he's perfectly serious, "Who are you?" Don't do this.

"Negan." He chuckles and claps his hands together as he stands up. He saunters over to me and places his ungloved hand behind my hand and through my messy ponytail. I tense up at his touch.

"Good girl." He whispers gruffly before kissing the top of my head. I step backwards and leave as composedly as I can. What have I done? I thought it would be easy. I practically did it that day in the east yard when Daryl escaped. I tried to harden myself like marble to get passed it like nothing. Instead, it feels like I might collapse. Get it together. Marble up.

I walk over to one of the guards that's standing by the gate. He's resting one arm on the assault rifle he has strung around his shoulders. "I'm suppose to be guarding the gate." I say to him. He doesn't say anything to me; he just lifts the gun off himself and hands it over to me. I sling it over me; fuck is it heavy, and stand where he stood. There's another guard on the over side of the gate. I've seen her before. She's got cornrows and is only a little bigger than me, but that's just because she's better fed since she's a Savior. What are you? I uncomfortably adjust the gun strap on my shoulder. Should I even being handling this? I've only ever used a handgun. And I've never had to use it.

"Want some?" I glance over to the other guard. She's got a tube of sun block with the cap flipped open. I awkwardly extend my hand out and she squeezes a dollop onto three of my fingers. "Standing out here in the heat is way fuckin' harder, if you got a sunburn." She informs as she puts the tube in a pocket of her cargo pants. I rub the goop between my fingers before applying it to my face.

"Thanks." I say while taking whatever's left over and trying to work it down my arms.

"No problem. I'm Solara."

"Nan."

"You the new girl, right?"

I feel something the acidity of bile rise in my throat. "Yeah." I murmur.

It's not long before Dwight and Daryl come outside and Daryl's put to work around the fences. Through the dirty hair that curtains his face, I can see Daryl's eyes furrow with confusion. Or maybe disgust, who knows.

Solara lets Daryl through and Dwight looks me over. "Gate duty, huh?" I twist my mouth and look down. He lingers a bit before striding off. I turn around to watch Daryl, the others, and the dead and wait for the next six hours to pass. Solara has a tough looking exterior and I don't doubt that she is tough, but she's not so bad. She offers me some water from her canteen since I don't have my jug and every now and then, a reapplication of sunscreen. We don't really talk to each other, but better than being stuck with some other asshole.

Around three o'clock, according to Solara's wristwatch and verbal updates, two Saviors come and relieve us of our posts. I walk to the east side and discover some guys piling thing from the dumpsters onto the back of a truck. A man walks up to me and asks if I'm the new girl. I wince and nod my head yes. He introduces himself as Keller and explains to me how control burning works. He claims it should only take an hour since there's not that much in the dumpsters. As he's talking, my eyes wander over to the mattress that two guys are pulling out of the dumps. My mattress. The 'ha-ha slut' cut into it is illuminated by the sunlight behind it. Once the dumpsters are emptied, Keller motions for me to sit up from with him in the truck. Another guy squeezes in, putting me in the middle. The others that were helping climb up on the hatch and bang the sides of the truck.

We exit the Sanctuary, but only go about five miles out to this fraction of a town. Keller proceeds to explain control burning to me and the safety precautions that should be taken when doing so. The men who came along toss the garbage to the side, while Keller and I put everything into on two concise piles. Once that's done, the guys douse the two piles with dead grass and a tiny bit of lighter fluid before striking matches and tossing them onto them. The fires start pretty quickly and we all stand back to watch it. Some of the guys make jokes about roasting wienies and marshmallows while other smoke. My eyes are transfixed on the mattress that burns in the pile nearest to me. The 'whore' side mocks me, even as the flames eat away at it. I remind myself that those two people didn't deserve what happened to them, but I can't ignore the anger I feel now. It just makes it more clear to me that I'm doen in the quarters. Some roamers come from behind some buildings and Keller orders two guys to do take care of them. After a while, Keller hands me a shovel from the back of the truck and three of us shovel dirt onto the piles to put out the fire.

When we return, I'm given the ok to leave. It's good thing, too, because I'm tired and all I want is for this day to end. I start to head for the quarters, even though I know I shouldn't. Oh, thank God. Hal's sitting on his mattress. He gets up as soon as he sees me and without warning, gives me a hug. I tap his shoulder and he lets go.

"Where'd you go off to yesterday?" He asks.

"I just needed some time alone."

"I was worried sick, Nan. You didn't come back. I thought something happened to you." He's really in mother hen mode, lately.

"Well, I'm okay," I huff blandly, "I just went into an empty cell and accidentally fell asleep. Nothing happened." Oh, something happened. I sigh through my nose and acknowledge all the glaring eyes around me. I just came to get from my trunk and then I'm heading straight back to my cell. "Um, Hal, can you help me take this to the cells?"

"No, Nan, don't be ridiculous!" Hal shouts. "You don't have to withdraw yourself."

"That's what I'm good at, kiddo." I force a smile. That and crawling into bed with people. "Please?" Hal reluctantly agrees with a heavy sigh. I don't want to go, but I know that after what happened yesterday; it's time to remove myself from the quarters. I can't keep bunking with Hal forever. We're silent the whole way there and it's not the usual, comfortable silence we do well together. Hal is clearly upset and I don't have the human decency to say something reassuringly comforting to the only true friend I have. Maybe it's because I don't know what can be said to make either of us feel better. To my luck, the cell is still unlocked. I had a small fear that Dwight might lock it to prevent me from going back inside. Hal and I set the trunk down to the left and he looks around the tiny room.

"Cozy?" He asks skeptically.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Standard issue prison blanket?" He says as he looks down at the blanket that's still on the ground. I chuckle humorlessly. I walk out of the cell and Hal follows, biting his lip apprehensively. "You're all set, then?" He says while looking down at the floor.

"See ya later?" I ask, truly believing I don't know the answer.

He glances up and smiles warmly. "Absolutely."

He claps me on the shoulder and my elbow collides with my side. I force myself not to flinch at the pain I felt. As he heads off to the quarters, I spin around to find Carson to get my daily dose of antibiotics.

When I return from the infirmary, Dwight's locking the door of Daryl's cell. I open the door of my cell and before I can close it, Dwight's hand stops the door. Whatever.

"You're staying in here, again?" He recognizes my trunk against the left wall. "Is Negan okay with this?" I shrug my shoulders. He doesn't know and I frankly don't care if he does or not. I'll be having my goddamn mail forwarded here until further notice. Dwight leaves which is fine, because now that I'm closer to Daryl it'll be easier to slip him my last protein bar.

"Here." I say plainly as I push it under the door. I hear him stir in the room.

"Why ya doin' this?" He coarsely mutters. I almost don't believe my ears. I don't think Daryl's ever spoken to me before.

"I don't like protein bars." I fib.

"Ain't cha worried you'll get caught?"

"Yes." I admit. I place my ear closer to the door.

"You work for points?" Daryl asks gruffly.

"Not for very much longer, I think," the words harden my chest. "I'm sorry about the other day. About what happened to your people." He doesn't reply, so I get up and go back into my cell and close the door. I eat the last of my crackers with some peanut butter and then wash my face with some of my water. I crawl over where I slept the night before. Where Dwight and I hate fucked. I throw the blanket over me. If Dwight's going to leave it here, I'm going to use it.

The black wooden door hits the bell and I walk to the front of the shop. As I come into view, I see the guy from two days ago. The smiler. He's with a girl who looks like she might be in high school still. They look over at me and their smiles are uncanny. They must be related. I put my hands in my apron pockets as I grin back.

"Hi, again." The man puts up a greeting hand.

"Welcome in." I say scriptishly.

"We had some family come in from out of town and they ate all the stuff I got the other day, before my mom got the chance." He explains.

"Charles, you ate some on the way to the hospital!" The girl playfully nudges him.

"We just came to replenish." He chuckles.

"Hello, again!" My grandmother sings as she strolls into the front shop.

"Hi." The guy smiles.

"They're here to buy some more pastries." I awkwardly tell her.

"Of coarse, we make the best pastries, cookies, and breads in Philadelphia!" She humbly brags. "Only the best ingredients."

"Well, we've got family that can attest to that, since they ate my mom's gift." He charms. "Myself included."

"I hope your mother is well," My grandma says sincerely, "you mentioned she was in the hospital?"

"She's doing great, thank you!" The girl sweetly answers. "Hopefully, this'll be the last procedure."

"Hopefully." He echoes somberly, before picking his smile back up. "So, I guess I'll take whatever you gave me the other day. Better double it, since our family's still here."

"Of coarse." My grandma nods and we both get some boxes and start filling them. I fill mine faster and place the sticker over the box before heading to the register. My grandma gives me her box and she lingers in the background.

"Twenty dollars even." I say after calculating on the register. He reaches into his wallet and hands me a twenty-dollar bill. "Receipt?"

"Nah, keep it."

"Alright, you two have a nice night." I retort flaccidly.

"Thanks you, too." He and the girl say almost in sync.

"Um, Nan?" He says unsurely as he takes both boxes and hands one to the girl. I look curiously up at him. "That is your apron, right?" My grandmother laughs as I look down at the cursive 'Nan' that's stitched in black in the upper right corner of my apron.

"Uh, yeah. It's mine."

"Cool. I was, uh..." He puts his free hand on the back of his neck. "Please don't think I'm a creep or anything, but I was wondering if maybe you would like to go get some food with me, sometime?" The girl behind him holds in a snicker.

"Oh...uh, I..." I'm honestly taken back and am trying to figure out how to let him down gently.

"How fun!" I bite my lip at my grandma's butting in. "Nan hardly leaves her apartment. She's never busy!" Thank you, grandma.

"Sure." I politely answer, mortified.

"I don't want you say yes, if you really don't want to." He smiles sympathetically. I take a pen and from the cup by the register and scribble my number on the back of his discarded receipt.

"Here's my number." I hand him the thin paper. "You can call or text me, whichever is fine" I hope he doesn't give me his number, because the odds of me contacting him are very slim.

"Okay, you're sure?" He asks, eyeing my blank face. I nod. "When are you free?"

"Whenever. I'm never busy." I just feel my grandma smirk behind me.

"Right." He chuckles. "I'm Charlie. I told you my name the other day, but you probably have a lot of people come through here, so...I'm Charlie." He shakes my hand over the counter as his sister giggles at his humble reintroduction. "This is my sister, Elizabeth." She shyly waves at me and I grin back. My grandma gives a quiet 'hi' in the background. They both head to the door and as they open the door, the bell rings eerily. The guy turns and gives a small wave. "I guess I'll see ya later?"

"Yeah." I raise my brows and smirk faintly. He smiles back and the two exit. What is it with that bell?

"I wonder when he'll call you?" My grandmother laughs behind me. She knows I'm pissed.

"When and if he does," I turn sharply on my heels, "You better hope he's not a serial killer."

"Oh, shush!" She blocks her ears and heads back to the kitchen, muttering in Swedish about kids being so dark nowadays.

"I don't want to be a story on Dateline!" I teasingly add. The bell above the door rings again and I look up at it, disconcerted. I turn around and shuffle towards the back. A booming knock on the glass pane makes me jump up.

I put my hands over my face as I try to calm my stupid body that's shaken itself awake, yet a-fucking-gain. I sit up and rub my eyes. By now, my biological clock forbids me from sleeping past six; since that's what time I've routinely gotten up for the last nine months. It gives usually gives me an hour to get ready for the workday. I don't have to be to the gates until nine, though. Footsteps sweep across the floor outside, twenty minutes later, and I know its Dwight. He opens Daryl's cell, closes it, and then I see his feet disrupt the light. Open the door. I shake my head and breathe through my nose in annoyance. A light knocks beats against the door.

I can't tell if the sickly fluttering in my stomach is nausea or excitement. Either way, I'm not pleased with myself. I walk to the door and open it. Dwight's glancing down at me with furrowed brows. I raise mine barely, in hopes of knowing why he's graced me with his presence. "Can I come in?"

I open the door wider and mope back into the cell. He waits a few seconds before entering. I turn to face him and he looks at me with a weird look on his face. I must look a sight, huh? I want to ask him what he wants, but I go back over to my sleeping spot and scoop up the blanket. I extend it to him, but he shakes his head.

"I didn't come for that." He states. I apathetically toss it back on the floor and sit down. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." I croak. Dwight stares at me in disbelief. He looks around the cell and shakes his head.

"You can't stay in here." He declares under his breath.

"Well, I am." I oppose docilely.

"Yeah, well, not for long." Dwight rebuts. I give a 'who do you think you are?' kind of look which makes him scoff and runs a hand through his scruff. "I know how you're conversation with Negan went." I turn my head and rest my cheek on my shoulder. "He asked you who you were? And you told him what he wanted to hear, right?" My chest clamps shut like an oyster. "You said Negan." He sighs sharply and I shut my eyes. Dwight sits down on my trunk and leans his arms on his legs with his hands clasped together. We both are silent for a few seconds, until I finally get up and dust myself off.

"Excuse me." I mumble as I stand before him. He gets up from the trunk and I open it to rifle through for my shower stuff. I heard them going yesterday on my way to see Carson, which means they finally fixed the problem. Laundry day is in two days, come to think of it. I put everything in one arm and hold them to my chest.

"You did the right thing." Dwight claims as he exits the cell. What does he know about right and wrong? Whatever right and wrong mean in this world.

I give the woman at the showers my number, which I don't think matters anymore. It must look like I've never showered before, because I keep angling and re-angling myself to avoid getting my stitches wet. I didn't really think things through when I came in here. The Savior is looking at me with a brow raised in bewilderment. After the shower, I go back to my cell and pull out my plastic, wide toothcomb. I thoughtlessly comb my damp hair and think more about what Dwight said. I wish I had been more like Daryl when he was asked that question. Sure, he's suffering the consequences, but at least he didn't fork over his identity. Ouch! My comb snagged the ring in the top cartilage of my ear, pulling it out. "Son of a bitch!" I pour some water over it and clean my ear before putting the ring back in. Can things just go smoothly for two seconds?

The next two days drag on at the gates. Solara offers me more sunscreen and makes small talk here and there. I give short replies and stew in my misery. Every once in a while, Solara will look over at the fences and observe the workers. Today, she whistled shrilly as if addressing a dog. When I turned around, I realized she was warning a man who was getting too close to a roamer's grasps. Nice. I head over to the east side when my shift ends, but am told by Keller that there's no control burn or incinerating going on today. He tells me, "Enjoy your afternoon," and it's hard to tell if he's being sarcastic or genuine.

I go to my cell and grab up my only other shirt and my underwear and head to the laundry room. I remove my bra from under my shirt once I get there, so that I can clean it too. My shirt's just loose and opaque enough and my breasts just small enough to not be a problem for me, should some perverts be lurking by. I sequester myself to a corner in the room to clean my clothes. The laundry workers all give me the look you'd give a pariah. You really are on the outside, kid. I wash my undergarments as quickly as I can so I can flee. But when I get to the shirt I had on in the closet the other night, I dip it into the water delicately. I rub the fabric together with more care, as if it deserves some sympathy after being crammed into my trunk.

I don't go to Reed to have points docked for the laundry. I tried to give him the other cards I had for the stitches, meds, and shower the other day, but he just took the cards and didn't write anything down. When I stared at him, waiting for him to do so, he just raised a brow and then told me to get lost. Even if I didin't have to pay for it all, I wish he would have just pretended to subtract the points, for my mental benefit.

The door to my cell is open when I return with my dampened, folded clothes. The room's empty, but I walk in anyway as if I'm just imagining that my stuff's gone. I know who's behind this, right away. Dwight's the only person who knows I've been sleeping in here and he didn't want me to, although I can't find out how it's any of his damn business. I close the door as I step out of the cell and try to remember how to get to that room of his. Is it on the on the first or second floor? The third? Shit, I can't remember. I don't exactly go traipsing through the halls. I decide to go search and hopefully, I'll come up lucky for once. Okay, think, Nan. We left Carson and then we went down two flights of stairs, long hallways in between. His room is on the second floor? Maybe? God, nice super sleuthing, Sherlock.

When I'm about to turn around and go back the cells, figuring I'll eventually run into him there, I see the bastard leaning against a wall near an open door. I storm over and before I can demand to know where my trunk is, Dwight steps towards me.

"Calm down," He says low with his hand up. I open my mouth to speak, but he continues to talk. "He's still inside." He? "I didn't make this call. He did, alright?" Negan. I bump his shoulder as I hurry past him and into the room. As I enter, Daryl exits. The room is small and bare, although inarguably bigger than my cell. It seems like I've been in here before, but I can't put my finger on when. There's a full size mattress that's elevated by two layers of palettes. Dwight's blanket is splayed out on it. I move my head to the left and my eyes widen at what I see.

Negan's back is facing me and he's standing in front of my open trunk. I struggle to clear my throat to alert him of me being here, but I don't expect it to mortify him.

"This guy use to live here." He says with out turning. He must have that picture of that couple that was in the trunk when I first came to the Sanctuary. "Jesus, look at that wife of his, will ya?" Negan turns his body to the side and smiles like a Cheshire cat. "If only, if only" He chuckles as he flicks the photo back into my trunk. His eyes squint into the trunk. "What is this?" Please, let it be my comb or my peanut butter.

"Um..." I'm tongue-tied and my breathing quietly hitches. I think I'm about to have a panic attack. His hands dip down into the tear in trunk's lining.

"Oh, goodie, a hidden compartment." He jokes and in a split second, plucks out the locket ring. Negan holds it between his fingers and pulls it open. "Look at you, holy fucking moly." He lets out a wolf whistle and I blush. One side has a picture of my boyfriend and I standing in our underwear, outside our apartment complex at night. I'm holding our hairless cat, Bebe, when she was still a kitten and his hands are wrapped me around as we laugh. If you look close enough, you can see a fire truck in the back, spraying the building. "This your boyfriend?"

"Yes." I nearly whimper, but I catch myself.

"Good lookin' guy," Negan notes, "You really got it goin' on, sweetheart. I mean, you probably weigh less now than in the picture," He grabs my right hand and slides the ring on my finger. "But a few good meals can fix that." I rip my hand away. I set my clothes down, pull the ring off my finger, and drop the ring back behind the lining before closing the lid of the trunk. "Goodness, someone's a little fuckin' fiestier than usual. Not that that's an issue for me."

"How come my trunk is here?" I look him square in the eye. Careful, cool breeze.

"Where else would you're shit go?" He chuckles. I blink at him, confused. "Welcome to your humble abode!" He spreads his arms out. I glance around the stripped down room. "You took the life that lived here, so you earned it." My eyes widen in realization at why the room seems so familiar. This is Ronnie's room. Was Ronnie's room.

"I...I don't-"

"Know what to say?" Negan laughs. "A simple 'thank you' will do." He stares down at me and waits.

"Thank you." I sigh, fully aware of his eyes trickling down to my bralessness.

"Well, like I fuckin' said, you earned it with your little act of heroism." He tucks some hair behind my ear and goes to exit. "I'll get out of your hair, so can add some homey touches or whatever."

"I'm not a hero," I states coldly without turning towards him or the door.

"You're right." Negan responds. "You're a Savior." His chuckling as he leaves sends a rapid chill up my spine.

It takes me a long time to reason with myself that the mattress that was once Ronnie's had bedding on it and that since the bedding was stripped, along with everything else in the room- these goddamn jackals- that it's okay to use the mattress. I got some thin rope and tacks to create a line so I can hang my laundry. There's a knock on the doorframe and I look over my shoulder and see Dwight with two beer bottles.

"Can I come in?" I nod my head and he enters. "Here, you look like you need one." I choose not to take offense and accept the beer that he de-caps for me. I'm more of a harder stuff kind of girl, but the beer isn't bad. I finish tacking the clothesline up and start hanging my underwear and bra up. He's quiet, I only know he's still here from turning around to get another pair of panties. "That mattress isn't his, by the way." My eyes flicker up.

"What?"

"Ronnie's. We tossed it, because it was ripped open on the side and...there was-"

"I don't need to know." I shake my head. I think I already now what that sicko was keeping there. Although, it is a relief to know a rapist didn't formally own my mattress. I grab the shirt and walk it over to the line. "Does it get easier?" I blurt out. Dwight's a more seasoned...Savior. He should know if this miserable feeling I have will subside. He's done worse, who better to ask? I gaze over at him and his eyes are blank.

"It depends." He takes a sip of his beer while seated on my trunk.

"On what?"

"Not what," Dwight damply corrects, "why." I nod and hang the shirt. I take it he means that it depends on why you chose to give up a part of yourself and work directly for the lunatic upstairs. Knowing what I know about Dwight, I can understand his 'why' but I'm not so sure I have one, or else I just don't know what mine is yet. You're a Savior. Negan's words reverberate inside my head. "Do you regret it?" I turn back to him. I wish I could say 'yes, absolutely' but I know better. However, as I look at him and follow his gaze to the clothesline, I realize the question isn't related to the prior conversation. I glance briefly at the shirt that hangs upon the line.

"No." I answer frankly while walking to my mattress. "Do you?"

Dwight looks down at his hands and shakes his head. "No."

Hope you all enjoy! I may have another chapter up by the end of the week.

minstorai: I agree, Simon is amazing. When I watched "Go Getters" I was enthralled by his eccentricity! It's easy to see how he's Negan's right hand. Really hope to see more of him in February.

MaterialGirl7: Lol, I was watching Friends when I wrote that part!

DeathSkittles: Lol, I'm glad you enjoy my story enough to be itching for a new chapter.