After the conversation with my dad, I made an effort to keep my head down and mouth shut for the next few days. My timid voice was only heard to mutter a satisfactory 'yes sir' or 'no sir' to whatever Negan asked of me, which wasn't much.

He oddly hasn't berated me or threatened me after witnessing my emotional breakdown. Hell, he has barely uttered a sentence longer than four or five words. You would think that a restrained Negan would be a pleasant change, but it only made me more uneasy. I had never witnessed Negan being anything besides his talkative, brash self, so the sudden muteness raised a few eyebrows.

He spent most of his time downstairs with his crew, trusting either Simon or Dwight to keep a watchful eye on me during the day. With nothing to do to keep me occupied, the days painfully dragged on with the same routine.

Negan would wake up and begin his morning routine at the crack of dawn. It wouldn't be long before a rough shake would wake me so that he could change my few bandages. The wounds have healed enough to where I'm more than capable of changing them myself, but he insists on doing them. I knew at the time not to argue.

After they were complete, I was allowed a trip to the bathroom before being re-attached to the chain. Once Negan left for the day, Simon or Dwight would check on me periodically and bring me food. Still weak from the lingering affects of the medications, all I could do was sleep and rest until I regained my strength. Negan wouldn't return until late in the evening. Exhausted from a full day on the main floor, he would quickly shower, eat, and pass out for the night. The cycle repeated the next day.

It took two days of rest and refueling to regain enough strength to be able to get up and walk under my own power.

Once I regained my strength, I would absentmindedly pace the spacious apartment for hours – the freedom to do so a reward from Negan for good behavior. I still had to wear the collar, but it sure beat sitting on my ass for the entire day. Simon and Dwight typically wouldn't pay me any mind, spending most of their time doing paperwork or making 'business' calls. It's not like they had to worry about me trying to escape my fortified prison.

I hated the constant downtime that I had at my disposal. Being restricted to one particular place with my only socialization being with Negan, Simon, and Dwight equates to myself slowly losing my mind. With nothing to keep me engaged, my train of thought continuously rolled down the tracks of my mind. I repeatedly kept replaying the events of the past few weeks, scouring every detail to see if any of this could have been avoided.

What if dad had fought back more…? What if I had controlled my temper the first night…? What if I had found an opportunity to use my pocket knife and ended Negan when I had the chance…?

I'm practically driving myself insane! Its no use in pondering the 'what ifs' because it was always going to end this way. One thing that I've learned in a short amount of time is that Negan always wins. No matter what we did, or didn't do, Negan was always going to get what he wanted, whether that resulted in the current situation or something far worse.

It only took two days of being on my feet, practically traversing every square foot of the apartment while my mind fought an inner battle, for me to break down and go to Negan.

"Is there anything that I can do during the day, to pass the time while you're gone?" I finally mustered the courage to ask when he was changing my bandages one morning.

It takes him a moment to realize that I had spoken. "What?" He momentarily stops winding the adhesive around my wrist and raises his questioning eyes to meet mine.

"While you're gone, all there is to do is walk back and forth through your apartment to pass the time…. Please, is there something that I can do to keep myself occupied before I drive myself crazy?"

He sights in annoyance. "Damn, I already miss when your ass was knocked out from the meds. There was no need to keep you fucking entertained."

Negan directs his attention back to my wrists. Conversation now dropped. No word on the topic is uttered as he finishes up, grabs his leather jacket and Lucille, and abruptly leaves for downstairs.

I reach over and hurl the box of bandages and gauze across the room in frustration. What the hell was that? That was probably the most civil and level-headed that I have been with him my entire time here, and he didn't even consider it.

After that failed attempt, it looks like 'JSS' will be used to survive another day of my mundane routine of nothingness.

There's no need to dwell on his decision, or lack thereof. I shuffle to where the tossed box landed and put that, along with the rest of the supplies, back in the container before beginning the next part of my routine of freshening up.

Returning from the bathroom, I walk over to Negan's dresser and slide open the bottom drawer in search for a t-shirt. Negan was gracious enough to give me one drawer to store my clothes, the space much needed after he allowed my father to send me extra clothes to suffice until I came home.

Washington Redskins t-shirt? No.

Finn Bálor t-shirt? Not feeling it.

I toss a few more shirts to the side until I spot the gray cotton fabric with red block letters lined with a black border.

'TU' – Terminus University.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I snatch the shirt out of the drawer and rush over to Negan's nightstand where his clock is situated, displaying the date and time. One look at today's date confirms my fear – I'm supposed to return to school in two days to begin my sophomore year.

Fuck! School has been the last thing on my mind since being captive and the escalation of following events. What am I going to do? The university will surely question my absence if I don't show up on move-in day or the first day of classes. But Negan said that I can't leave until dad pays half of what he owes...

Conclusion: I'm neck deep up shit creek with my mouth wide open.

I put on the shirt, careful not to snag the collar in the process. The shirt serves as a mental note to attempt to discuss the issue with Negan later.

"Morning, princess!" Simon greets me when I enter the living area. He's comfortably seated on one of the leather sofas with his feet propped up on the coffee table. Today must be his shift to babysit me.

"Hey, Simon."

Unlike Dwight, Simon makes an effort to speak to me from time to time, even cracking the occasional joke. Now, we don't have in-depth discussions on the meaning of life, but his sporadic charm does a lot to lift the otherwise dry atmosphere.

I grab a banana from the large fruit bowl on the counter and unenthusiastically plop into a chair at the small kitchen table. My thoughts already begin to wander as I once again begin my monotonous daily routine.

My train of thought abruptly hits the brakes as the sound of Simon snapping his fingers gets my attention. His face lights up in remembrance as he hurriedly stands to his feet and nears the door to the lower level. "Don't move a fucking muscle, kid. Got a surprise for ya."

I'm still silently processing Simon's actions when he returns to the apartment a few minutes later. In his hands is a large laundry basket overflowing with soiled garments. He plops the container down at my feet, causing a loose sock or two to fall out.

I stare in confusion back and forth between the basket and Simon's amused grin.

"Special delivery from the boss! Said you needed some options to keep your pretty, little ass busy. Don't worry, darlin', there's plenty that you can do. But Negan figured you could start with his laundry. Apparently, the man is running out of clean undies." Simon leans down and whispers, as if sharing important intel.

"You can't be serious?" The bastard was listening after all. I know that I had asked for something to do, but doing the man's laundry…? Really?

The glint of playfulness in Simon's eyes turn dark. He contorts his face into various scowls, leaning and twisting his head to match them. It was as if he was attempting to communicate with solely his facial features.

"I think my look may have conveyed the answer to your question; people say I have an expressive face." He proceeds to point towards his face. "But, if not, let me repeat your question. 'Am I fucking serious?' – yes, yes I am. You wanted some shit to do?" Simon picks up the basket and shoves it toward me. "Well, here ya go, sweet cheeks!"

I nearly drop the container as the full weight of it and its contents is felt. My body is noticeably weaker than I thought from the week-long coma. I peer down into the basket and nearly vomit when I see Negan's blood soaked clothes from earlier in the week bunched-up at the top of the pile.

Simon can't help but chuckle at my reaction. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he guides me past Negan's room and towards a closed door at the end of the hallway. He opens it to reveal a closet-sized space barely large enough to fit the washer and dryer situated inside. A shelving unit sits above the machines, holding the detergent, dryer sheets, and stain removers.

It is a tight squeeze to fit myself and the oversized basket in the few feet between the front of the units and the back wall.

"I'll leave ya to it. Oh yeah, just in case you're wondering, there is more where that came from." He sends a quick wink before returning down the hall towards the living area.

Negan obviously approved my request. I just had to open my big mouth.

XXXXXX

By 3 PM, I had only finished washing and drying three loads of laundry, only equating to half of the basket.

So far, I've had to wash his blood-stained pants and shirt, shirts caked in sweat and unknown stains, and countless pairs of boxers that no one should have to physically handle. I've gone through so much stain remover that Simon had to send a lackey into town to retrieve more. I don't even want to imagine what stains and stenches wait for me in the remaining laundry.

I'm utterly exhausted as I carry the latest load of clean laundry into the living area to be folded. Every muscle fiber screams in agony from doing too much too quickly. I haphazardly drop the basket onto the sofa and take the initiative to flop down on the cushion right beside it. Finally able to take a breath, I allow my worn body to sink into the leather upholstered bliss of the sofa.

"You ask for shit to do and then I find you sleeping on the fucking job! Tsk, tsk, tsk…."

I was so exhausted that I failed to notice a lounging Negan slumped in an armed chair across from me. I'm not sure how long he's been there, but there is an empty glass on the table by his side.

It's unlike him to be upstairs at this time of day.

"I- uh- was just taking a little break, sir, that's all." I quickly sit up and reach into the basket for an article of clean clothing that needs folding. Of course, he would witness the one moment of the day when I attempted to catch a breather after running at full-speed all day.

"Whatever, just don't fuck up my clothes."

Negan grabs the empty glass and returns to the kitchen for a refill.

"You want a swig?" He comes from behind me and shoves the topped-off glass under my nose.

My head immediately whips in the opposite direction as my nostrils burn from the aroma of the potent liquid. He only follows the direction of my nose, keeping the glass directly beneath it wherever I turn my head.

Negan allows the glass to linger a few more torturous beats before bringing it to his lips and taking a swig himself.

"I've never met a woman who doesn't enjoy a nice shot of whisky ever now and again," he states in awe. Gazing at me in fascination as he re-situates in his chair.

"Well, I guess I'm nothing like the women that you've met.…"

"I wouldn't know, darlin'. You haven't necessarily been too fucking keen on sharing anything about yourself. You've been here for almost two-damn-weeks and all that I've wrestled out of you is your name, which is now irrelevant, considering I renamed you the first night…' I hear him snicker to himself when he sees my body tense at the mentioning of the infamous first night.

'Come on, now. I want to know more about my pup," he practically whines.

I have no interest in participating in his little game. Instead, I fold the last piece of laundry, pick up the basket, and turn to head towards Negan's room to put them away. "Gotta go put your clothes away. I don't want to fuck them up."

Negan reaches out and grabs my arm before I can walk away.

"The clothes can wait. Sit your ass down and drop the fucking attitude. Now," he commands.

Sensing his rising temper, I obediently place the basket on the floor and take a seat across from him. "What do you want to know?" I give in and ask.

"Hmm… I don't know where to fucking begin!" He taps his chin while deep in thought. "Let's start off easy. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Damn, baby girl. I'm old enough to be your fucking daddy! Can you imagine that? I don't know, 'daddy Negan' has a nice ring to it."

Of course, the bastard found a way to make this awkward after only the first question. "Do you have another question or are you satisfied now?" Anything to change the subject.

"Okay, Ms. Impatient. What do you like to do for fun?"

"I don't know… I spend most of my free time reading or watching sports."

I jump as Negan nearly keels over in laughter. "Let me guess, by 'watching sports', you mean ignoring the actual game because you're too busy eye-fucking the hot guys in tight uniforms?"

Now I'm the one with the shit-eating grin adorned on my face. Oh, he doesn't realize who he is talking to.

"First off, I only really follow football and professional wrestling. Second, the athletes may look fine as hell in their spandex and tight wrestling trunks, but a pretty face is useless in sports if they can't deliver when it comes to talent and ability.' I explain.

'Don't let this pretty face fool you, I've been watching those sports since kindergarten. I can breakdown the names, positions, and stats of practically every player of the Washington Redskins. You wanna talk playoff predictions or compare offensive and defensive match-ups for any of the NFL's 32 teams? I gotcha covered.'

'Wondering how professional wrestling has evolved in the past decade in various promotions such as World Wrestling Entertainment, Ring of Honor, New Japan Pro Wrestling, and Impact Wrestling? Well, you better take some notes because this is going to be a long discussion."

For the first time since my arrival, Negan is speechless. His mouth hangs open in pure amazement of my knowledge of sports.

"My oh my, you are something else! You're a rare breed indeed. I've seen a fair share of women in my life and I've never stumbled across one as unique as you. What other surprises is there to know about you?" Negan leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his full attention on me.

It's then that he glances down and notices my t-shirt. "Holy shit, that's right – you go to Terminus!"

Here is my opening. There is no better time than the present to attempt to negotiate my freedom in order to fulfill obligations pertaining to my education.

"Yes, sir. About that… can I ask you a question?"

"I'm all ears, darlin', ask away."

"Well, like you noticed, I attend TU. I'm actually about to start my sophomore year and um, uh –"

"Spit it the fuck out already," Negan impatiently interrupts.

"I'm supposed to return to campus in two days to begin the school year. My tuition and fees have already been paid, so I can't back out now. Will you allow me to go?"

Negan doesn't need an extra second to contemplate his response.

"No."

I'm caught off guard by his nonchalant response.

"No? What do you mean, 'no'? Why the fuck not?" My tone unintentionally rises more and more in frustration after each word.

"Because, I fucking said so!" He barks in my face, promptly shutting me down. "I don't give a rat's ass where you're supposed to be in two days. You know where you're going to be? At the fucking Sanctuary! You wanna know for how long? Until I get half of my god damn money from your pathetic father."

"They're going to notice that I'm gone!" I'm hoping that this piece of information will sway his decision. He can't just keep me here forever; I do have a life.

A soft chuckle leaves Negan as he leans back into his seat, his arms folded behind his head. "There you go again, doubting my abilities. Honey, no one is going to bat an eyelash at your absence. I've already taken care of that, courtesy of your precious father.'

'Daddy brought up the same fucking issue at our last meet. He begged and pleaded for me to release you in order for you to go back to school. You leaving my side before I receive my money? That's a risk I'm not willing to take.' He pauses, then his signature smirk appeared.

'Did you know that a student can be medically excused from classes for as long that is needed? Hell, all you need is a doctor's note along with a few papers signed by the right fucking people. It's times like this when it's nice having a doctor at your disposal. You should be happy, Carson spun a nice story detailing why you can't return to the university just yet. I think it was something about a car accident… or fire… who fucking cares. All that matters is that no one is going to come looking for you, pup."

I can't believe it. This is worse than I thought. I knew that Negan had a lot of pull, but I never would have fathomed that his level of power expanded beyond the people of the Sanctuary. I mean, the man just legitimately doctored a believable excuse that will keep me out of college until he's ready to let me go. What more is he capable of doing…?

"Why the long face, pup? I figured that you would be fucking ecstatic to know that your summer vacation has been extended! How about a 'thank you' for all of my hard work to give you more time here with me?" He practically orders. "I'll even leave you the fuck alone so you can get back to work, but only after you say those two magic little words."

"Thank you, sir." I mutter through clenched teeth, frustrated tears spilling down my cheeks.

Negan soaks in the view of my dejected form for a few more seconds before waving me off to finish my chores. I'm out of the room, basket in hand, before Negan has an opportunity to change his mind.

I wait until I'm in Negan's room and safely out of sight before breaking down once again. I slump into a heap on the floor, tears freely flowing at this point. Does it upset me that I can't return to TU right away? Yes. But what worries me the most is that Negan has enough pull to allow for that to happen without any red flags to go off within the university.

If he can so easily bypass the system when it comes to getting what he wants, what more is he capable of? Who else does he have wrapped around his little finger that he could call up anytime to assist in any particular issue? Negan is more than one person… he's everywhere….

I'm dying to get into bed after sorting, washing, drying, and putting away over six loads of laundry. By the time Negan enters the bedroom with his nightly glass of whisky, I've already changed into my pajamas and am patiently waiting on my bed for him to attach the familiar chain to my collar.

Placing the glass on the nightstand, he bends down and snaps the chain into place around my neck.

Before I have an opportunity to lay down, Negan grabs the glass and once again shoves it under my nose. My eyes instantly begin to water from the burn of the alcoholic aroma. This time, I am unable to move my head away with the chain holding my neck securely in place. He finally lets me go after a brief struggle.

"What the hell is your problem when it comes to this shit?" He genuinely asks upon seeing another one of my strong adverse reactions to alcohol. "You have me fucking puzzled. You're a nineteen-year-old college student who can't even stomach the smell of whisky, let alone the taste of it."

I'm still regaining my composure as I contemplate how, or even if, I want to answer his question. Answering the vague questions hurled at me earlier in the day was one thing, but this is too personal.

"I told you, I just don't like to drink." My eyes stayed glued to the floor.

Negan reaches down and tightly grabs my chin, forcing my head up to meet his piercing gaze. "Don't you fucking lie to me, pup. Answer the damn question."

As hard as I try, I know that I can't keep this from him any longer. He would find out the truth soon enough. I slowly nod my head, causing Negan to release his grasp.

"My mother was killed by a drunk driver when I was young…. I've never had a drink in my life and the smell of one makes my insides churn." The words are barely above a whisper. A sole tear descends my face.

Negan's demeanor immediately softens. He runs a hand through his hair, visibly regretting asking the question in the first place.

"Fuck, darlin', I'm sorry. I had no idea…."

I only nod my head in response. My breath hitches in my throat as a sudden sob rips through me. The wounds of losing my mother are still as fresh as ever even though it has been over ten years since she was taken from us.

"Why did she have to go…?" The question directed to no one in particular. I openly weep, tucking my head in between my knees. "I wasn't ready to say goodbye."

"Shhh, shhh. It's okay, darlin'." Negan soothes. He must've gotten in the floor with me because the next thing I know, I feel his arms wrap around my trembling frame. I don't shrink away from the contact, but I allow him to embrace me.

We sit there for what feels like hours – him gently rubbing my back. Negan mumbles the occasional 'it's okay' or 'let it out' as the pent-up frustration, sorrow, and grief of my mother's passing resurfaces and tears its way through my body like a storm.

I begin to stir in Negan's arms after crying nearly every tear that I possibly could. He slowly releases me and backs away. There's a noticeable tear-soaked splotch on his shirt from where he was holding me.

"Don't worry about," he says, directing towards the stain. "I'll just add it to the laundry for you to do next time."

I can't help but offer a smirk at his remark.

Negan grabs his glass and saunters over to a potted plant in the corner of the room. "Drink up, my friend." The remaining liquid soaks into the soil of the blooming plant.

He turns and sees my floored expression.

"What? I've had enough of that shit for today anyway." He remarks.

Maybe he does have a heart after all….

"Um, thanks for that. I don't know what go into me. It just hit me all of a sudden." I'm suddenly too embarrassed to make eye contact with him.

"Don't mention it, darlin', Believe it or not, I know what it's like to lose someone very near and dear to your heart. That shit cuts deep…" Now Negan is the one to grow silent as he zones out. I swear that I spot a few tears slip from his downcast eyes.

He quickly wipes his face with the back of his hand. "Shit, look at what you're doing to me. I need to get some sleep."

With that, I wiggle underneath my covers, careful to not tangle the chain, and wait for Negan to turn off the light.

"Since I was such an ass tonight, I figured I would share some good news with you – your papa has been doing such a phenomenal job that I'm allowing you a visit with him tomorrow!' He leans down and ruffles my hair in excitement before climbing into bed.

'Get some rest, tomorrow is going to be a big day! G'night, pup."

Edited by Spitfire47.

What do you guys think about the update? Any thoughts? I would love to hear from you!