Tuesday, March 3rd
Somehow, the days had begun to pass quickly, and by now it had been exactly a week since it all happened. A week since the day she and Rick made love in the morning, a week since Carol left them and Daryl ran off looking for Dwight…and here they were now. This was to be her fourth day living with Negan's wives, a group of women who had been surprisingly welcoming to her, not that there was much they could do in the way of helping her situation. Nevertheless, being taken out of that cell and brought to live with the wives had been a welcome change, one that brought with it a small amount of power and control over what happened to her next. To a certain extent she was free to go about her day and do as she pleased, and so far she had been doing exactly that.
Shrugging on her coat she tucked three ziplock bags into her pocket, closing the bedroom door behind herself before passing through the living room. Preparations for their movie night were well under way, the bar fully stocked and an empty table awaiting the food that the prisoners would bring. Lounging on one of the plush couches were Sherry, Amber and Jade, the three of them engaged in a heated but friendly discussion over which movie they were going to watch, more specifically which movie would make Negan cringe the most. As expected there was a last ditch attempt to convince her to stay, Amber in particular going to some effort to have her join them, but Carrie politely declined all requests.
She had absolutely no desire to spend a night in with Negan, to share popcorn and laughter with the man who had murdered Glenna and Abraham. As it stood she saw enough of that mongrel already, and saw no reason to increase the time she spent with him. Knowing her way around by now she didn't need to take anyone with her, and so she confidently stepped out into the corridor alone. Waiting outside was Dwight, his head bowed and shoulders hunched forward as he smoked a cigarette, but when he saw her approaching he hastily lowered it and tried to waft away the smell.
"Do you need a flashlight?" he offered, rifling around in his pockets to find a spare. "It's dark down there already."
"I'm fine," she said shortly, already having a small flashlight in her possession. She looked at him from the corner of her eye as she passed him by, wondering if he was there waiting for Sherry, hoping to see her.
Unconcerned with his problems, Carrie confidently made her way through the halls to the downstairs levels, though as usual she kept her head down and avoided interactions with anyone who happened to pass her. Having made it through the last four days with little else to do she spent a great deal of time roaming the halls, getting the know the place well, or the inside of it at least. There was an unspoken rule that she didn't venture far outside, not unless she was helping the workers in the laundry to hang out wet clothes to dry, a chore she frequented often. They were nice to her down there, and they called her by her name, not Alexandria. The workers in the laundry allowed her to come and waste time there, to avoid Negan's men by hanging out clothes and occasionally ironing. It helped them out while keeping her busy and active, something she needed very much right now.
Reaching another staircase, Carrie took her time descending, hanging onto the railing and using her flashlight to guide her way. The corridors could be intimidating at night, but especially so the stairs which felt steeper than normal. As she reached the next corridor she strode away again, revelling in the change she had felt in her body over the last few days. Although the baby hadn't turned over yet she did feel a little different. Was this the lightening she had read about? Had the baby dropped? Whatever it was, it felt like she could breathe a little easier, though she hadn't detected a noticeable change in her belly. Nevertheless, the pleasant change was also worrisome for her…was the baby coming soon? Pregnancy complaints aside, she needed this baby to stay in there for as long as possible, to give her time to get out of here…if that was ever going to happen. The prospect of going into labour and childbirth was frightening enough for her, but especially the notion that she might have to do it here at the Sanctuary, without Rick and people she trusted. She was not holding onto the hope that Negan might allow Rick to be there should the baby come while she was still a prisoner.
Stopping at a large cooler of drinking water, Carrie filled each of the ziplock bags the usual amount and then slipped them back into her pockets. Continuing on her journey she descended the final set of stairs down to the basement where Daryl was still being kept in a cell. Twice a day she was coming down here to see him, three times a day if he was ever allowed a reprieve from his work out on the fences or scrubbing shit from toilets. His conditions had marginally improved, and he had even been moved to the larger and cleaner cell Carrie had occupied, though without any of her amenities. But despite him now having adequate access to water and a meagre meal twice a day, Carrie continued bringing him water and whatever items of food she could fit under the door.
She had largely been prevented from interacting with him, Dwight having even stationed someone at the upper windows where Sherry had first shown her the view down to the yard, but that didn't stop her from trying. It was her the Saviours sympathised with, not Daryl and so she continued using that to her advantage. So while she couldn't interact with him throughout the day, just as Sherry assured her no one had stopped her coming down to the basement cells. Tonight it was David on guard, the prick that had put her in a choke hold the night she attacked Laura, but as usual he paid her little attention. Despite Sherry's warning that she might have to put up with a little harassment from Negan's men, no one had so much as looked at her sideways, a small blessing.
When she reached Daryl's cell she slowly and carefully lowered herself to the ground, wishing that this particular spot wasn't within David's view, that he couldn't hear everything she said to Daryl. Gently knocking on the door she alerted him to her arrival, and then she took the bags of water from her pocket and laid them flat on the cold floor, slipping them underneath the door. She waited expectantly for him to take it, to hear his voice murmuring to her, but there was nothing. Pressing her ear to the door she knocked again, starting to feel worried when she heard no movement inside. Was he not back from being worked yet? Or worse, had he been taken to the Infirmary for something?
"Daryl," she murmured softly, knocking again. "Are you in there?"
There was silence a few moments more, and then she heard the usual shuffle of him coming closer. "I'm here, Blondie."
Glad that he wasn't in the Infirmary she watched as he took the first baggie she slipped under the door, and then she quickly slipped the next two under as well. He would spend a few minutes either drinking the water or using it to clean himself up a little, but always refused her offer to bring more back. Was Dwight providing enough to sustain his needs, or was he just trying to reassure her that he was okay, that she needn't worry?
When two of the three baggies were returned empty she turned to his food next, taking out two slices of bread with strips of bacon between them. Using a napkin to keep them clean she slid it under the door piece by piece, the bread a little flatter than it ought to be, but it was more sustenance than the meagre meal Dwight would have provided. He had two blankets in there too hidden out of sight in the corner, blankets she had managed to hide underneath her coat before stuffing it under the gap between the floor and door.
"I got four strips of bacon at dinner. I figured one for me, one for the baby, and two for you."
He replied just as he always did, a soft grunt to acknowledge he had heard her speaking, followed by equally soft words of gratitude. Following the bacon sandwich was a few pieces of baked potato and carrot, and then finally a napkin with six black jelly beans. She had taken these from the candy jar in the living room, for none of the wives liked the black ones, but she knew that Daryl did. He'd told her a story once, that after Merle left and joined the military Daryl would mail his big brother a pack of jellybeans with all the black ones eaten, a racist joke the two brothers shared.
"How are you?" she asked when he had passed the napkins back, hiding the evidence that she was bringing him food and water.
"Good." It was the answer he'd given her every time she asked over the last few days, the only answer he would ever give her. "You?"
"I'm good too."
Like his, her answer was always the same, but not for the same reason. She really was okay. Though she was a prisoner too she wasn't being abused or mistreated, she wasn't living in a cell eating scraps and dog food. She slept in a warm bed at night and had been given extra clothing and toiletries, and she saw a doctor whenever she so pleased.
Today had been her fourth visit to the Infirmary, a place that gave her reprieve from having to deal with the rest of the Sanctuary. With Negan's instructions that she was to have all treatment necessary Carson was as thorough as possible in this word, ensuring he checked her blood pressure, blood glucose, urine, her weight and measurements of her belly. He did everything he could except an internal examination, unable to argue with her blunt refusal. Though she got the impression that Caron was insisting on this purely out of concern, her ability to refuse such an invasive exam was just about the only element of power she had left, and was determined to cling to it.
But her visits were not only with Doctor Carson, for twenty minutes into her second appointment last Sunday they had been joined by another. Though the person had knocked and was welcomed in by Carson, it still felt like an intrusion to her, making this yet another person who had been poking and prodding her throughout her pregnancy. Entering was a man not much younger than Carson, his blue polo shirt and chinos more fitting for a day at the country club than at the Sanctuary, but Carson had greeted him with familiarity.
"Carrie, this is not a doctor, Doctor Wilson," he said lightly, smiling as he ushered him inside and closed the door behind him. "Negan has requested he assist me in overseeing the remainder of your pregnancy."
"Very pleased to meet you," Wilson said, eagerly extending his hand to her.
She didn't return the sentiment, but shook his hand nonetheless. Given her situation she couldn't afford to be outright rude to these people. "Not a doctor, Doctor Wilson," she recited, not quite understanding.
Setting down a small CD player and his coat, Wilson explained. "I'm a fully licensed health practitioner with a PhD and my own practice, but still not a doctor according to Negan."
"Or any medical board," Carson added. There was a pause as the two men looked at one another, but they chuckled as though it was a private joke. "Doctor Wilson is a chiropractor. He travels between our outposts providing adjustments to those who need them. He even sees to Negan."
"It's a shame I can adjust their spines but not their personalities."
At this both Carson and Wilson burst into chuckles, Carson shaking his head in amusement, whereas Carrie just sat there on the edge of the exam table. It was disconcerting, the whole situation making her again feel like she was an exhibit at the zoo.
"Look, ummm," she began uncomfortably, unsure of how to say this. Though she'd been afforded freedoms, she didn't get the impression she had a lot of control. "I do plenty of yoga, my back is fine. I don't need you to crack it."
"Don't you worry," Wilson said, his tone borderline condescending. "It's just a minor adjustment, it won't hurt at all. In fact, it will only take five minutes. I'm just going to do a little work on your sacrum, an alignment oft neglected by commonplace yoga."
"It's best to try this before an external version," Carson commented. "Proper alignment of the sacrum makes more room in the pelvis. There's no point in coaxing the baby to turn over if there's no room for it to do so."
Carrie remained silent, unsure of what to say. Though she was sure he cared for her well being, still she couldn't make up her mind as to whether or not she really trusted him. For so long Denise had been her doctor, and their solution for the baby had been to consult with Brea, another trusted doctor. Would Brea agree with this? Would it even work?
Seeing that she was still uncomfortable, Wilson turned to Carson. "Carrie and I will get started, if that's alright?"
Recognising the request for some privacy, Carson simply nodded and clasped his colleague on the shoulder. "You'll be in good hands," he assured her as he opened the door to step out. "Simon was like a bear with a thorn in his paw until Wilson got his hands on him."
When the door closed behind Carson she slowly breathed out, trying to talk herself through this. She just needed to stand up for herself a little, to assert what treatment she was and was not willing to undergo. Feeling more and more anxious she watched as he loaded a CD into the player and shuffled through the songs, settling on a peaceful, melodic tune. She didn't know this man, she didn't trust him, it wasn't completely outrageous that she not want him putting his hands on her.
"Look, you mean well," she began as he raised the volume a little. "But I'm not comfortable having an adj-"
"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Wilson cut her off, his demeanour changing completely. Taking a low stool he wheeled it over to where she sat on the edge of the exam table, taking a seat and then looking up at her expectantly. "I am a chiropractor, and I do adjustments for Negan and his men, but I am not Negan."
Startled by the change in his manner Carrie simply looked at him, her lips parted around the questions she was too taken aback to ask. What the hell was going on?
"I'm Bill Wilson, I'm a resident of The Kingdom, and the leader I serve is King Ezekiel."
"Wha…" she started, flabbergasted by the revelation. "You're from the Ki-"
He cut her off again, raising his palm to make her stop. "I know, I know. You've never heard of the Kingdom, or King Ezekiel," he said softly, looking her in the eye. "You have never visited such a place. I don't know your people, and you don't know mine. In fact, this conversation right now never happened."
Catching on, Carrie pressed her lips together. Whatever had happened, maintaining the secrecy of Alexandria and the Kingdom's relationship was of utmost importance. But here this guy was, telling her of their connection to one another, reassuring her that all was well. Still though, she questioned whether or not this was the truth, or a ruse.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Good," he said softly, lowering his hand and leaning back now he had her understanding. "My services were called for a year ago after Simon threw his back out. I go between the outposts and do my work, and if I keep my head down I get to be at home in the Kingdom two weeks out of the month."
"Do you know where the outposts are?" she asked, conscious that the information Lana had given them was months out of date.
Wilson shook his head. "I don't even know where I am now, they blindfold me when we travel, I've only ever seen the inside of those places. But that's not what I'm here to talk about," he said, taking her hand in his. "There are some things that you need to know. King Ezekiel knows what happened to Alexandria, and so does the Hilltop."
Her heart leapt, aching for news of her family. "Is everyone okay? Have you spoken to Rick?"
"I don't know," he whispered apologetically. "We were trying to send people to check on them, but the Saviours were still on the roads. I don't know if my people made it."
"But…is the Kingdom doing something?" she asked in despair, feeling like she was welling up with tears. "You have to do something."
"I don't know what the plan is," he whispered. "But I do know that there is a plan, and there'll be a part for you to play too."
At this she took pause, steadying herself with a deep breath. "What do I have to do?"
Wilson cleared his throat a little, bringing the stool closer to her. "It's highly unlikely that you'll give birth to your baby here at the Sanctuary. If that happens then Negan is responsible for however it plays out, and he does not want responsibility for you and the baby on his shoulders."
"Then what does he want?" she asked, not sparing a moment to rejoice in this news.
"Probably to rub it in Rick's face, to use you as a means of showing him who is in charge. Sooner or later he will have to give you back to keep things running smoothly, and I strongly suspect he will do that before the baby is born. Negan, he…for want of a better term, the man just wants peace and quiet. I think he might regret taking you in the first place."
"Okay," she murmured, trying to take this all in. "So, what do I have to do?"
"You're not going to like it," he warned.
"Tell me. Whatever it is, I'll get it done.
"You need to sit tight. Wait."
She blinked at him, confused. "Sit tight?"
He nodded. "Negan is going to let you go," he repeated. "Sit tight, and wait for that moment. Don't stir up trouble, keep your head down and do as you're told. And Carrie, this bit's important…if you get the opportunity to escape, do not take it."
"What about Daryl? He's here too."
Clearly Wilson had been hoping she wouldn't bring this up, for he looked a little uncomfortable with her question. "We haven't forgotten about him, and we won't. But the reality is, Negan is not going to let him go. Not ever."
"No," she said firmly, trying to stand her ground. "That's not good enough, we have to try to get him out too."
"Carrie, Carrie…" he implored, squeezing her hand. "Once you're safe we're going to wage an attack on this place, but we can't do that until you're safe."
"And Daryl? I can't leave him behind."
"Well you're going to have to," he stated. "Do you think that he wouldn't want you to be free? Do you think he'd be happy if you threw away your chance for freedom for him?"
She fell silent, knowing the answer to this. Daryl would never forgive her if she ruined her chance at freedom for him, and neither would Rick. It was a bitter pill to swallow and accept that one person was more or less important than another, particularly someone she loved, but right now it was the reality. She was to give birth any day now, and her baby's wellbeing depended entirely on hers.
"We've already talked about this for too long," Wilson said in worry, glancing at his wristwatch before standing up, ushering Carrie to her feet too. "The adjustment I'm supposed to be doing should only take a few minutes. We can talk again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she queried, watching as he lowered the examination table and reclined it flat.
"I'm going to recommend repeat appointments," he murmured. He fussed around with the bed now, Carrie watching on as he laid out some pillows and rolled up a blanket. Setting them out he gestured for her hand, coaxing her towards the table. "I'll help you up. You'll need to be face down."
She hesitated, for despite trusting that Wilson was indeed who he said he was, she still felt a certain level of uncertainty. In a very short space of time she had learnt a great deal, and the magnitude of what he wanted her to do was a heavy weight around her shoulders. They wanted her to leave Daryl behind, to completely forsake him, and while she knew it was the rational thing to do she wasn't so sure she could really do it.
Accepting Wilson's help she tentatively climbed up onto the examination table, starting to shake as she laid down with the pillows and blankets supporting her belly. She was tense as she laid there, unable to relax even as he gently coached her through what he was doing and why it was going to help. It wasn't the touch of unfamiliar hands on her lower body, not even when he pressed his fingertips into the top of her ass, but the prospect of everything she faced. How could she possibly relax right now? Even the news that Negan would let her go home before the birth was only a small comfort…what would happen to Daryl?
"That's a much happier sacrum," Wilson declared a few minutes later, helping her sit up to her knees. "Your spine is mostly well aligned, but your sacrum not so much. Now if you could just lay down on your back, taking some deep breaths to relax your body…that's it, good."
"Even if I did leave Daryl behind," she murmured, trying to think out loud. "We can't attack this place if he's still here."
"In which case, we never attack," Wilson countered. As he spoke he placed his hands on her lower belly, feeling around through her shirt before applying a little pressure. "And your raise a baby in a world of tyranny and fear."
"If we got the chance to run, we'd have to at least try." As she spoke she was looking down and watching what he was doing with her belly, feeling the baby start to move in response to the pressure.
Wilson shook his head. "Doing so would bring the wrong kind of attention to Rick. They'd look for you both high and low. We need to create a status quo and maintain it…that's the only way we can take them by surprise."
Struggling to take it all in she went very quiet, resisting the urge to touch her belly to comfort herself. She could feel the baby moving inside her, a lazy stretch of the limbs, but their presence inside her was about the only thing that stopped her spiralling into despair. With her baby inside her she felt a purpose, she didn't feel alone…but Daryl? He was a true prisoner of Negan's, being tortured and forced to work, starved and kept in depraved conditions. It must surely feel like there was no one in the world looking out for him, that he was truly alone. How could she leave him here?
"I saw Rick for a adjustment while he stayed with us at the Kingdom," Wilson told her, perhaps trying to break the silence. "He complained in pain in his lower back. I think he'd been cutting firewood."
She looked up at him, the story intriguing her. "Was he okay?"
"He required a slight adjustment, but the problem was mainly muscular. I suggested he follow up with some acupuncture, we have someone who does that as well as cutting hair, but I get the feeling it was a little too hocus pocus for him."
Despite everything, Carrie managed a smile. "Yeah, that sounds like him."
"I must implore you to do what I've told you. Don't try to run, just bide your time and wait.
Today had been her third appointment Wilson, and though he insisted the adjustment he performed would facilitate the baby turning over, she also got the feeling he was helping her waste time. He had been the one who suggested she go spend time in the Laundry to avoid Negan and his men, and what should have been a brief appointment of only ten minutes always seemed to last forty. They had tried to talk a little more, but after giving them some initial privacy during their first appointment Carson hadn't been so courteous thereafter. He had been present every day since, watching and studying what Wilson was doing or bustling around with his supplies. His presence was frustrating her greatly, leaving her unable to ask Wilson anything else about what had been going on in the world outside the Sanctuary and Alexandria.
She stayed with Daryl a little while longer, but when she heard the sound of another guard joining David at his post she figured it might be time for her to leave. "I should go," she said quietly, thanking him when he passed back the third plastic bag that was now empty. "I'll see you in the morning."
He murmured something from the other side of the door, but it was muffled, and she didn't ask him to repeat it. They never spoke much when she came down there, but the purpose of her visits wasn't to make small talk. All she wanted to do was remind him that he wasn't alone, hoping that the small tokens of food and water she could bring were as much comfort as her company. Hell, she came down here for her own benefit too, to comfort herself. She needed to hear his voice on the other side of that door, to know that he was still surviving day to day, and she couldn't bear the thought of not coming down here to be with him. More and more she had been thinking about what Wilson had instructed, that if she ever found the opportunity for her and Daryl to escape together she wasn't to take it. The priority was for her safe release, and though she had come to terms with the notion that she might have to leave Daryl behind, she still wasn't okay with it. She couldn't stop imagining him here alone, completely isolated from the people who loved him, without a kind word of comfort from anyone…the thought of him going through that was unbearable.
Upon her return to her living quarters she found their living room fully occupied, all of the wives scantily clad in short dresses and low neck lines. Negan had arrived by now to spend the evening, presently sprawled out on the couch with Frankie draped across his lap. Though she thought he would be a man of leisure it seemed Negan was constantly busy with a task of some kind, often found prowling around the Sanctuary with Lucille over his shoulder, looking for someone or giving orders to the lower ranks. But once four o'clock rolled around he promptly made his way back upstairs for his daily drink with Carrie. Not once had he been late, and though the thought had crossed her mind, Carrie had not been late either.
His instructions that she join him each day for an afternoon drink had not been overlooked, and after her daily appointment with Carson and Wilson at three o'clock she had just enough time to make it back. Every time she made her way up the flights of stairs back towards his quarters she was hopeful that today might be different, that he might be caught up with something else and be too busy to see her, but she hadn't been so lucky. Without fail she returned to find the door to his room open wide, Negan lounged on the couch and waiting for her. Always the hospitable host there was a tray of food and her choice of drink, offers which she accepted not just to keep the peace, but because there was no point in fighting what she could not control.
Their conversations always started the same, a polite enquiry about her day, Negan expressing what felt like genuine concern that people were treating her well. He made a point of asking if anyone had crossed her, if there was someone who had been less than accomodating to her unusual status, but her answer was always no. Prisoner though she may be, since she had moved in with the wives no one thus far had even toed the line of mistreating her.
But all too quickly it became apparent that Negan's invitation for her to join him each day was not just about him checking on her well being, but something much more. His polite interest lasted ten minutes at best, and then it turned into an inquisition, though if she ever confronted him about it she suspected he would deny that was his cause. Once the small talk was out of the way his attention turned to her life back home in Alexandria, and most noticeably to her relationship with Rick. Negan wanted to know everything, trying to pry as much information out of her as possible.
Not caring that he was being intrusive he had asked repeatedly about them, phrasing his questions in different ways to try and get new answers. How had they met one another? Was it instant love, or did it start as something else? Had they been together long, and was their marriage good…was the sex good? Some questions she refused to answer, somehow finding the courage to stand up to him as necessary, a quality he seemed to like in her, but for the most part she had to answer…and it had to be truthful. She didn't know what was going on behind the scenes, nor did she know if he was ever going to verify these things with Rick. If there was a discrepancy between what she told him and what Rick said, would he mad?
It was no small wonder that his interest in her and Rick felt intrusive, for that day when they went to Alexandria he had taken more than supplies and mattresses from them. Most notably to her at least he had taken their video camera, and it was clear to her he had watched a great deal of the footage. He had been asking her specific questions about their family, the question as to who was Carl and Judith's real mother indicating he had seen Judith's first birthday party. It made her feel sick to her stomach to know he was watching her family's history, that the video camera and memory cards sat on his nightstand like a book he read before going to sleep.
But what was she to do about it? Snatch them up from his nightstand? Refuse to attend their daily meetings? Sickened though it made her feel, Carrie had no choice but to play along with him.
"Carrie!" Amber whispered loudly, waving at her across the room. "Come and watch with us. It's Mean Girls."
I have better things to do, Bambi, she thought unkindly to herself. "Thanks, but I'm a bit tired."
"You haven't missed much," Tanya whispered, lifting up a bowl of popcorn and showing it to her. "Come on."
"Yeah," came Negan's booming voice, the volume making the wives groan and reach for the remote control. "Come and join us, Carrie."
He was looking directly at her now, and while that grin of his wasn't outright creepy it did make her feel unnerved, like he was testing her somehow. She cringed on the inside when she saw the way he held Frankie in his lap, the way he had his arm around her shoulder and his hand inside her bra. It made her cringe not because she thought it was wrong, but because that was the type of move Rick pulled when they sat down to watch television together. He enjoyed putting his arm around her and then slowly letting his hand creep inside her shirt, barely withholding a smile as he waited for her to call him out on it. But she didn't stop him, waiting until his hand was almost completely inside her shirt before biting his wrist with a playful growl. He had laughed uproariously he first time she did that, but it hadn't deterred him. Now however, watching Negan doing much the same thing to Frankie, she wasn't sure she'd ever let Rick do that again.
"Thanks, but I'm tired," she repeated, hoping he didn't keep at the subject.
Giving a dramatic groan of disappointment, Negan thankfully opted to leave her alone, instead turning his attention to Frankie and giving her a kiss on the cheek before telling someone to turn the volume down. But as she made her way down the corridor to her room she was certain his eyes were following her, perhaps annoyed that she wouldn't join him that evening.
Taking her toiletries she made her way into the luxuriously decorated bathroom and prepared for bed, brushing her teeth and washing her face. For a short while she was completely alone with her thoughts, using the privacy to think a few things through while she brushed her hair and dabbed some face cream onto her cheeks. When she lifted her shirt to rub some lotion onto her belly she looked at her left hand, admiring the wedding rings she had managed to recover yesterday. She had found them for sale in the marketplace, and to her disbelief there was almost no protest when she simply snatched them out of number Eight's tray of trinkets for sale. There was no question of who she was or her right to take them. Number Eight didn't even make her write it in the ledger, though she suspected the topic of payment would come up when Laura reconciled the ledgers at the end of the week. It was stupid really, the rings were material items, but it was nice to have them back again. Rick had given her these, had agonised over which engagement ring to choose, and blessedly they still fit her even though her fingers had swelled a little during pregnancy.
Looking around the bathroom she took note of a few toiletry items that had not been put away that evening, and she recalled the major undertaking of the wives preparing for their evening with Negan. While Carrie spent the afternoon in her bedroom the door had been slightly ajar, allowing her to listen in while they all got dressed, helping one another with their hair and make up, debating who it was that Negan would ask into his bed that night.
"I got my monthly woe," Tanya claimed, excluding herself from the selection pool. "I'm out."
"So what? Negan won't care."
"I care," she said firmly. "All I wanna do tonight is eat popcorn and watch TV. Besides, I'm bloated to hell."
"I'll do him," Frankie said lightly, parading up and down the hall in a dress she had borrowed from Jade. "He hasn't boned me in ages, I'll close over down there if he's not careful."
"Ha!" someone laughed loudly. "He'd probably like that!"
Though she had been trying to keep her distance from the wives, what interactions she had with them had been fine thus far. The wives had welcomed her without hesitation, going out of their way to make sure she had what she needed and helping her settle in. Nevertheless, she got along with them because she forced herself to, because she withheld the vast majority of what she wanted to say to them. The only vindication she ever got was her internal monologue, the unkind nicknames she had for some, Amber in particular.
Finishing up, Carrie slipped across the hall and into the privacy of her bedroom, and not for the first time she wished there was a lock on her door. Still able to hear the television playing in the living room she bustled around her bedroom and put her things away, changing into some comfortable sweatpants and a tank top. When she sank down into the plush mattress she had to go to the effort of getting comfortable with her pillows, sticking one between her knees and another below her belly. But it was the thick pillow she put behind her back that mattered the most, one that made her feel as though Rick might be there warming her in the cold night. His temperature always seemed to run so hot at night, and though she had occasionally complained she longed to have him there tonight.
As she settled in for the night from beneath her pillow she pulled out a baby onesie, looking forward to when she could put it on her baby. It was dark blue with a police badge and the words There's a new Sheriff in town emblazoned across the front. Tara had found it for her a few months ago, gifting it to her at the elaborate baby shower she had thrown, and now it had become a source of comfort for her, something that felt like a connection to her family in Alexandria. The first night she was in this room she had fallen asleep with it clutched in her fist, having cried herself to sleep as quietly as possible.
Unlike other nights that had passed, ones that had been difficult on her, tonight Carrie didn't cry herself to sleep again. She was in bed at barely eight o'clock in the evening, and after an hour or so of reading a book she'd borrowed from the library the baby began making its presence known. It always did this to her when she settled for the night, ready to fall asleep but unable to do so because of the light flutters of movements. But tonight it was particularly active, and despite the cool air she pulled her shirt up and watched the side of her belly moving. She marvelled over every movement her baby made, touching the places where her skin bulged and contorted. Closing her eyes she tried to imagine what it was doing inside her, not quite able to place its position.
For the first time since that awful night, Carrie easily fell into a restful sleep.
Wednesday, March 4th
Something was wrong…something was terribly wrong.
Carrie awoke in a state of panic, terrified as she scrambled to get out of bed. The fight or flight response was kicking in, and she had clearly opted for flight, she just didn't know from what. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, her diaphragm paralysed and denying her oxygen, but then her body started catching up with the panic inside her head.
Pain. It was absolute agony unlike anything she'd ever felt, and her first thought was that the baby was coming. Fumbling through the dark she clutched at her belly, feeling the baby moving about inside her as she gasped for breath. Stumbling out of bed she knocked over the items on her nightstand, desperately trying to see in the dark as she collapsed to her knees on the floor, and to her relief the bedroom door came crashing open with a loud bang.
Light filled the room as someone rushed inside and came to her, and it was only then she realised that she had been screaming, conscious of the way it felt in her throat. Still half asleep she was crying and pleading for relief, twisting around and desperately clutching the back of her right leg. She had been bitten by something, something that latched on and was tearing her flesh from her body. It was the worst pain she'd ever felt, something had to be terribly wrong, but she couldn't even see it properly.
"Carrie!" Sherry was shouting, shaking her. "Is it the baby? Carrie?"
She tried to explain, she really did, but she could barely look up let alone find the words. All she could do was grab at her leg, trying to dislodge whatever it was that was hurting her. When she moved the pain intensified, her panic growing as she tried to make sense of what was happening. In the background she could hear Amber hysterically crying for help, completely beside herself.
"What the fucking fuck is going on?"
Carrie looked up to see Negan bursting through her bedroom door, pulling a white teeshirt over his head as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His face alight with alarm he looked down at her on the ground, his eyes widening in panic of his own.
"The fuck is wrong with her?"
"I think she's in labour!" Amber cried out, still hysterical.
"Shit," Negan cursed, taking a hasty step back and crashing into the door. "Fucking shit! Call Carson."
"Wait!" someone called out, the person by Carrie' side. "She's not in labour, it's her leg. Carrie?"
She nodded, still gasping for breath. "My leg," she managed to say, looking up and coming face to face with Sherry. "It's my leg."
Brushing the wives aside Negan came to her aid, striding across the bed to where she knelt on the other side of the room. Hastening to help her he squeezed himself into the space between her bed and the wall, bluntly telling her to move her hands. She refused, certain that letting go would make it worse, but then he wrenched her hands away himself. She cried out again, feeling the agony intensifying to the point that she thought it would never end…and then it was over.
"Someone check her bed," Sherry instructed, looking at the wives over her shoulder. "Make sure she hasn't been bit by a spider."
"It wasn't a spider," Negan said loudly, taking control of the situation. "Everyone calm the fuck down."
Panting for breath, Carrie slumped down onto her hip and looked at her leg, the white spots clearing from her vision as she saw him crouched behind her. His hands were clenched tight around the back of her calf, the immense pressure blessedly alleviating her pain. Knuckles white with the force of his squeeze he maintained the pressure, watching the relief coming across her face. There was near silence now, only the sound of her panting for breath and Amber crying in the doorway.
"Worst fucking pain of your life?" Negan enquired, his tone gentle and sympathetic. "Hurts so bad you want to chew your damn leg off?"
Unable to speak she simply nodded her head, clenching her teeth together as she tried to normalise her breathing. She could feel sweat pouring down her forehead, her arms trembling as she held herself up, but the white hot agony was gone. Replacing it was an uncomfortable ache, one that worsened when he began easing the pressure, but when he saw the effect of the change he added more pressure again.
"It's a muscle spasm. A Charley Horse by the looks of it." He held her gaze a moment and then looked down at her leg and foot, nodding to himself. "You're fine."
To her absolute astonishment she felt his words calming her, and despite everything she felt a surge of trust, a certainty that he really meant it. She was going to be okay. When he told her to stand up she trusted his instructions, though at first she faltered, her body feeling like it couldn't remember how to move. But Sherry was there again, helping her bear her weight as she brought her left foot up and rose. As she stood Negan kept hold of her right leg, bringing it in line with her body before slowly guiding her toe down to the ground.
"We're going to stretch the muscle now. Go nice and slow, like you're popping some girl's cherry."
"Negan," Sherry hissed at him, disapproving of what he said.
"Calm your tits, Sweetheart. She can take a joke," he insisted, glancing up at Carrie. "Start with the toes and then slowly lower your foot down, alright?"
"N-no," she protested. "I can't yet, it still hurts."
"I got you," he assured her. "Someone get me some massage oil."
There was a commotion at the door as all of the wives hastened to do so, though when Carrie glanced up she was unsurprised to see Amber still standing there shellshocked. Her face was white, eyes red from her hysterical panic and Carrie almost laughed at her. A few moments later Frankie returned, her silk robe gaping to show the red negligee she had been wearing while in Negan's room, and she carried with her a glass bottle of yellow liquid.
"Get around here," Negan instructed her, using his head to gesture to Carrie's leg. "You pull her sweats up as I move my fingers, then start the oil."
When he started moving his fingers up and down along her calf Carrie could barely withhold a groan. Though he had lessened the pressure the sensation of his fingers massaging the muscle provided an incredible relief. Working a fraction at a time he coached her to slowly lower her foot flat to the floor, and began bearing her weight
"Does it hurt anywhere else? Hamstring? Foot?"
"No," she answered. "No where else."
"And you're awake now?" he asked lightly.
"Yes," she breathed, lifting her hands and pushing her hair off her face. "I'm awake now."
At her answer Negan chuckled under his breath. His massage changed a little, his fingers now moving in sweeping motions up and down the back of her leg. "You should have seen your fucking face when I got in here. You were all crazy eyed and wild."
For some reason this made her laugh a little, and then she laughed again because it felt so good. Her body began to settle now, her former fight or flight response having receded now that the pain was almost gone. She wasn't scared anymore, and she could feel the baby inside her still moving, telling her that it too was okay. Sherry passed her a glass of water and she drank gratefully, and now she started to feel embarrassed. She'd caused one hell of a commotion all over a leg cramp, though in her defence she'd never felt pain like that in her life. Until now she thought she had a high threshold for pain, she'd once taken a hockey stick to the face and broken three teeth, but that leg cramp had been something else entirely.
For a few more minutes Negan kept up his massage of her leg, coaching her to start leaning forward into a lunge. While he kept one hand rubbing the contracted muscle he let the other move a little higher up behind her knee and to her hamstring, but the touch didn't feel inappropriate. Satisfied, he told her to stand back up again, and while Sherry ushered the other wives to go back to bed he slowed the massage down incrementally, until a few minutes later his hands went still on her leg, applying just a little more pressure.
"How did you know what to do?" she asked softly, trying to fill the silence.
He seemed surprised by her question, but answered it nonetheless. "I've dealt with my share of overworked muscles, but this is down to your belly full of baby. Haven't you had leg cramps?"
"None like that."
"Were you scared?"
She looked down at him, feeling like she was in a parallel universe. "Yeah."
"You looked it." Letting go of her leg he rubbed his palm up and down one last time, looking dissatisfied. "There's still a knot there. You're gonna need to work it. Gently."
With that he got to his feet, and the way he unintentionally towered over her was a stark reminder that although he had just relieved the worst agony she had ever felt, he was still a monster. She said nothing as he slipped past her and made his way to the bedroom door, but he wasn't leaving. Instead he pushed the bed aside to clear a path for her and then ushered her to start walking.
She trembled when she took her first step, and though she could easily bear weight she felt the muscle straining when she tried to take the next stride. With a stifled gasp she grabbed at the bed frame to steady herself, flinching when she felt some discomfort, but Negan's reaction was markedly different. His body language changed, and as he flexed his shoulders back he turned on the spot to face away from her.
"Fuck!"
The volume of his shout made her jump, her heart beginning to race as she instinctually with recoiled back against the wall. But to her disbelief when he turned back to face her he had softened once again, giving no acknowledgement of his sudden change of demeanour.
"Try again," he said lightly, ushering her towards the bedroom door. "Smaller steps this time."
Not wanting to anger him she did as instructed, and although she felt no pain she was highly conscious of her calf muscle. It felt tender as she walked, a small ache reminding her of its distress with every step she took. At Negan's instruction she made her way out into the corridor of bedrooms and walked the length of it, and as she shuffled along the carpeted floor she tried to make sense of his seemingly unprovoked outburst. Thinking back to what Wilson had told her she wondered if perhaps Negan had been just as scared as she was…her health and her baby were his responsibility for as long as he kept her there. If something terrible happened to her under his care, then all efforts to create smooth waters between the Saviours and Alexandria would be for naught.
"You're going to need to work it," he instructed her again when she returned to the end of the corridor. "Tomorrow morning do some stretches and take a walk. Have Frankie massage it for you, she knows what she's doing. She'll get rid of that knot still there."
"Okay," she murmured, and then despite everything this man had done to her and Alexandria, gratitude came slipping from her lips before she could think twice. "Thank you."
Negan blinked at this, just as surprised as she was. He narrowed his eyes and leant down to her, getting into her personal space. "Don't say that shit too loud," he warned. "I've got a fucking reputation to maintain. Can't have prisoners like you thanking me."
She nodded, holding her breath. "Okay."
He withdrew as quickly as he had leant in, and despite his former kindness he now looked genuinely unhappy once more. "Go back to fucking bed," he said sharply, leaving her there in the middle of the corridor as he departed. "If I get woken up again, it better be with lips on my dick."
When the door closed behind him Carrie stood there a few moments, and although she was wide awake she was still struggling to comprehend what had happened to her. She looked down at her body, tilting her head to see her calf, but it was hidden beneath her sweats. For a little while she stood there shellshocked, and too awake to go back to sleep she shuffled back into her bedroom and collected a change of clothes and her towel. She had been sweating profusely when it happened, and now it had dried on her skin, her tank top feeling a little damp.
Her calf felt strained with every step, yet it felt good to be moving it a little. In the bathroom she locked herself into a cubicle and then turned to the large tank of water they used for showering, glad to see there was some left. It was frigid cold, warm water only being provided for them twice a day at scheduled times, but nonetheless she used it to clean herself up a little. When she stripped naked and stepped under the slow stream of water she suddenly took note of what she had been wearing, that she had been standing before Negan in nothing but a tank top and sweat pants. Her top was stretched to its limit, barely covering the entirety of her belly, but Negan had seemed to be paying no attention to her body. Not once had she felt his eyes where they shouldn't be, not once had she seen him trying to glimpse down at her cleavage.
It was so strange to think about the lines he had drawn with her, that when it came to his people respect and consent was genuinely important to him…and he really did think he had the genuine consent of the woman who called themselves his wives. Was he blind to the position these women were in, or did he just not want to admit what he did to them?
Having freshened up a little she hastily dried off and then redressed, her movements slow and methodical when it came to walking. When she stepped out into the corridor she found a light illuminated in the living area, taken aback by the sight of Negan sprawled out on one of their leather chairs. A glass of whiskey dangled from his fingertips, his feet resting on the coffee table, and when she came out he made a point of looking around at her. It seemed he had been waiting for her to come out, though it didn't mean he was pleased to see her.
"I thought I told you to go the fuck to bed."
His tone was dark, no hint of menacing playfulness or amusement. Not knowing what else to do Carrie quickly averted her eyes and then shuffled straight across the hall and into her bedroom, and as soon as she was out of his line of sight she dumped her towel and clothing in her haste to close the door. Unnerved by his presence out there she stood at the door with her hand poised on the handle, one hand pressed against the door as if she stood any chance of stopping him should he try to come in. For what felt like forever she stood there braced against the door, listening intently for the sound of the main door, and only when she heard it open and close did she allow herself to let her guard down.
What had he been doing out there? Was he just trying to mess with her head because she hadn't gone straight back to bed at his instructions? Trying to settle her nerves she went about hanging up her towel and putting her clothes into her laundry bag, fussing around for a few minutes. The baby too had settled by now, but whatever position it had taken inside her was most uncomfortable, and she could feel an annoying pressure in her lower back.
When she finally sank back into bed and turned off the light, Carrie knew that she wasn't going to easily find sleep again.
A/N I hope you enjoyed a little glimpse into Carrie's life in the Sanctuary - more on that to come next chapter!
Just checking in with my readers - the number of chapter views has gone down, and so too has reviews (with exception of my 'every chapter' reviewers). Are some readers just needing a TWD break following season 8, or has the story become less enjoyable as the chapters go on? Please feel free to drop me a review or private message if there's anything you feel I ought to know and take on board.
Thanks again to my reviewers, I'm very grateful for the feedback and your enthusiasm! Next chapter is among my favourite peaks into life at the Sanctuary!
