Okay, here it is. Please advise caution. This is going to disturbing and dark, and more explicit than my usual style, because the narrative and character development were needing it. Please don't scream at me reading it, "what the hell, woman?"

XX.

Her forehead resting against the truck's window, Amanda tried to isolate herself from what was happening—what had happened back at Alexandria. Everything felt like a nightmare—everything.

She wanted to cry. It was nightmare. They had to fight, they had to endure, but at each step, they were losing—losing people.

Dwight and Cherry… They were dead. He—he'd killed them. "You know the rules…If you desert us, you die," he had said, simple and plain, and shouted another Arat, and then two gunshot echoed in the air—and the couple was gone.

The questions had been asked, no explanation demanded, just like that—if you desert us, you die… Then he'd walked back to them, and announced, "No one can run away from me."

Amanda had known then the words were meant for them—for her as he looked at her, openly. Rick had moved another step toward her after it, and his eyes still on hers, the damn bastard ordered again, "Arat, if this sucker takes another step again, kill his son."

Rick stopped as Arat drew her gun out again and pointed at Carl. Amanda had just told then to Negan they should go back.

Maybe—maybe coming back here hadn't been a good idea, she didn't know. She'd been so adamant, so fierce talking to Rick. Now she was just tired—tired of doing this—tired of losing—and she was alone.

Beth was in another vehicle, they'd separated them into different cars, so Amanda didn't even have the small comfort of her friend being with her.

She was alone. And she was scared out of her shit.

She was going to get punished. It was coming to her, she knew. She felt it. She was going to get punished, just how like Dawn had used to punish wards when she lost it or when they did something she didn't like. Beth—Beth still carried Dawn's scar over her cheek—faint, pale, but it was there. Every contact leaves a trace, she passed in her mind, and wondered what kind of scars she was going to carry after today.

She'd thought herself prepared…she'd thought ready—so perhaps today was really the day she was going to find out.

Negan had liked her lying about Dwight and Cherry as much as Dawn had liked Beth's escape attempt with Noah, though what else he had expected, she really didn't know.

Had he really expected she would've sold them out like this? They were their people! Had he really expected them to give the couple to him on a silver tray?

When they had arrived, she slowly stepped down from the truck, heels and tight pencil skirt making it worse, and held her stomach. Her babies… she had to protect her babies.

Whatever the punishment was going to be, she had to protect her babies. She couldn't let that son of a bitch hurt them. Never. Her hand on her stomach, she steeled herself. She was going to suck it up. He couldn't break her. Never.

Small mercies, Negan had ride with another vehicle, so she had been really alone all the way back to the compound, but when they were back, he came to their side, Arat and her other two guards Gary and David standing a few feet away from her, even then not leaving her alone.

"Take them back to the parlor," Negan ordered Arat, "I'll be coming soon."

She saw Beth coming too, and they fell back together a few seconds later, and started going up towards his living quarters. While they walked, she sensed a light touch at her fingertips, and twisting her head, she looked at Beth as her friend gently brushed her fingertips over hers, like she'd done to her before.

Amanda almost burst into tears.

The air inside the parlor was tense, she sensed it just as they walked into the well-furnished room. Amanda wondered if the women had heard what had happened even though it wasn't possible. They had just come back. They had gone into their room and started waiting in silence. After fifteen minutes, she shook her head, suppressing her tears.

"He's doing this purpose, making us wait," she muttered out, "Bloody bastard. He's doing this just to torture us more."

"Amanda—"

"I just want to be done with it!" she bit off, standing up from the chair she was sitting. She did. She fucking hated waiting! And waiting something bad to happen was worst of all—the absolute worst!

She passed Rick in her mind—how she wished to be back in her home again, in his arms… She stopped the thoughts. No. Thinking it, thinking Rick, thinking home just made it worse when she was forced to live through this. They made her weak. She can't be weak. She couldn't afford it. She had to be strong. For her babies. She couldn't make out of it if she got depressed.

No. she had to prepare herself. Whatever was going to happen, would happen. She would try to hinder it, if she could, but if not, then she was going to suck it up. Perhaps this was just her punishment as well…for the things she had done, for the times she'd closed her eyes what had happened at Grady and turned her head to the other side.

"Beth—" she called at her friend, turning toward her, somehow she felt the need to say it out loud, she had to say it out loud, "Dawn—Dawn used to beat you. I know it. She did it after Noah's escape, too. I'm sorry," she told her, "I'm sorry I did nothing to stop it."

Beth shook her head, "Amanda you shouldn't think about it now."

Yeah, she might think how the fuck she was going to get punished instead.

Giving out a sigh, she slumped back on the chair. She really wanted it done now. But he couldn't do that, of course not. She smiled bitterly. The cunning, sadistic, damn bastard had to play with her, make her feel the dread and ambiguity more, make her worry with unknown…

She'd gathered it as soon as they'd put them into different vehicle with Beth. She'd known—but well, it was one of those unfortunate circumstances knowing something didn't change a shit.

Half an hour, when she was about to lose her mind, two women came and brought them back to the parlor from their adjourned rooms. She saw no guards this time, possibly he'd sent everyone away from…privacy. She supposed she must feel glad of it. She'd started to have an inkling that whatever might happen, she would've preferred it being between only two of them. Her biggest fear was that Beth somehow would get into this too.

When they came into the parlor, he was already there, waiting in the middle of the room. His bat wasn't with him, and he'd changed his clothes, though still wore his leather jacket, this time its front open, and his hair was slightly moist too.

Fucking bastard. While he'd made her wait here, he'd taken a shower himself.

After they took two vacant seats, he wandered his gaze over all of them. The room was quiet, then Amanda knew.

The women—they had heard. And Negan had gathered them all for yet another lesson, it seemed. A blonde girl, a young blonde girl almost whimpered, bowing her head as if to hide herself, and the redhead woman with a porcelain face held her hand in silence to give her support. Amanda saw the woman's fingers tightened on the younger ones', her face set, then Amanda also knew this wasn't the first time it'd happened. The wives weren't waiting one of them getting punished the first time.

Mentally, she shook her head. She wasn't a damn wife! Though as far as punishments went, she didn't know it was a good thing or not… The girls, they seemed intact. At least, from outside.

"Today—" Negan finally started pacing in the room, his eyes darting around them, "I learned that I was lied to." He tossed at her a look, making sure the others realize who was the reason of this little group activity, and Amanda thought it was pretty useless. Everyone already knew.

"You know how much I hate that shit," he continued, and turned to face her openly, "But because it's your first time, Amanda," and uttered her name fully for the first time she'd known him, and Amanda wished he hadn't, "I'm gonna go easy on you. But this—this is the last time."

The words brought her back memories, how the sadistic maniac had told them he was going to give them the easy way out because it was their first time and then beat Glenn to death. She almost let out a bitter, curt snort, but couldn't help the words left her mouth, "Like you did with Glenn?"

"I explained it to you before," he said back in seriousness, "We have rules for a reason. Rules are what keeps us together. What keeps this place together."

Amanda kept another bitter snicker inside. It wasn't the first time she'd heard those words. It felt like Dawn was talking to them again, throwing at them excuses for the things she had done, and Amanda hadn't bought them then and she wasn't buying now, either. "We are what keep us together," she said back, shaking her head, "what keeps our homes together, not the rules."

Perhaps Rick was even right. Home wasn't just a place. Rick had lost prison and made himself another home…but…but she wanted to have a place—somewhere they all could settle down and take roots—be connected—tied to…not drifting away. She wanted to feel rooted down to earth—with Rick, with her family, have a place, not live like nomads, wanderers, and she did—she had found her place—with Rick.

"If we don't have rules all would turn to chaos," he continued, "We'd just live like savages out there."

She couldn't help herself any longer, "Says the man who walks around with a barbed baseball bat soaked with blood…"

His eyes stared at her a long, a long moment, then he turned to the redhead woman, "Frankie—love, take Amanda to my quarters."

She shook her head, and rose to her feet, "No. I'm not your wife," she told him coldly, "Do whatever you want, but don't treat me as one of your wives."

Negan gave her a snicker, shaking his head, "You don't want me to do that, doll."

The blonde girl gave out a whimper and Amanda felt a shiver run through her spine even though she had no idea what he was talking about, but inclinations were quite clear. Wives got it easier than others. The women also looked unscarred too, and she—she had to protect her babies. She had to suck it up—swallowed her pride. This was no time.

She'd told Rick to suck it up—told him to kneel, and he had. He'd knelt.

It looked it was her time now.

Her eyes skipped at Beth for a second, and in her eyes, she saw worry, too. At least, she was safe from this. At least, she wasn't going to be punished because of her…disobedience. Negan had a way to use people they cared into submission, and Amanda didn't want to make that choice.

No. She wouldn't.

She gave a curt nod then, turning away from him. The redhead came to her side quickly, and touching her elbow lightly, she directed her out of the room. They walked silently in the corridor, and she opened the door. Amanda walked in.

There were still no guards, the corridor was deserted, and it sent another shiver over her spine, like she was going to the devil's lair. The woman gave her a look and let out a sigh. "Make it easy for yourself," the woman then told her, words placid, "Just give him what he wants."

Amanda almost let out a rough laughter, hearing the words. It was—it was exactly the same thing she'd have advised to anyone in her position, but once again she realized living and imagining things were far from each other.

The woman closed the door after then on her, and Amanda almost dropped on her knees and started to cry. Whatever was going to happen, she really just wanted it to happen now, before she broke down.

She couldn't be this frightened—she—she'd survived beatings before—years, years ago, in one of the foster homes, and couldn't have sit on her ass for a full week… But after everything had happened, after she'd seen what Negan was capable of…after what life she'd had with Rick…

Perhaps she'd really gotten soft.

She gave herself a little shake of head, and tried to prepare herself, then did what she always did, and tried to get her facts straight.

Forcing himself on her wasn't Negan style. She'd heard from Cherry that rape was against the rules at Sanctuary too and was severely punished, and wives always first gave their consents, coerced or not. No. She hadn't been afraid in the cells they've gotten raped by him. It was others. Not him. So, rape was out of the question.

He was most probably going to beat her. All things considered; it wasn't the beating itself that she was afraid of the most. She could deal with pain. She would hate it, but she could work through it. It was him, his desire to have submission—wanting to break people so he could get them pliable.

His words from the morning passed over her mind, and her stomach twisted into knots, bile returning to her… Lay you over his knees…?

No way.

No fucking way.

When that had happened the last time, she had been a child, an eight-year-old girl! And it'd been fucking awful even then.

And her babies… She couldn't take any severe beatings—the last time she'd gotten kicked, she'd lost her baby! And, for god's sake, who would beat a pregnant woman anyways?

Negan. For starters.

Just as the thought came to her, the bastard walked into the room. Amanda spun around and faced with him as he gave her a look. "Twitchy?" he asked, laughing silently.

Sick bastard. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying doing this to her.

"My face—" she sputtered out then, "You—you can beat me at my face. Nowhere else, please." She pleaded, closing her eyes, "I—I'm pregnant."

He shook his head, "No. Not your face—your face is very pretty. I like it," he said matter of fact, "But don't worry, your babies will be fine. The doctor will check you, too, after we're done." The words turned in her mind as she swallowed, her throat dry. Without another word, he then walked to his chiffonier and opened the first drawer. When he came back, his hand was holding a black multi-tailed whip.

Her eyes widened seeing the fucking thing, and she took a few steps back…her heart galloping at her chest. No.

She remembered the whimpering blonde girl and wondered if this was the reason…that she knew what happened in his quarters. "You see, I could just use my hand too, but I'm not allowed to touch you," he told her mockingly, "But if you ask me—ask me nicely—" he trailed off, looking at her expectedly.

Asked him what? She stared at him in silence. He shook his head. "Well, your choice. But it'd really better for you if you just lay over my knees."

She still stared at him. "Go over the bed, and bend down, Amanda."

She started shivering.

No… No… It was wrong. Them like this… She…she couldn't do this.

"Go on now…" he ordered her.

She swallowed. S-she could do this—she told herself. She could close her eyes and sucked it up. She could.

It still was going to be her ass, she knew then. The last time she'd been kicked, it was at her groin, and he'd said—he'd said he would keep her babies safe, and even though she could never trust anything that came out of that mouth, that had to be true. She just had to do this. Get over it. It was whipping, she could take it. The alternative wasn't an option. She could not just lay over his knees and ask him to slap her ass!

She could not!

Never.

She was tough. She could handle this.

He was doing this to break her. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. He didn't only want to teach her a lesson, he wanted her to ask for it!

I ask for it.

Goddammit! She shouldn't have done it. She just shouldn't have done it.

Letting out a shaking breath with a glare, she turned around on her heels, and moved to bed.

She bent down on the bed as instructed, her hands placed down on the mattress, and tried not to think the scene she was giving him behind. Then he said, "Gather your skirts up over your waist."

Silently, as her tears filled in her eyes, she bit her lips to stop them. "Amanda."

Letting out shaking breath, she pulled her hands back, still standing on her feet, bent down, and started pulling her dress upward with her trembling hands.

Sick…it was all sick… She wondered if this was why they'd also given them stockings and G-strings, and heels, as if…as if…he knew he would've had her like this. When she was done, she pressed her hands down on the bed again, and waited.

She—she was just going to pretend he was Rick. Rick—Rick was going to punish her because she had been a bad girl… But…she—she wasn't a bad girl. Never. She was a good girl! And Rick—Rick never punished her. Even when he was mad with her—even when they had a fight, he didn't punish her. He took her in his arms, kissed her shoulder lightly, pulled her to his chest closer, tightening his arms over her waist…but didn't punish her, he'd told her so… And I'm not punishing you…

He—he tied her hands and fuck her brains out not to punish her—he did it—he did it—her thoughts stopped, tears filling more… She had no idea—had no idea why they did it—why she wanted him to do it…want him to fuck her like this…. She just wanted it. It made her feel safe, whole—fulfilled, giving herself to him completely…yielding to him.

"Fuck me good! What a scenery!" His voice interrupted, her confused thought and emotions, and she just wanted this done…finished, so she could—move on, forget about it.

"Now, tell me, Rick has ever fucked you like this—" the damn bastard asked, tauntingly, and Amanda just let the words wash over her. "He doesn't know what he's missing."

She briefly wondered if this was about her—or about Rick again—because she was his wife. She heard a whistle in the air, then it cracked on her skin… and she thought no more.

She just screamed.

# # #

When the screams came from outside, Beth started crying, hiding her face behind her hands.

The redhead woman found her then, Beth saw through her fingers, "She should've known better than to provoke him like that," the woman remarked thoughtful, voice placid.

Beth shook her head, "This—he does this to you, doesn't he?" she asked in challenge, lifting her head up.

The woman stared at her, and for a second after agreed, "When you break his rules."

Beth tilted her head at Amber as Amanda still screamed somewhere out there, "Like she did…?" she asked back, "He beat her too, right?"

"Yes," the woman answered back firmly, "Amber was lucky. It could've been worse. She cheated on him with someone else. The guy didn't escape that lucky. He got the iron."

"What's that?" Beth asked, even not knowing if she wanted to know.

"The usual punishment if you're not a wife, sweetie. He burns the half of your face with an iron. So, yeah, your friend made the right choice."

Beth listened to the screams. "He's hurting her. She's got twins." The redhead woman's lips twitched. Beth looked at her, "We should do something!"

They should! They—they couldn't just listen to it helplessly. She touched at her cheek, felt the scar over her cheek. But the redhead shook her head. "There's nothing to do. You both need to accept it."

# # #

She heard the whistling sound in the air before the whip cracked at her flaming skin another time, and screamed, "Stop! Please, god, stop!"

It did. And she let out sob breath out, gulping through her dry throat.

She was burning—burning with pain—aching, sweat running through her whole body, her legs trembling, she was almost laying on her stomach on the bed now, her hands tangled around the sheets, twisting them with pain each time the whip flogged at her ass, and something in her groins—something in her groins had started twisting.

True to his words, the damn bastard was careful, the whip never went below her ass—he just kept flogging her cheeks, keeping his promise… But she couldn't take it anymore.

She just couldn't. Just wanted it to stop… It was hurting….so fucking much…and her babies…her babies… "Please…" she breathed out.

He leaned down toward, "Please what?"

She closed her eyes, resting her elbows on the bed, her bowed head touching at the mattress, "Please, stop."

"No—we're not done yet." Another whistle and crack…

"I learned!" she cried out, the force of the whip forcing her further on her elbows, her legs buckling, "I fucking learned my bloody lessons! Stop now!"

"No—look at that language. I don't think you've learned it well—" he said, and the fucking thing landed on her ass another time. She howled another time.

Another whistle—another scream—another crack—

"DO IT!" she shouted.

He stopped, hearing the words, and she knew then…this was what he'd been waiting, from the very beginning. Flogging her ass with a whip wasn't her punishment. This—this was her punishment. Making her beg for it. I ask for it.

"Do it—" she whispered then, not caring anymore. She just wanted it to stop. Give him what he wants, in her mind Joan told her or was it that redhead woman, or was it her?

"Do what?"

She twisted her head back between her elbows and looked at him as he stood towering beside her at the edge of the bed. "You—you can touch me—"

He looked at her back, demanding. "Tell me."

Her tears fell. She'd been already crying—or sweating she didn't know… everything was under a blur, and she didn't fucking care anymore. Even her damn pride. So, she opened her mouth and told him, "I—let me lay over your knees."

He smiled at her. And it hurt her as much as the cracks of the whips. "You didn't say the magic word."

Her tears fastened… "Please…" and she let out in a so low whisper she wasn't even sure it was audible, "Please, let me lay over your knees."

There she had done. Game over. She turned ahead again and bowed her head. She was exposed, her ass sticking up in the air, getting flogged with a whip, and she just had asked a disgusting man to take her over his knees and used his hands instead.

She heard the bed crack slightly and realized he had finally sat down beside her. "Come over her then doll," he told her, holding her hand, "Get on your hands and knees on the floor."

Her eyes half closed, not looking at him, she twisted as he settled her between his open legs on her hands and knees, her stomach resting over his leg. "It wasn't so hard, see?" he asked, laughing at her, and a slap—a light one—almost playful landed on her burning ass.

Now, he was just mocking her. She wondered if it was really her punishment, for Joan, for letting things go that far—she wondered if Gorman had ever lay her over his knees and beat her…just like Amanda was getting beaten now. Was this what the other woman had had to live through while Amanda had turned her head to the other side and told Joan to suck it up?

Maybe she really needed this punishment—needed someone to teach her how this felt like—what she had put through those women, maybe that was even why she wanted Rick to fuck her like that—because she was a bad girl—dirty—even Rick hadn't thought first she was a dirty cop?

She shook her head mentally. No—No—She wasn't bad! She was good! She'd never been dirty, not one shred of it! Never.

"Frankie!" Negan suddenly shouted before he slapped her another time—and—and all thoughts left her.

No! No!

No one could see her like this… No! She—she could—she could go through it, but only herself… Granted, they must've heard her screams, but she didn't want anyone see her like this!

She tried to run away—stand up, but he pulled her closer over his lap, resting her upper body over the bed, twisting her, and pinched her ass. "Hold still. We're gonna take a photo."

She shook her head as he pushed her ass over his knee even up in the air, moving her over the bed, "Don't—please. Isn't this enough?" she asked, turning her head aside back to him, "I'm already on my knees."

Frankie opened the door, and seeing the scene faltered at her steps at the doorsteps. "Take the camera and took a photo of her," he ordered at the other woman

"Yes, Negan," was the only answer placid woman gave before she walked and opened another drawer. She took the Polaroid machine and raised it as Amanda turned back, and stared ahead at the wall, her shoulders shaking with her sobs… She couldn't help it anymore.

"Amanda, doll, look at the camera—" Negan told her softly, and his hand started playing with her hair.

She didn't. She wanted to toss her head to push off his hand off her hair, but she didn't, and she didn't know if it was because she was afraid of another punishment or because she didn't care.

The thought made her cry even harder. "Amanda, look at the camera. Now."

His voice was sterner, and tears flooding over her cheeks, this time she did, she twisted aside and looked at the camera as the redhead woman took her photo.

"Give it to me," Negan ordered to the woman and slowly the woman walked toward them and handed it to him. "Okay, you can go now."

After her, Negan laughed silently. "Do you know how many times she ended up like you are right now, too, doll?" he suddenly told her, and for a second Amanda couldn't even understand, then realized he was talking about the redhead woman.

She didn't say anything, though. She didn't even know what she was supposed to say. He was having his fun, and Amanda was just his plaything, his…doll. He leaned over her, leaning downward and his hand went over her face, showing her the picture. "Look at yourself, doll."

She turned her eyes ahead again, stared at the wall. She didn't want to see it. She…she couldn't see it… she couldn't see herself like this. This…this wasn't her. "I said look."

Slowly, she raised her eyes, and looked at it. Her face—her teary eyes—the broken, shamed expression as she twisted her neck aside and looked at the camera, her dress over her waist, her ass up in the air towards camera over his knee, with stockings and all, like a porn movie star…

She started crying openly, her body uncontrollably shaken, sobs coming out broken.

This—this broken woman wasn't her… Couldn't be….

She—she was…

Suddenly his hands pulled her up and rested her completely over his knees over the bed. She didn't even fight with him, just let him handle her body. His hands went over her ass and he lightly touched at her skin, but this time, instead of slapping her, he started caressing her aching, burning skin.

"Frankie was just like you, too, once," he told her, his palm running over her, "It took a while to tame her. But look how happy she's now. How well-cared she is. She begged for it, too, like you did."

She silently cried as he spoke, trembling… Rick… she passed in her mind, she just wanted Rick to take her away and make her forget everything.

"I'm sorry I had to do this, but you had to realize. Women like you—I know your kinds. Hard shells, soft hearts…" Dawn's words echoed in her… Hard shells, soft hearts… And was she, wasn't she? "Soft but empty…" he continued, "You feel there's an emptiness inside you nothing can fill. Is this why you wanted to put a baby in there? To fill your emptiness, doll?"

His hand dropped at his side, he stopped touching her. Amanda just was crying now, listening to the words, laying over his knees, trying to oppose him, but couldn't finding the words. "Women like you need men like me to take care of you, to fuck your brains out, to make you whole. You hate to admit it—hate that you want it, but you do, you want it desperately. You can't help yourself. You want to yield. You're begging for it. Begging for a man to take you hard, fill your every emptiness inside—make you forget everything."

Her cries turned into helpless sobs after that, like someone had cut her open and lay all of her inside out and she tried to move away from him, try to run away from the words, but he caught her tightly, his fingers digging at her arms, and turned her around to face him. "I know you think Rick is that man—" He stared at her crying eyes as he kept her over his lap, her dress still over her waist, her legs over the bed, trapped, "But he isn't," he spat, "He's weak. I took you from him, and he couldn't do anything. He can't make you whole, baby."

Baby—the word snapped something inside her. There had been only one man, only one man who had called her baby—the only man she'd ever let do it, call her baby. Rick. She was only Rick's baby.

His eyes flashed over her mind, electric blue—fucking her hard and good, blowing her mind—making her forget anything—then he smiled at her—warmly, hoping Judith in his arms, lighting passing his fingers over her fingertips…

She then knew.

Her cries ceasing, she looked at him with glazed yet clear eyes, a serenity finding her, "I'm not your baby," she told him calmly, "And you don't know any shit about me or him."

He smiled at her, "I can make people bow to you, Amanda, make them fall on their knees at your feet." He leaned toward her closer, almost kissing her, "I can make you my queen."

She smiled back at him, shaking her head. It was so clear to her. So fucking clear. She raised her hand, held his neck, and raised herself toward him, "I don't want to be a queen—" she whispered out at him, her lips hovering over his ears. Amanda had never had big ambitions, but the only thing she'd ever wanted was a family. Holding on him, she brought herself over him even closer, "And you. disgust. me."

She grasped his head, her hands like clamps at both side of his head, then she sunk her teeth in his neck.

A beast, or Rick, was roaring inside her, blood and flesh, and skin filling into her mouth, and the sick bastard shocked and frozen was trashing in her grip, but Amanda didn't let go—only sunk her teeth deeper then yanked her head off, tearing his damn throat off, blood sputtering out at her face, blood and pieces of flesh running out of her mouth over her chin and neck. She spat it out at his face.

Somehow she thought it fitting—so fitting. All these violent delights having a violent end.

She pushed them back on the bed and mounted over his hips. Quickly she moved her hand to his mouth to silence his gaging groans as he slowly died under her.

His futile resistance ceased as his blood ran out of him together with his life.

Amanda stared at him, the taste of blood and flesh still over her tongue, her body shaking uncontrollably over the macabre she'd created.

Her stomach churning, she then vomited, and fell on the dead body, a darkness falling over her.

But she did. She'd killed him. She had kept her promise.


All right! Finally, I'm done. Since I've started this story, Amanda was slowly getting to this point-breaking apart-then sort of having an epiphany, and challenging her inner Rick, ripping some throat, just like he did, and of course her telling Negan "you disgust me." In fact, the whole between Negan and Amanda had built itself around that line. There're a lot of recurrent themes here, her distorted self-image, guilt, and vice versa, but I'm beyond tired right now to yammer about them. :)
So, I'm gonna leave them to you.
Writing this chapter was very hard, as it really disturbed me, as it should've, too, yet still it had to be provocative at same time, because there was also an undercurrent sexuality, especially with everything going on what Negan told Amanda about herself. I still tried to keep it as tactful as possible. Hope managed it.

On the good news, the bastard is dead! Frankly, I can't never understand why people liked Negan this much. He's an awful human being. It's not even because he kills people, Rick kills people too, that's the reality of their world, as sad as it is, but Negan enjoys what he does, enjoy violence, does it even when he doesn't need to. Which is disgusting. Period.