Bump!

My body jostles against Negan as he speeds down the gravel road leading to the factory – the location for today's visit with my dad. Even with my eyes covered, courtesy of the usual blindfold, I can tell that he is intentionally hitting every bump and hole in the road, each one causing me to smash against him once again.

My childhood dirt bike rode smoother than the suspension in this rust-bucket….

Negan chose to drive his 'vintage' '78 Chevy Silverado instead of his usual truck. He wanted to 'change things up a bit.' He hit the nail on the head if 'vintage' meant a truck with both side-mirrors practically hanging off, a tailgate that refused to stay closed, cracked windshield, tires that are nearly dry-rotted, and rust practically turning the front and rear bumpers into a crumbling mess. Hell, it doesn't even have seat belts - they supposedly 'wrinkle his jacket.' It's amazing the vehicle has stayed together this long.

I've just repositioned myself back into my seat when the front-end of the truck violently drops into a pothole deep enough to cause the undercarriage of the truck to grind against the road. The momentum sends me sprawling across his lap. Negan instantly stops the truck as I blindly push off anything in my reach to sit myself up as quickly as possible.

"Woah there, darlin'. If ya wanted to sit on my lap that bad, all you had to do was fucking ask. I aim to please," he snickers. I feel his hands brush my back as he pulls off the steering wheel to give me room to move.

With one hand gripped on the dash, pulling me up, and the other pushing off his thigh. I'm finally able to fling to my end of the cab and as far from Negan as possible.

"If you 'aim to please', you can start by learning how to drive. I swear, I've had smoother rides hitting speed bumps at thirty miles an hour.…"

"If it's a wild ride that you want.…"

"Don't!" I interrupt, knowing exactly where he was going with this. "Just, how long until we get there?"

"Half hour or so," Negan replies as he continues to drive. "Now, listen the fuck up. I want to make sure that you hear and understand every damn word that I'm about to say, since someone appeared to not have been listening when I explained my expectations the last fucking time we met with daddy.' The disapproval is evident in Negan's voice, eluding to when I openly defied him and spoke to my father at the last meet.

'I imagine you'll think twice before pulling another stunt like that after the ass whopping you got! Anyways, your daddy earned three hours of visitation for three successful payments, pending today's payment. He decided to use two hours and save the third hour for next time. You two can laugh, cry, hug, I don't give a shit. Just know that you still fucking answer to me. Try to give me any lip in front of your father and I will shut your fucking little family reunion down and drag you out of his arms by your collar like the pup that you are. We fucking clear?"

"Yes, sir."

I can honestly say that Negan doesn't have to worry about me trying anything. The 'ass whopping' was enough to show me that he wouldn't hesitate to beat me within an inch of my life again, even for the tiniest transgressions.

The truck slows to a stop after what felt like hours on the gravel road. Negan jumps out of the cab, causing the entire vehicle to rock back and forth.

My ears perk up when I hear the crunching of gravel outside of the passenger door.

Creeeeaaakkk – the rusted hinges of the beat-up Chevy protest as the door being flung open. "Showtime, pup!" A calloused hand encircles my forearm and guides me out of the truck to untie the blindfold.

The familiar, overgrown landscape of the factory comes into focus as my eyes adjust to the sudden intrusion of daylight. We are parked in the same area as last time and I'm able to spot my dad's empty vehicle a few yards away.

He must already be inside.

My heart rate quickens in anticipation with each step that we take towards the factory's entrance. Negan must be excited as well because he has yet to cease whistling a high-pitched melody. I try to focus on the crunch of the leaves and vegetation underneath my sneakers, anything to calm myself down.

Negan stops us both upon reaching a massive, sliding industrial door. Grabbing the handle, he uses nearly all his weight to propel the metal door open. He quickly ushers me inside and secures the door.

A maze of enormous machines scatter a space nearly twice as large as the main floor of the Sanctuary. Everything from the equipment, the rafters, and even the tools scattered on the floor are caked in a thick layer of dust and debris. Our movements stir-up even more dust particles into the air, irritating my sinuses.

We snake our way past several rows of conveyer belts as Negan continues to lead me deeper into the bowels of the factory. Rounding a corner, we enter a space that must have once been the break room for the labourers. Metal lockers line one wall from floor to ceiling, there's an empty spot in the corner where a refrigerator would've been, and a medium sized table with three chairs takes up most of the space.

That's when I see him leaning against the lockers – hair a disheveled mess, heavy bags lay under his sunk-in eyes, face unshaven, and sporting a half tucked-in flannel shirt riddled with stains. Every other button is either buttoned in the wrong spot or not buttoned at all. Even fully clothed, he appears frail and unwell.

I can't help but fight back tears at the sight of him. I've never seen my father in this sort of condition. He didn't look anywhere near this bad when I saw him two weeks ago. To be perfectly honest, I may not have recognized him if I passed him out on the street.

He lifts his head when we enter the room, his weary eyes coming to life when we meet each other's gaze.

Neither of us make a move. We know to wait for Negan's say-so before acting.

"Well, hello there, friend! It's good to see your ugly ass face again. By the way, I love the new look. If you're going for the 'homeless piece of shit living underneath the bridge' look, then you fucking nailed it!" Negan chuckles.

My father only nods in response, barely registering Negan's jabs. His attention never leaving me.

Despite the lack of a reaction from my dad, Negan continues to hurl his usual insults towards him. He's taking his sweet time explaining the rules knowing that my father and I are impatiently waiting for him to finish his spiel in order to be in each other's loving embrace again. I begin to grow restless and shift my weight back-and-forth between each leg, the movement not going unnoticed by Negan.

"Ohhh shit. How insensitive of me! You probably want to hug him right about now and get this visit started, correct? Come on, pup, what do you say? You know your fucking manners."

"Please, sir, may I hug my father?" The words are painless and sincere for a change. At this point, I'll say whatever the bastard wants to hear, anything to be able to be in my father's protective arms.

My father visibly cringes upon hearing me easily submit to Negan. I can't imagine what it is like seeing someone who you despise have so much control over your daughter, especially when you have no say in the matter as her father.

The hold on my arm is released and I rush towards my father. When I reach him, the force of my embrace nearly knocks us both to the floor. He cradles my head against his chest and repeatedly whispers 'my baby, my baby' as relieved tears fall from his face.

It's in this vulnerable moment that my emotional walls break down. For once, I feel safe enough to release the anger, sorrow, and frustration that I've been bottling in since this entire ordeal began.

For a minute, I'm not the nineteen-year-old who has adapted to her captive situation and is fighter. I'm the eight-year-old girl who is overwhelmed by a seemingly hopeless situation and is in need of her father's strength to keep her going. I can't get through this on my own.

The scratching sound of a chair leg being dragged across the concrete floor pops our emotional bubble.

"Don't mind me," Negan interjects. Dragging one of the chairs to the far wall. "I just figured I'd give you two some space, but still within ear shot." Resting Lucille against the wall next to him, Negan whips out a rolled-up newspaper from his back pocket, and plops himself on the chair.

"One hour and forty-six minutes left." He announces from behind the front page of the paper.

I silently thank Negan for allowing us the limited privacy. It may not be much, but it is something.

Turning his attention back to me, my dad holds me at arms-length and begins to look me over. His expression falls as he notices the healed scrapes and wounds on my face and wrists, some of which were not present the last time he saw me.

"What has he done to you?" His words laced with worry and frustration.

"Dad, I'm fine –."

"Don't you dare lie to me Samantha! What happened?"

"Oh shit, motherfucker pulled out the full first name! Someone is in trouble…" Negan instigates from his spot in the corner of the room. He is obviously paying more attention to us than the paper that he is supposed to be reading.

I need to be careful about what I say. Dad deserves to know the truth, but telling the truth may enrage him even more. I need to find a way to answer his question while also maintaining favor with Negan. Placing the blame of my injuries entirely on him, no matter how accurate the statement is, will not look good in Negan's eyes. He may decide that I broke the rules and drag me from this place.

"Dad…. I'm fine, really. It's only a few scratches and bruises. It was my fault – Negan warned me of what would happen if I didn't cooperate. I was way out of line…. You know that I've always pushed my limits, I just pushed a little too far this time.' I take a deep breath and plaster the biggest, fake reassuring grin on my face.

'He's been good to me. Negan was generous enough to call a doctor to check on me when I wasn't feeling well, I'm being fed, and no one is torturing me. Hell, I get to lounge around all day while he's working! I'm fine dad, I promise." I hope that I did a well enough job painting my picture of lies for him.

My dad remains motionless.

Did he not hear me?

That's when I notice that his eyes are locked on the collar around my neck.

He slowly raises his hands off my shoulders, his fingertips lightly brushing the leather.

"W-what is this…? He called you his 'pup'. What the fuck is going on?" He turns and yells towards Negan.

Negan lowers the paper and reveals his signature smirk, only fueling my father even more. "Careful, Pete…," he warns.

I grab my dad and turn him back towards me. The last thing I need is for him to mouth off to Negan in an emotional fit.

"Hey! Look at me! It's nothing. The collar is just a precaution, a visible reminder that he is in control. And the whole 'pup' thing? That's only because he could never remember my name. It's better than him calling me a 'bitch' or a 'cunt.' Calm down, dad, please. I'm. Fine."

Those blue eyes of his stare back at me, searching mine for even the slightest indication that what I said wasn't true. I stare back, pleading with him to believe me and calm down.

After a moment, he lowers his head until our foreheads are touching, releasing a held breath. "A father can't help but worry about his baby girl."

"I know, I know."

I don't blame him for worrying about me, he has a right to. He knows the kind of person that Negan is and I'm sure that it isn't comforting to know that his daughter is spending every waking minute with that kind of man.

We both take a seat at the table. Negan is still entranced in his paper.

"How are you doing?" I question.

Dad is hesitant to answer, glancing in Negan's direction.

"I'm fine."

Now I'm the one to give him the 'that's bullshit and you know it' expression. He too, won't reveal much as long as Negan is present.

"You don't look fine. How long has it been since you showered? Are you even sleeping?" I relentlessly probe.

One more leery look is sent Negan's way before my dad answers, realizing that it is no point in trying to hide anything from Negan. It would be easy enough for Negan to find out the truth as to what was going on with him.

"I'm hanging in there, baby. Been pulling double shifts when I can at the shop to stay ahead of the payments. The extra cash has helped, but it hasn't been enough on its own. I went through the garage and pulled out every spare tool and piece of equipment that I could possibly get money for. I sold the Harley, a few TV's, and I was even able to get a little bit of cash for my favorite recliner. Even with all of that, I barely made Negan's minimum last week. I was desperate, Sam, and I needed more money. I had to sell – ' He suddenly pauses and adverts his eyes from me. Mindlessly fumbling for the right words to say.

'I-I had to sell the guitar. God knows that I didn't want to, but I didn't have a choice. I promised that I would do whatever it took to keep you safe. I'm so sorry…." His upper body folds over the table. Head down, weeping into the sleeves of his tattered shirt.

I don't even register what is said after 'I had to sell the guitar'. I saw my father's lips moving, but there was no sound. Only the echoing phrase of 'I had to sell the guitar'.

To any other person, it was your average Martin guitar. Maple body with a glossy finish, sporting a few scratches that only added to its character. It's tone so rich and full that the chords carried you away in musical bliss.

To my father and I, it was the one thing that could still bring us joy. That guitar was my mother's most prized possession. She bought it when she was my age, hell bent and determined to teach herself how to play. She did exactly that. Boy, could that woman play! And her voice? Oh man, she would put the angels to shame!

She taught me how to play before she passed away. Whenever I picked up that ol' guitar and strummed the same chords that she did, I swear I could hear her sweet voice filling my ears again. I knew that my mother was never far away from me as long as I had that guitar in my hands. Her memory lived on in that instrument.

Now its gone.

I should be angry. I should be upset. Right now, I'm just numb.

No, I'm terrified.

The fact that my father had to resort to selling the one item that practically carried with it a piece of his own heart and soul tells me just how deep in the hole we are. At this point, he is beyond desperate in his search for money.

I rise from my seat and wrap my arms around his shaking frame. "It's okay, dad. You did the right thing. Everything is going to be alright. Just survive somehow… JSS…." The words repeat over and over again until his breathing calms. "Mom would understand. We don't need a piece of wood and metal for us to know that she is still here with us." I realize that to him, this must feel like losing her all over again.

It takes several minutes for him to compose himself.

"I'm okay now. I think I got it all out." He says while wiping the last remaining tears from his puffy eyes.

To lighten the mood a bit, dad spends the next half-hour or so updating me on what I have missed in the world of sports. Everything from NFL season predictions to who are the current champions in the various wrestling promotions that I follow. He's in the middle of detailing a specific title match when Negan's cell phone begins to ring.

"What the fuck do you want?" He spits to the person on the other line.

Almost immediately, his face scrunches into an infuriated grimace.

"I can't even leave for one God damn, motherfucking afternoon without a situation arising on your shit-for-brain's watch!" He bolts upright, grabs Lucille, and stomps toward the door. Before walking out, he stops and turns back to our confused looks. "I'm going to be right outside this room. Either of you makes a fucking move and I'll smash the other's fucking head in!" With that, he walks out.

Negan's thunderous voice echoes down the hallway as he barks more obscenities and orders to the poor soul on the other line.

My dad springs to his feet and goes to peak outside the door to ensure that Negan is gone. "Praise God, that should buy us some time." He appears visibly lighter now that Negan is gone.

"I need to talk to you Sam."

"Okay?"

"I know that you have your knife." The tone wasn't that of disapproval or anger, but one of worry.

My eyes widen in shock. I wasn't expecting him to find out.

"How did you know?"

"I noticed that it wasn't in its usual spot in your room when I was packing the bag of extra clothes for you. What the hell were you thinking?" Flailing his arms in clear objection.

I can tell that he wanted to full-blown yell his previous question but had to settle for a pointed whisper instead.

"I know, it wasn't the smartest decision… I grabbed it because I was scared and upset. Hey, but I haven't used it!" As if he was supposed to be reassured by that last comment.

"Look," he sits back down beside me, "I don't blame you for taking the knife. I would've done the same thing. The worry comes from knowing that you tend to make decisions based off your emotions and not your logic. Baby girl, you let your heart make too many decisions for you. That's how you get yourself hurt. I'm sure that's how you got yourself hurt with Negan, right?" He questions, raising an eyebrow.

A slight nod is all the answer that he needs.

"I know it's hard, but sometimes you have to disregard what you're feeling to survive. Look at me, I'm having to swallow my pride and dignity daily to ensure your safety. I would've gotten us both killed by now if I had let my emotions control my actions. Promise me that you will use that brain of yours from now on. It's better to suffer from a bruised ego from submitting to logic than a bruised face from letting your heart control your actions and mouth.

Once again, he is right. I could've saved myself a lot of pain if I had thought through a situation before acting. My way of surviving wasn't a form of surviving at all; it was pure luck that Negan had enough patience with me to not have bashed my skull in by now for my insubordination and defiance. He might not be so understanding in the future.

I jump as another one of Negan's roars reverberates through the factory. He is nowhere near finished with his phone conversation.

This may be my only opportunity to utilize the only time with my dad; I have to ask him.

"Dad? Be honest with me, I deserve to know – how did you get involved with Negan in the first place?"

There's a shift in his demeanor upon hearing my question. He brings his shoulders inward, practically shrinking inside of himself, his hands begin to tremble, and his features become pale.

I patiently wait for a response as he continuously taps on the table, trying to will himself to answer the question.

"Believe it or not, Negan wasn't my first choice when it came to getting my supply. There was someone else before him, another group...' His icy blue eyes dilate in terror at the mentioning of the unknown group.

'I never really got involved with them, but I heard things. I knew some guys who boasted about how top-level their shit was. It seemed worth a try, but then it was made known what happens when you cross this group. Terrible things about what they were capable of, especially their leader."

Another group? Someone just as ruthless, if not more, than Negan?

"Who are they? That's why you chose to do business with Negan?"

He shakes his head from side-to-side. "I don't know. I never got that far into the deal with them. That's why I got into it with Negan. However, I didn't realize how dangerous Negan was until it was too late…" His voice trails off.

Before I have a chance to respond, Negan struts back into the room.

"Sorry Pete, gotta cut this reunion short by a few minutes. Duty calls – I'm needed back at home. Say your goodbyes, pup, time to fucking roll out."

Despite my objection, I do as I'm told and say goodbye to my dad, embracing him in a bear hug.

"Use that brain of yours, kiddo. JSS," he whispers in my ear.

"Yes, sir. Stay strong, dad. JSS," I reply.

He gives me one final squeeze before releasing me.

I wave goodbye as I'm lead away once again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bump!

This damn truck needs to be put out of its misery. It's one pothole away from disintegrating into a pile of junk.

We've been on the road for quite some time now.

I'm glad that Negan has me blindfolded – the fabric does a fantastic job of absorbing my tears. Something that it has been dong since we began our journey back to the Sanctuary.

Don't get me wrong, seeing my father tremendously lifted my spirit. However, I'm now left with more worries than reassurance. There's his physical and emotional condition, the money, and now the news that there was another group out there who may be just as ruthless as Negan! This is a cluster-fuck of a mess.

"Did you enjoy your visit with daddy?" Negan breaks the silence.

"Sure." My tone indifferent.

"Shit, it doesn't sound like you did. You and your pops seem close. Y'all always been like that?" He attempts to dig deeper.

In case Negan hadn't noticed, I'm not in the mood for small talk and another round of twenty questions.

"Nope. Not always"

He sighs in frustration. "Enough with the fucking attitude! It's getting on my last damn nerve. What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Nothing, I'm fine." I mutter.

"Bullshit! I realize that most of the visit wasn't a cheery 'hug fest' like you thought it would be, but so what? How about you take that attitude and redirect that shit towards your daddy. He's the one who's struggling to pay the bill so early in the game.'

'Better yet, I don't know who is more useless – your pathetic father who can't man the fuck up and pay what he owes me, or his temperamental kid who's only real use is doing my fucking laundry!"

I visibly bristle. Every nerve in my body wanted to scream and hit at Negan, but, remembering what my dad said, I use my entire willpower to remain rooted to the seat.

"Stop being a damn pussy and grow up. Quit worrying about your dad and his money problem. You only need to be fucking concerned if he isn't able to pay my minimum, which will be pretty damn soon if he doesn't get his shit together."

"What happens if he can't pay?" I whisper; fearing his answer.

"Then someone else will…."

Edited by Spitfire47.

Hey guys! Thank you for your patience with the late update. My grandmother had a medical emergency this past week and I have been spending valuable time with her. I'm really praying that this is the last 'family emergency' for a while now; two incidents in a month is enough...

What did you think of the update? It appears that Negan and the Saviors aren't the only threats out there... How will Sam react after processing the mass amount of information gained from her dad? I'd love to hear from you guys!