Every step that I make sends a piercing pain through my injured side. Negan and I neared the stairs that lead to his domain. I attempt to walk up the first stair but I imminently crumble to the floor in pain. The damage to my ribs aggravated from the effort needed to ascend the stairs. I clutch my side in agony at the bottom of the stairs.
"Jesus Christ, I don't have time for this shit. It'll take you a fucking century to drag your ass to the top."
Negan places Lucille through his belt loop and scoops me bridal-style into his arms, careful not to put any strain on my bruised shoulder and ribs. I began to flinch away from his touch until I sense his tenderness, he's actually trying not to harm me for a change.
"Easy there, doll," he gently coos.
My head rests against his chest as he climbs the stairs toward his apartment. Internally, I am protesting the entire exchange. Externally, I am too tired and broken to put up a fight.
My mind wanders as he climbs the stairs. I'm grateful that Negan had previously sent Simon and Dwight home. They would have, without a doubt, heard my pleads and screams outside, and I highly doubt that they would have intervened. Hell, they probably would've helped….
Negan carries me past the living room where our heated exchange began, down a short hallway, and enters a large bedroom.
A quick glance around the room revealed a four-poster king sized bed, a massive dresser, and a small siting area with two armchairs. He bumps his hip against a door, opening it to reveal a bathroom.
"Clean yourself up, you smell like piss and you look fucking shitty," Negan orders as he sets me on my feet, the previous tenderness now gone.
I'm momentarily left alone as he slips out of the bathroom and quickly returns carrying a towel and washcloth, tossing them in my direction. It's when I try to awkwardly block the linens coming at me, that he remembers that my arms are still bound by the zip ties.
He whips out a massive, serrated hunting knife from his back pocket, pressing the tip of the blade to my throat.
"I shouldn't have to warn you not to try any shit after my performance just now, but I wouldn't mind dragging your ass outside for an encore," he says, applying pressure to the blade.
I remain statue still, tears beginning to fall down my face at the thought of having to endure another second of torture outside with Negan and Lucille.
"Good fucking choice."
He reaches around and slides the blade between my wrist and the plastic, severing the zip ties in half. I immediately bring my wrists forward and rub them in an attempt to regain feeling in them. Rising to his feet, Negan re-sheaths the knife and begins to leave the room.
"Can I have my backpack, please? I have a change of clothes in my bag." I try my best to keep my voice level as I make my request, trying not to hint at what is actually hidden inside.
"Since you asked so fucking nicely –," he says as he steps out of the room, quickly returning with my bag. "You have ten minutes, not a fucking second more." He drops my bag on the tile floor and slams the door shut.
Scooping my bag off the floor, I limp towards the full-length mirror near the shower. I finally have the chance to get a good look at myself after the events that have transpired in the past twenty-four hours. Blue and purple bruises in the shape of Negan's hands have developed on my neck and there are many small scrapes on my cheeks from being thrown onto the gravel, dried blood litters my face from the deeper scratches.
I grab the hem of my tattered shirt and struggle to raise it above my head, the movements cause a sharp pain to shoot down my injured right shoulder. Hot tears stream down my face as I finally manage to wiggle the shirt off, tossing it to the side.
With my shirt now removed, I can grasp the full extent of my injuries. Ugly dark bruises adorn my ribs on both sides. Negan was consistent to inflict equal brutality to both sets of ribs. Various contusions and scrapes riddle my arms, legs, and stomach. I peer down at my wrists and see that the zip ties bit through my top layer of skin, dried blood and dirt caked in the wounds.
Shit. I haven't even been in Negan's possession one whole day and I'm already mangled and torn.
Boom, boom, boom.
"I don't hear any fucking water running," Negan says while banging on the door. "Do I need to come in there and assist?"
"No," I hurriedly answer. "I-I'm getting in n-now."
I reach over into the shower and quickly turn on the water. My remaining soiled garments are quickly removed as I enter the shower. Hot streams of water beat down on my injured body, eliciting a feeling of relief. This was the first time I've been able to relax since Negan arrived.
I stand under the steady stream, letting the hot water massage my bruised muscles. Time escapes me as I hear, "Tick-tock, doll. 4 minutes."
A sigh escapes my lips as I reluctantly reach for the nearby washcloth; I would give anything to get a few more precious minutes under the healing flow of the hot water. I find that my only option for soap is Negan's high dollar body wash, I've only ever seen this brand in the ritziest department stores. As delightful as the liquid smells, it disgust me that I will now share the same musk as my bat wielding captor.
A hiss leaves my lips as the washcloth gently traces over my ribs, sending a stabbing pain through my entire side. The same sensation returns as I attempt to raise my arms over my head in order to wash my hair, extending my ribs in the process. The pain is enough for me to settle with rinsing my hair to avoid more straining.
Shutting off the water, I wrap myself in the towel that Negan gave me and make my way towards my backpack. A wince slips out as I kneel down and pull out the oversized t-shirt and basketball shorts that I brought to sleep in. I begin to slowly put the garments on to reduce any pain from my injuries. My knife is still tucked away in its original hiding spot.
I flick it open and lightly brush my thumb over the blade, feeling its sharp edge faintly nip at my skin. As much as I want to stab that bastard in the throat, I know this is not the right time. Negan is a very calculated individual and it will take more than a rage filled flurry to put him down.
Patience is my best option for now until I am able to come up with a better plan. I place my knife back in my bag, making sure to properly stuff it into the wrapper of one of the menstrual pads. Negan would have to physical pick up the pad to reveal the prize that is inside.
My time must nearly be up by now. I quickly zip up my backpack and ease the door open, tip-toeing into Negan's room. He is nowhere to be seen. The only noticeable difference is a small, makeshift pallet made of blankets and a pillow now situated next to the massive bed.
Things could be worse; I'm surprised that he's even allotted me a pillow. I place my backpack underneath my pillow and proceed to sit down on my 'bed', waiting for his inevitable return.
Moments later, the sound of footsteps nearing the bedroom immediately get my attention.
"I'll be dammed. You showered when I told you to, found your bed, and sat like a good fucking girl until I returned! I wouldn't have had to lay down the fucking law if you'd been this cooperative from the jump, darlin'." Negan smirks as he strolls in carrying a medium sized box, its contents unknown. He's changed out of his leather and black, now clad in baggy gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt.
Negan sets the contents down on the dresser next to one of the armchairs.
"Come here."
I hesitate in fear as my mind is trying to plan ahead, processing a response to any possible attack.
"Don't make me fucking say it again," he snarls.
I gently climb to my feet and sulk towards the dresser that he is now leaning against. Negan motions for me to have a seat; I quickly oblige. He kneels in front of me, opens the box revealing a first aid kit, and begins pulling out antiseptic and bandages. After removing the necessary supplies, Negan reaches for my right wrist, examining the wounds.
"Jesus fucking Christ. You're really torn up!" he exclaims as he notices how deep the zip ties cut. "I can't have you getting infected and dying of some fucking bacterial infection or shit. That kind of ruins the deal between your pops and I."
He reaches for the antiseptic and begins to spread the gel onto my gashes. I reflexively attempt to pull away from him as my open wounds burn in agony from the gel.
"Hold fucking still, Summer."
"I'm trying. I'm sorry, it really hurts. And my name is Samantha!" I say through clenched teeth.
"Just hold still, I'm almost finished."
I try to regain my composure as Negan continues to apply the antiseptic over my wrist, followed by wrapping it with a bandage then gauze. The pain soon dulls as the medication's pain relieving affects kick in. Negan releases my wrist and begins the same routine on the other one. His fingers were gentle around my damaged wrists, it was hard to believe that they were the same that had dragged me around by my hair.
His gentleness takes me aback; it is such a contradiction to what I witnessed hours before. It is impossible to read this man. One minute he's threatening to drop you where you stand, and the next he is nursing you back to health.
Negan appears to pick up on the perplexed expression that has been affixed on my face.
"Listen, I am a man who demands respect from those around me and that means rules are involved. I get it princess, rules sometimes blow, but I'll do whatever it fucking takes to get that respect. Even if it means using Lucille to help sway their decisions.'
'Many underneath me know this and respect me for it, but it's not just about Lucille – oh no. I gotta take some fucking credit. I mean, look around you princess – look at what I've got! But I've also delivered, I've given back to the men and allowed them some pleasures of their own. To put it simply sweetheart, if you do as your fucking told, you get the Negan before you right now. Either way, my people will fucking respect me,' Negan pauses. His welcoming expression changed suddenly, sending a dark glare in my direction.
'Which leads me to you, sweetheart. You disrespected me, so I knocked your ass down a few pegs. If you continue to push my fucking buttons, you're going to wish that I had let Lucille smash your pretty little brains in. So, when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it."
I whimper upon hearing his words. It was plainly said so that I would understand; I did. While it was my choice, whether or not to respect Negan, it was clear that if I wanted to survive in the Sanctuary I had to give respect, even if I felt like Negan didn't deserve it.
"You understand?"
"Y-yes."
"Yes, what?" he pressures.
"Y-y-es s-sir! Y-yes sir!" I stammer between sobs.
Negan went back to gently laying down ointment for my wounds at the sound of the magic words. "Now, that wasn't so hard was it? Someone learns fucking fast!" He finishes dressing my bandages with a satisfied grin.
"Get your ass up and get in bed," he orders as he gets up to place the first aid kit back in its original location. "Be right back, gotta surprise for ya!"
This time, I am quick to comply, scurrying over to my 'bed' and taking a seat.
Minutes later, Negan returns, his arms hiding something behind his back. He struts over and stands before the bed. The anticipation is building as he continues to toy with my emotions.
"Surprise!" he yells as he reveals a dog collar and a length of chain. My stomach drops when I see the objects, along with the sadistic smirk on his face.
"Since your wrists are all fucked up, I can't quite tie you up that way, had to get real fucking creative. I figured this would be the next best thing!" he says, showing the leather collar. "It would be awfully terrible if you decided to try a shitty move and escape in the middle of the night, now wouldn't it? Can't have that happening! Like I said earlier, I don't trust you, especially after your ballsy stunt earlier."
Negan is near giddy in excitement as he proceeds to unhook the collar.
"Come here."
Remembering his previous threats, I accept my fate, swallow my pride, and rise to accept my fate. I feel the cool leather against my flesh as he snaps the collar in place, just tight enough for him to fit two fingers between the leather and my throat.
I feel an added weight as he attaches one end of the chain to the collar, making sure to properly secure the other end to one of the posters of his bed.
I've never felt more degraded in my life.
"Hot diggity dog! Looks fan-fucking-tastic! You like it? Picked it out myself," he winks.
Tears trickle down my face as I stand humiliated before him. Pleased with his handy work, Negan pats me on the head and motions for me to sit back down, causing the weight of the chain to throw me off kilter.
"Now aren't you the cutest little pup that I've ever seen!" he belittles. "That has a nice ring to it…. Fuck yeah, it does! My little pup…. Damn, looks like my new pet finally has a name! It's not like I could ever remember your other fucking name anyway."
I curl into the fetal position on my makeshift bed, tugging the blanket up to hide my tear soaked face.
The collar and chain keep my head twisted at an awkward angle. It's going to be impossible to get any rest with this contraption on, unless I was right up against the frame of the bed. At this point, I don't care. He's stripped away my freedom, dignity, and now my own name.
After checking my restraints one more time, Negan climbs into bed and reaches over to pet my head before turning out the light.
"G'night pup. The fun begins all over again in the morning."
Edited by Spitfire47.
I hope that you guys enjoyed the update! The next upload may be a few days later than usual because of my busy schedule. Please be patient with me; I promise that new material is coming!
