A blinding white light floods my vision. I feel very dizzy and disoriented as the sound of a muffled voice fills my ears.
"Can you hear me?" An unknown voice asks.
My eyes adjust to see a tall, lanky, slightly aged gentleman kneeling before me. He is adorned in a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. A doctor? What's going on?
I muster a slight nod in response to his previous question. A quick glance around reveals that I'm back in Negan's room, my battered body laying on my designated bed. I'm shocked to notice that I am not chained to the bed frame.
Dwight is leaning against Negan's dresser, attentively guarding my limited movements. I attempt to sit up but am immediately overwhelmed by dizziness, causing the room to spin off kilter. The man gently coaxes me back down.
"Take it easy, you took a nasty lick to your noggin. More than likely suffered a concussion," he states dryly. Again, shining a penlight into my eyes to examine my current condition. "I'm Dr. Carson."
A replay of events flash through my mind – the meeting with my dad, Negan changing the terms, and the beating afterwards…. That accounts for the blackout and severe disorientation. It must have been one hell-of-a hit from Negan for me to still be feeling it's affects.
"Ho-how long was I-I out?"
"Couple hours, long enough for Negan to get you back here and to contact me. I've already assessed your other injuries." Dr. Carson explained, as he motions towards my body.
It's then that I notice that my right arm is now secured tightly against my body in a sling, ice packs are loosely wrapped against my ribs, and there are multiple bandages covering various wounds and scrapes on my body.
"From my examination, it appears that you have several cracked ribs, a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, deep tissue bruising, and several contusions and abrasions of varying degrees of severity. Stitches were required to close a wound on your cheek, my guess is from a well-placed punch. I'm floored that you were still functioning with as many injuries as you had." The doctor shakes his head in disbelief.
His verdict only confirms my original beliefs – I've been thrashed within an inch of my life from my time here at the Sanctuary.
A stabbing, surge of pain radiates through my body when I try to readjust myself on the bed. The aches and pains that I had previously felt pale in comparison to what I'm experiencing now. With my adrenaline now worn off, I can register every tortured sensation from my head to my toes. Burning tears freely fall as the pain consumes me.
Seeing my immense discomfort, the doctor turns to Dwight. "Go get the pain meds that are in my truck; they're much stronger than the ones that I brought upstairs with me."
"Negan said no meds. Let her suffer for a bit, then she'll learn." Dwight spits.
"I know what Negan said, but I'm the trained physician. Negan wants her coherent and alive, right? Well, get me the meds. The painkillers will incapacitate her and give her body the necessary time to heal itself. Makes for a faster recovery."
Dwight ponders this for a moment before storming out of the room to retrieve the materials, leaving the doctor and I unattended.
Dr. Carson reaches into a medical bag next to him and pulls out more adhesive bandages, gauze, various antibiotic creams, and other medical supplies. "I'll leave enough of these to get you through until the next time I see you.' He mumbles, not even bothering to make eye contact as he places the items on a nearby side-table. After a moment of silence, he releases a deep sigh.
'I'm so sorry this has happened to you Sam, but, Negan will take care of you. He needs to, to ensure that your father pays up, but it doesn't have to be this way. All you have to do is kneel. Submit to his commands, it doesn't matter how you feel about them, just do as he tells you – I just pray that it's not too late for you. You're going to get yourself killed if you keep pushing him beyond his limits. He's capable of so much worse; trust me, I've seen what he can do…." He appears to zone out, recollecting the horrors of what he has seen.
I remain silent at his words. Should I kneel to his commands? My common sense undoubtedly screams 'yes'; he's an unpredictable psychopath who will do anything to meet his own agenda.
In the heat of the moment, when his hands are around my throat or when Lucille is looming over my head, I'll say or do whatever it takes to survive. Whether it's echoing a 'yes sir' or simply shutting my mouth, I know in those moments that it is not the time to go against Negan.
But, it's the moments when I let my emotions take the front seat that I show a little too much 'spunk' for his liking. Who am I kidding, my emotions haven't just taken the front seat, they've highjacked the controls and are going on a joyride. Destination – the serrated blade of my knife being driven through Negan's skull…. As if I would ever get the chance….
The threat of death on me or my father seems to be the only thing that cues my conscious to take the reins once more. It's a blessing too; my emotions would've gotten us killed from the get-go.
As much as it pains me to admit, I do fear him – not so much for what he could possibly do to me, but because of what he can, and possibly will do to my father if I don't get my shit together. If anything, I need to keep things together for his sake. Negan already has him under his complete control. It would be the final nail in the coffin for my father to see me as emotionally and mentally defeated as he is. One of us must stay strong….
Dwight returns carrying a plastic bag of prescriptions, with a gleaming Negan on his heels. Negan struts over and halts next to the doctor, playfully smacking him on the shoulder. "So, what's the verdict doc? How fucked up is my pup?"
Dr. Carson shrinks at Negan's rough contact. "Um, she has a few significant injuries – cracked ribs, a concussion, and a dislocated shoulder along with multiple contusions. I reset the shoulder and patched up what I could, now she needs rest, food, and medication, lots of it."
Negan lets out an astounded whistle. "Jesus fucking Christ, I didn't realize that I rang your bell that hard!" He laughs at me before turning back to Dr. Carson. "That's some damn fine work you did here, doc, I appreciate it. Now, I normally wouldn't allow the pain meds, the little shit deserves to feel the repercussions of her actions. However, I did just promise that I would make an effort to treat her better, since I'm such a caring individual." Negan appears to sincerely believe his statement.
Unsure of how to respond, Dr. Carson slowly nods his head in acknowledgment. He reaches into the bag that Dwight handed him and pulls out two pill bottles. Two little, white pills are given to me, which I take without hesitation. He hands the bottle to Negan. "These should speed her recovery. It's a strong enough dosage to where you only have to administer two once a day.' He redirects his attention to me.
'What you need right now is sleep, the medication will help you do that. Sleep allows your body to naturally heal itself. You'll probably be incapacitated for a few days, but that should give your body adequate time to begin healing."
"Hot damn, this makes my fucking job a lot easier! I won't have to worry about a thing with your ass high as a fucking kite." Negan claps his hands in delight.
I barely register his statement, the medication already beginning to take affect. My eyes grow heavy as a wave of drug-induced bliss floods me.
"Nighty-night, pup...," Negan's hazy voice sounds miles away. Everything relaxes and slowly fades to black.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I faded in and out of consciousness for the next few days. My medicated dreams and reality blurred together. I vaguely recall Dwight waking me on occasions to give me another dose of painkillers or to take me to the bathroom. It was never long before the heavy veil of sleep enveloped me once again. There were even times when I thought I imagined him giving me food or changing my bandages, but I may have dreamt that… There is no way of knowing for sure. Did Dr. Carson return to see me….? Or did I dream that too…?
"Hey!" I hear a voice echo in the distance through my drug-induced fog. What is going on?
"Helloooooo?" It sounds closer this time, accompanied with a rough shake.
"Wake the fuck up!"
My eyes slowly open to find Dwight standing over me holding a glass of water.
"You coherent enough to drink this on you own?"
I nod my head and shakily reach my left arm up to retrieve the glass. It's not until the liquid reaches my lips that I notice how parched I really am. I've nearly downed the whole glass when Dwight snatches it out of my hand.
"That's enough for now." He places the glass on Negan's nightstand. "You need to take a piss or anything?"
I shake my head. What I really need is more water… but I don't dare ask for more.
"What day is it?" My voice cracks from being out of use for a few days. I twist my neck as much as the chain would allow to peak at the clock. 4:42 PM.
"Friday. You've been in and out for a week."
A week? Dr. Carson said that it would only be a few days! There is no way that I had been out for that long….
Seeing my disbelief, Dwight pulls out his cell phone and shows me the date. Sure enough, it's Friday.
"Doc came by a few days ago and said that you needed more time to rest or some shit like that. It took some convincing for Negan but he finally agreed to keep you under for a few more days." Dwight explains.
Thank God, he was able to sway Negan to give me more time. I must admit there was a noticeable difference in how I'm feeling. My head is no longer throbbing out of my skull, there is only a dull ache from my shoulder, and the pain from my ribs is bearable. I move my extremities, testing their mobility and pain levels. Every muscle is stiff from being immobile for an extended period. Besides that, the medication and rest worked its magic.
After helping me into a sitting position, Dwight leaves momentarily and brings back a bowl of vegetable soup. You would think that I would be eager to eat something after consuming near nothing for over a week, but I instantly felt nauseated when he hands me the bowl. Probably a side effect from the high dosage of medication trying to pass out of my system. I stare blankly at the floating veggies and broth, making no move to eat.
"Eat," Dwight sternly orders. His tone alone is enough for me to reluctantly pick up the spoon and begin eating. He waits until I've ingested a few spoonfuls of soup before resuming to mindlessly scrolling through his cell phone.
It's not until I've forced down nearly half of the bowl that Dwight is satisfied and returns the bowl to the kitchen.
"Negan will be pleased to see you're awake," he states when he re-enters the bedroom.
"Where is he?"
"None of your damn business. You just need to know that he'll be back sometime tonight." He turns to walk back out but stops and glances towards me. "Holler if you need to take a piss, don't need you messing up the man's floor. I'll be close."
With that, I'm left alone in Negan's room. It doesn't feel like I've been here a whole week. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all that Negan decided to call in the doctor. If it weren't for that, it's no telling how torturous the week would've been.
Wait... I've been here a week – that means today is the day when dad is supposed to make the next payment. That's where Negan is!
I can't help but feel uneasy knowing that my father will be alone with Negan and his men. What if something goes wrong? What if Negan decides to change the terms again? It didn't stop him last week… Please God, don't let anything happen.
I try my best to fight off the nagging need for more sleep, the medication must not be fully out of my system yet. My eyelids finally drift close when a familiar whistle instantly causes them to fling open.
"Dwight told me that you were awake but it looks like Sleeping-fucking-Beauty is trying to conk out on me again!" Negan stands at the doorway to the bedroom with a wide grin on his face.
My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes widen in shock as Negan steps into the room, allowing me to fully see him.
Blood is splattered over nearly every inch of his clothing. His previously tan pants are now covered in crimson streaks that run up and down both legs. My eyes follow a trail of blood that begins on his jacket and travels up his chest, over his previous white shirt, and finishes with a spray of blood on his face.
It's then that I notice the blood drenched weapon in his hand. Lucille's dark brown finish now appears dyed red from nearly end-to-end. Her barbed wrapping now glistens in the light from its liquid covering, instead of from it's metallic finish. Tendrils of blood dribbled from the barbs and pooling onto the ground.
Bile rises from the depths of my stomach when my eyes spot what appears to be pieces of flesh lodged into the barbed crevices of the bat.
Wait, no…. That can't be….? He was just supposed to meet with my dad. But why else would he be covered in blood…? H-he killed my dad.
"No, no, no, no -," I mindlessly repeat. Salty tears cascade down my cheeks like a flowing river, soaking the front of my shirt. I clutch my arm around my trembling frame as if to hold together the last piece of my crumbling strength. My body shudders as another guttural wail leaves me.
"Woah, woah, woah. What the fuck is going on?" Negan raises his hands and backs away from me, thrown off by my extreme overflow of emotions.
"Y-you…ki-killed… him." I painfully choke, the words catching in my chest.
"The hell you talking about?" Negan is stunned and puzzled by my accusation. "Ohhh shit. You think that I," he raises Lucille and makes a swinging motion, 'to your papa? Darlin, I've knocked a few skulls around today, as you can see, but I can assure you that none of this shit on me belongs to your father."
His words mean absolutely nothing to me. He's threatened my father time after time, and now I'm supposed to believe that he didn't harm him when he's covered in blood after having met with my father?
"You bastard! You killed him!" I cry at the top of my lungs. I can practically envision Lucille slamming down on the back of my father's skull and the blood bursting out in all directions as Negan delivers blow after blow… The blood, the gore, and the devil himself standing over what is left of my father.… Carson was right. I should've knelt when I had the chance. He tried to warn me but it was too late.
"Now, wait just a fucking minute! I told you that I didn't lay a damn finger on your father." Negan retorts. He's visibly upset that I don't believe his statements. "God fucking dammit, fine!"
Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves his cell phone, quickly punches a few buttons, and places the phone to his ear.
"What up, shit brain? You miss me? Listen, please talk some sense into your fucking daughter. She thinks that I fed your ass to Lucille. Crazy, huh? Why would she ever think that I would do something like that?"
Negan, in all his blood-clad glory, kneels next to me and puts the phone on speaker.
"Sam?" My father's gentle voice fills my ears.
Tears fall once again upon hearing him, but this time, they are tears of overwhelming relief. Just moments ago, I had convinced myself that I would never hear from him again.
"D-dad? I thought y-you were dead… I-I saw the b-blood and th-thought –" I can't even finish my sentence before the sobbing overwhelms me again.
"Hey, hey – I'm okay, baby. Nothing happened, he didn't hurt me. Don't cry, sweetie, please don't cry. I promised you that I would do whatever it took to keep you safe, and I will. I love you, Sam, and I will get you out of this, I promise.' My father's voice waivers on the other line. I hear an occasional sniffle.
'Just do one thing for me, baby – stay strong, stay who you are. Do whatever it takes to survive. I know this is hard, but we have to do what it takes.' The line momentarily goes silent. I begin to fear that the call got dropped until I hear my father softly crying in the background.
'I-I'm sorry, baby. It was my battle to fight, but I couldn't do it… I'm so sorry, Sam." He breaks down, openly weeping on the other end. Together, we are a blubbering mess of tears and snot.
Before I have a chance to respond, Negan angles the phone closer to himself. "Sorry, Pete, but I have to cut this little love-fest short. If ya keep doing what you're doing, maybe I'll allow a few extra minutes next time. You did good today, getting me my money and all. I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship!" He leans in closer to me. "Now, be a good pup and tell daddy 'bye'."
"Goodbye, daddy. I love you…"
"I love you too, baby. Stay strong and never forget, 'JSS'."
Click – the line is dead.
"Damn, pup, The Notebook has nothing on you and your pops! I swear, that was the sappiest shit I've ever heard. If I wasn't such a cold-hearted, son of a bitch, that maybe would've caused my face to leak with tears!" Negan lets out an exhausted sigh as he gathers a clean change of clothes and goes to take a shower.
Even after he leaves the room, I remain motionless on the floor as my father's final words echo in my mind.
'JSS' – just survive somehow.
Something that he always drilled into my mind, that no matter how dreadful or bleak things seem, you have to 'just survive somehow.' Do whatever it takes to make it through to the other end alive.
I remember when he first spoke that to me. I was only eight years old and my mother had passed away. She was a victim in a DUI accident. Our world was shattered in two. To him, she was his soulmate, his one and only, his reason for life. To me, she was the most caring person that I knew, had a heart of gold, and full of unconditional love.
When she was taken from us, we were lost. We didn't know how to move on without her. In the beginning, dad didn't know what he was doing. He never expected to be a single father with an eight-year-old daughter. Even with working two jobs, he was barely able to make ends meet. I can recall many nights when he would go without dinner to ensure that I had enough to eat.
As much as he tried to shield me from it, I knew what was going on. I saw him struggling – I heard his prayers to God at night for an income that would mean we would never have to ration our limited food supply. I saw the sorrow in his eyes when he would look at me and see a mirror image of my mother and have the daily reminder that she is gone.
When times would get tough, he would wrap me in his arms and say, "Don't worry, baby girl, we're going to get through this. Just survive somehow… We'll get through this."
'JSS' – It stuck. It became our mantra from that point forward. Together, we would find a way to make it through whatever life threw our way.
I don't know how exactly I'm going to make it through my time here at the Sanctuary. But, one thing is for certain, I'm going to just survive somehow.
Edited by Spitfire47.
Any thoughts? Have a safe Memorial Day weekend!
