There's An Old Man Sitting On The Throne...
tw: swearing
There was a moment of weakness where she had allowed herself to mourn her old life, who she was and who she was going to become. The tears fell relentlessly despite her internal mental pleas to be strong. In that moment of weakness, Arielle fell next to her bed, her back leaning against the mattress while her head fell on her risen knees. Her once beautifully applied make-up ran down her face creating a smoke raccoon eye look. It wasn't until the sobs began to subside and her ass felt numb from being on the floor for so long when she realized what time it was. The glowing read numbers showed the time of '6:15'; time for her to get ready for dinner.
Lifting herself up with help from the bed, Arielle moved to the window. A white curtain was blocking the sun's rays from entering the room; moving the fabric out of the way she realized how trapped she truly was – bars guarded her in the room. Her heart sank and her eyes briefly closed as her hand fell to her side, the curtain hiding her prison bars.
"Okay girl, we'll figure something out later. Right now we gotta get ready." Immediately the girl moved to the adjoined bathroom, instantly getting into the shower. Upon feeling the warm water hit her skin, Arielle felt a sense of peace – like the water was washing away all her troubles. Like each droplet of water dripping down her petite body contained a piece of darkness from her life and carried it down to the drain, depleting the sorrows she felt deep within her heart.
Once her shower was done and she was dried and make-up cleaned, Arielle began working on fixing herself to be presentable. She assumed Negan would have wanted her to look her best; but with what clothes? Walking over to the closet, Arielle lazily pulled open the door. She stopped dead in her tracks. Wide-eyed, Arielle couldn't believe what she was seeing; a walk-in closet filled with clothes of all colors and shoes – mainly heels – and handbags and jewelry. "Who the hell is this man?" she asked herself as her arm extended and caressing a fur jacket. Snapping herself back to reality, Arielle quickly looked for something to wear. Settling on gray skinny jeans with a beige blouse ruffled at the shoulders and black heels, Arielle looked herself over in the full length mirror. The clothes fit perfectly as if they were hand picked for her size.
She heard a knock at the door, startling her from her thoughts. "I'll be right there," Arielle called out. Smoothing the blouse against her skin, she shrugged, knowing it was the best she was going to look without make-up to put on or proper hair products to tame her curls.
Opening the door, Arielle came face to face with the other guard – the one who threatened her with the gun and not Dwight. "Put your hair up." Dumbfounded by the sudden order, Arielle simply blinked. "HE wants your hair to be pulled back - don't fucking ask and just do it." Flustered, Arielle took the hair tie from her wrist and quickly pulled her hair up in a ponytail.
"Better?" she asked, an obvious tone dripping in her voice.
"Watch yourself," the man warned, pointing a finger in her face. "Or you'll be out of here quick like the rest of them." Heeding his warning, Arielle bit her tongue looking innocently up at the man towering over her.
Like the rest of them. His statement surely confirmed the inquiries she had earlier on whether or not there were others before her. Instantly she grew afraid of knowing how and why they were no longer around; were they killed? Were they freed? "My apologies," she mumbled, trying to hide her discomfort.
"That's better." Nodding for her to start moving, the man followed behind the girl as they made their way toward the dining area. By the looks of the interior of the home, Arielle guessed she was inside of a mansion - a well maintained mansion somewhere in with land surrounding it. Like her room, the hallways were white and gold giving it a modern but vintage feel to it. She hated to admit it, but the home was beautiful. With her attention pulled to the home, she hadn't realized they arrived at the dining room, Negan cheerily awaiting her arrival.
"Welcome, darling," he greeted, rising to his feet. "I do hope you're hungry; I prepared us quite a feast." The blonde walked closer to the table, watching as Negan pulled open the chair for her. Like a gentleman, he pushed her chair in once she was seated and took his own seat as the head of the table. "Hope you like seafood."
She didn't. In face, Arielle hated seafood and preferred beef and steak over any other meats, but she was quickly learning to accept what came her way and decided to continue to do so until she saw the opportunity to run.
Giving him a slight nod, she added a small smile as her hands found their way on the table. "So, am I allow to speak?" she questioned.
"Well shit, of course you can sweetheart," Negan answered, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. Her eyes darted to his mouth. Despite her situation, Arielle had to admit Negan was a fairly attractive captor; handsome with dimples pooling in his cheeks when he smiled, a salt and peppered beard matching his black and white attire. He dressed in dark jeans, black boots and a white t-shirt hidden by the black suit jacket draped over his shoulders.
Negan noticed her stares and smirked, letting his head fall for a moment before popping it back up. "Like something you see?" he boasted, snapping Arielle from her trance. Excusing herself, the woman let out a small breath, composing her posture.
"If I can be so candid," Arielle began, focusing on her shaky voice.
"Where in the shit did you learn to speak like that? Jensen never spoke in such a, uh - sophisticated manner," he joked, his hand loudly landing on the wooden table.
"My fa…" Stopping herself from continuing the sentence, Arielle cleared her throat. Her father stopped being her father when he sold his only child to someone in hopes to clear a debt. "Jensen wasn't educated."
"Obviously." Negan sat back in his seat, his eyes still on the girl. "Pardon my goddamn French but you are fucking gorgeous. I mean, Jensen wasn't much of a looker but, hot damn your mother must have been." Again his tongue slid across his bottom lip, this time getting stuck between his teeth. Negan contemplated her situation for a moment, knowing a woman her age was probably scared; Arielle didn't seem to be. With her collected composure, Negan watched as Arielle returned his hardened gaze. "You don't scare easy, do you?"
Arielle shook her head. Her father had put her through enough in the duration of her stay with him for her to learn to be afraid of no one. Before either one of them could continue the conversation, two women walked into the dining room with plates in their hands. "Ah, thank you Genevieve. Linda." The women where his workers - maids he had hired to help take care of the home while he attended more 'interesting' matters.
They both nodded, placing the plates in front of the diners. "Would there be anything else?" Linda asked while Genevieve walked back into what Arielle assumed was the kitchen.
"Not a damn thing darling," Negan responded, thanking his worker. With a slight bow, Linda quickly scurried away, but not before giving Arielle an apathetic glance.
"Who are you?" the blonde finally asked.
"I'm Negan."
"Yeah no, I got that. But who are you?" Negan's brows tugged together, his head slightly tilting to one side. "What is it you do; why do you have this massive house and maids and body guards? What did my father sign me up for?"
Finally Negan understood where Arielle was going with her question; all valid questions indeed. But Negan had decided long before picking her up to keep his activities secret for a while until he knew her stay was permanent. "Honey you're gonna be here for a long fucking time; let's start off with simpler questions." This didn't please or sedate her curiosity but Arielle accepted the answer - for now. If she was to stay with the man, she wanted to know exactly what she was getting herself into - or rather, what she was forced into.
"Fine," the woman sighed. "How about, how'd you know my size to fill an entire closet with clothes and shoes?"
"Now there's a question I can answer," Negan harped, sitting back in his seat, his hands placed in his lap. "Jensen and I made the deal about two weeks ago; I had him give me any and all information on you - on top of my own investigation. Afterward I had Linda go out and get you clothing I would love to see you in." Arielle's head bobbed up and down - not surprised by the information about her father. Thinking back it, she had noticed a drastic change in his attitude and personality.
"Why are there bars covering my window?"
"Isn't it obvious?" he asked with a smirk. "So you don't get any funny ideas."
"How many were before me?"
At that point something changed in the atmosphere; something changed in Negan's body language. Furrowing her brows, Arielle suddenly felt unsafe. "That's enough. Eat your dinner. It's getting cold."
"I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news but, I'm not a fan of seafood."
"I didn't ask." His stare darkened with something she had never seen before; like the way an animal glared as they stalked their prey. "Eat." Without a moment's hesitation, Arielle gripped onto the silver fork, quickly taking a bit from the grilled salmon he had prepared. From the corner of her eye she could see Negan smirking victoriously.
"Sir." Dwight appeared at the doorway, his hands together in front of him. Silently he beckoned his boss to accompany him to the other room for private matters and Negan excused himself. With her back turned Arielle listened to his footsteps disappearing around the doorway; she turned to watch him leave. Letting out the breath she was holding, she made a face, disgusted by the seafood and the situation.
She heard a noise and her head lifted to find Linda at the kitchen entrance way. Beckoning for Arielle to follow her, the blonde did just that. Careful so her heels didn't click against the tile flooring, she approached Linda. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-six," Arielle answered, rushed.
"You're the youngest yet," Linda groaned with a saddened sigh. "Listen. The first opportunity you have, you run."
"What is this? Who is he?"
"Negan is the biggest drug, weapons and human trafficker in the U.S. You need to run; 'cause it's only a matter of time before someone offers him a pretty penny for you and won't be so lucky in living with someone like Negan. He's brutal, yes, but he'll never hurt you intentionally. Other men though - that's a different story. Now go; sit back down and eat your dinner before he comes back." Linda raced back into the kitchen closing the door behind her, locking it. Frozen where she was, Arielle could feel herself hyperventilating but did her best to move back to the table.
"That was fucking annoying. I'm sorry for the ill timed intrusion, doll face." Negan's voice echoed through the dining room as he approached the girl. Placing his hands on her shoulder, he gave them a light squeeze causing Arielle to jump. "No need to be jumpy sweetheart, I ain't gonna bite." Negan moved to sit back in his seat. "Unless you want me to." A bout of laughter bellowed from his throat, his gloved hand landing on his stomach.
Quote: "I'm headed straight for the castle, they're got the kingdom locked up. And there's an old man sitting on the throne there saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut."