I don't know how long I sat on the bed with my legs pulled to my chest, clutching the knife like my life depended on it. I stared at the lifeless body of my attacker slouched against the mattress, waiting for him to get back up.
But he didn't.
I felt like someone had unplugged my brain at first, completely frozen in terror, unable to process what was happening. Then it was like I rebooted, and I was flooded with my thoughts.
Earlier I had talked with Negan…
Then Naomi had shown me around the compound.
Then we had dinner and I was going to take a nap…
And then…
Then I killed someone.
It was self defense. He had tried to hurt me. I asked him to stop. And he didn't.
So I killed him.
My heart was beating so hard that I thought it was going to climb out of my mouth and jump on the floor with the body. I didn't blink. I wondered if he was really dead. What if he was faking it, and tried to grab me when I tried to leave? And what would I do next? Try to escape the compound? I couldn't. Negan wouldn't let me after this.
Negan…
Did he know about this? What would he think? I was sitting in a room with one of his men—a man that was now dead because of me.
Was this Negan's plan all along? Was this some sort of test?
My eyes never left him. His head was hanging down so I couldn't see his face anymore, and blood was sprayed all across the bed and my body. I didn't dare move. I felt so incredibly trapped.
Time seemed to stand still forever before I heard a knock at the door. I wanted so badly to call out to it, but I couldn't speak. They knocked again, a little louder. Then the door slowly opened.
I wanted to turn to see who it was, but I continued to stare down at the dead body. I heard a little gasp come from over by the door. It was Naomi.
"Elle?" she asked slowly, taking a step into the room. I felt a few tears stream down my face, but I couldn't speak to her. I sat there curled up and clutching my knife out, unmoving.
"Elle, what happened?!" Naomi demanded, and I could see she was staring down at the body too. I tried to answer her, and I just couldn't.
When I didn't respond, Naomi turned and left the room in a hurry, and my heart sank. I wanted to scream at her 'Please don't leave me!' but I wasn't able to take my eyes off him—off the man I murdered.
More time passed, and then I heard loud footfalls headed towards the bedroom. There were a few people coming my way. I felt the urge to get up and run, but I knew I had nowhere to go. I was trapped. So trapped.
"If this is a fucking joke, I am NOT laughing," I heard a familiar voice bark as it neared the room.
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Negan appear in the doorway and look right at me. He didn't say anything at first, and just stared at the sight in front of him—the sight of me, sitting against the wall on the bed, covered in blood, my shirt torn off and holding a knife out in front of me, and a dead body propped up against the bed and the floor.
I wanted so badly to read his mind and know what he was thinking discovering this.
"Get lost," he ordered, and the two other men standing in the hallway disappeared along with Naomi.
Negan stepped into the room slowly, the barbed wire baseball bat laid against his shoulder. He looked down at the dead body for a few moments, and then back to me. He stepped over it and moved so he was leaning over the bed.
I didn't look away from the man I had just killed.
I felt Negan's hand against mine—the hand that was clutching the knife, as if it was the only thing keeping me together. His touch was so soft and gentle, and he sat a bit on the bed so he was eye level with me.
I felt him slowly remove the knife from my hand, and I didn't fight him. He took the blade away carefully, and continued to watch me for a reaction. I felt a few more tears roll down my cheeks, and then finally I looked at Negan.
He was looking at me so concerned. It was an expression I had never seen on the man, and one I never thought I would.
He looked worried.
As if the action would bring me comfort, I suddenly felt the urge to look back at the body, but I continued to stare at Negan. The tears continued to fall, a steady stream down my face.
"Did he hurt you?" Negan's voice was soft, and he very slowly brushed my cheek with his thumb. I watched his hand move away, and could see there was some blood on it that he was trying to remove.
I found my voice, but it came out in a hushed whisper.
"He tried."
I looked away from him to try and see the body, but Negan moved over so he was blocking my view. He exhaled loudly, and then leaned in towards me to try to get my attention.
"You need to get up and come with me," he said gently.
I nodded slowly, my gaze moved down so I was staring at Negan's chest. The idea of getting out of this room had my body finally syncing with my brain, and I started to get up from the bed when I heard a low growl from the floor and I froze.
Negan and I both turned to see that my attacker had turned, and was now one of the living dead. The corpse sat up slowly and twisted its head to look at us. I stared into the lifeless eyes of the man I had just killed, and I couldn't breathe.
Negan lifted his foot and kicked the walker to the ground. I remained sitting on the bed as Negan stood up, and his grip on his beloved bat tightened. The walker was already trying to get up again when Negan brought the bat down on its skull and blood flew everywhere. I didn't turn away and watched as Negan continued to beat in its head over and over and over.
Even long after the walker was dead, Negan swung the bat again and again.
He was mutilating it.
The next thing I knew, Negan took my hand in his, and pulled me up from the bed. I stepped over what was left of my attacker, and he led me out of the bedroom. We walked into the hall, and I saw his men standing there, waiting for him.
"Get some soap and water. And hurry the fuck up!" he ordered, pulling me along with him.
In a matter of seconds, we were back in his bedroom, and he led me to the same chair I had been in earlier. I sat down slowly and looked around. I was starting to become more aware of what was happening now that I was out of that room.
Negan's men brought a basin of water and a washcloth in what felt like moments since he had ordered it. They set it down on the table in front of me, and I saw some sort of fabric too. The men went to leave his room when Negan turned to them.
"Clean up what's left of that fucker," he commanded in a low voice, and they hurried out of the room, pulling the door shut.
I looked over at the items on the table and realized what the fabric was.
A shirt.
I glanced down at my body and remembered I wasn't wearing one. My bra had blood spray across it, and my chest and neck were covered too. My jeans were still unzipped.
Negan came back over to me and crouched down, taking the washcloth and dipping it into the water. He brought it up to my face, and very carefully, he started to wipe at my skin.
The water was ice cold, and I tensed up as the cloth made contact with my skin. Negan hesitated for a moment, and then continued to clean my cheeks. He didn't speak as he gently scrubbed the blood away.
It wasn't long before Negan finished with my face, and then looked down at the blood covering my body. He reached out and took one of my hands, placing the wet rag against my fingers.
"You need to clean your chest," he mumbled, standing up and moving to sit on the couch right across from me. He was looking at me as if I was about to fall apart right then and there.
I didn't lift the rag and instead stared down at it.
"I'm sorry," my voice quivered. I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.
That look of concern came over his face again, and I realized he had never seemed so human before.
"You don't need to be sorry," he answered, bringing a hand up to his face and narrowing his eyes as he looked away from me. "That fucking bastard got an easier death from you than if I had been able to get my hands on him."
"I haven't killed anyone before." My voice came out in a squeak, and I looked back down at the rag. Walkers? Sure. But I had never killed a human being.
"You were defending yourself. That man knows that type of fucking bullshit isn't allowed around here. He fucking deserved what he got."
I shivered and realized I was starting to get cold, and in the same moment became very aware I was sitting with Negan in my bra without a shirt.
I took the rag and started cleaning off my chest quickly, in the hopes I could put the shirt on soon. But as I cleaned my skin, I noticed Negan wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was looking away. I wondered if he would have made a joke if the circumstances won't so serious—if he would have ogled me and said something dirty. But he didn't. He averted his eyes the entire time until I grabbed the black shirt and pulled it over my head.
"Naomi was supposed to keep an eye on you. I shouldn't have left you with her." Negan appeared to be thinking out-loud.
"It's not her fault!" I blurted out, worried that he was going to hurt her. "She was very nice to me. I'm the one who told her I wanted to take a nap."
"She shouldn't have left you alone!" he exclaimed, looking back at me. He was pissed. He was getting angry thinking about what had happened, and I wondered if not being able to kill that man was doing this to him. Negan wasn't able to get his hands on my attacker, so he wanted to punish someone else for what happened.
I sat up and leaned across the small space between us. I reached over, taking his large hand into mine, and squeezed it softly. My action caught him off guard, and he knit his brows together, looking at me confused.
"Please don't blame, Naomi," I begged softly, holding his hand in mine.
Negan looked down at my hand and just stared at it. Then he looked back up at me, still so concerned and his expression was so soft.
"Fine," he answered.
I wondered if the only reason he was complying was because of what had happened. He probably pitied me, seeing how fragile I was. I became irritated at the idea. I wasn't this weak little girl that he was looking down on. I was stronger than this, and had just been caught off guard. I wasn't about to let what happened ruin me.
"I want to go home now," I said firmly, watching for his reaction.
Negan sighed and shook his head, as if he saw it coming a mile away.
"You don't need to leave. I promise, that will never fucking happen again. I'll make damn sure of it."
"I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to see my friends," I pleaded, squeezing his hand again. I hadn't pulled away.
"It's night." He was arguing with me, but it didn't sound like it. He was still being so gentle, and it was bizarre to see this new side of the man.
"It's too dangerous to go right now," he added, turning to look outside.
I shook my head and prepared to argue with him, and then I glanced over to the window. It was dark, and I hadn't even noticed.
I had been in that room that long.
I had stared at a corpse for hours.
"Are you afraid of the dark, Negan?" I asked, still staring at his windows. I had meant it to be a light joke, but I sounded so serious.
Negan scoffed.
"You're spending the night here. That's final."
I knew I wouldn't win this with him. I probably would never win an argument with this man. I nodded, and then looked down at the basin of water.
"But I can't go back to that room."
I hated to admit it, to him and to myself, but I was scared. I didn't want to have to go back there.
"You can sleep in my bed tonight," Negan said, standing up and heading over to a lamp on a bedside table. He switched it on and the room lit up more than it already was. He switched off the main light, and the room dimmed. I shook my head.
"That's okay. I can sleep on the couch," I stood up to move over to his love-seat when Negan spun to face me.
"I am NOT like that piece of shit that tried to rape you," he said low, patting his mattress. "And I won't be joining you anyways. I have some things to take care of."
"Don't hurt Naomi," I said, a look of concern on my face.
"I said I wouldn't. Now get in bed, woman."
I looked over at the the bed—the same bed I had been eyeballing the first time I had come in here. The offer was incredibly tempting, and in that instant I was hit with exhaustion. I didn't care anymore about fighting him on anything. I just wanted to sleep.
I headed over to the huge bed and kicked off my shoes and socks. I got in carefully, pulling the large comforter back and feeling the cool of the sheets against my feet. The bed felt amazing and I set my heavy head against a pillow, facing Negan. He was standing by the doorway watching me, lingering in the threshold of the room.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm," I responded, closing my eyes and pressing my face against his pillow. He chuckled, but it wasn't his usual laugh. There was a serious undertone to it, and I wondered if he felt guilty for what happened. I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but I could feel sleep coming upon me fast. Before I passed out, I wanted to at least tell him one thing.
"Thank you, Negan." I mumbled, opening my eyes just in time to see the door shut, with him disappearing on the other side. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again, and drifted off.