Ali's night went surprisingly well. It was quiet. The radiator near the window worked, causing the room to be toasty warm. The bed sheets were fresh. The place smelled nice. It was all good. Well, except for the tear-stained pillow she had to sleep on. But that is mostly Ali's fault.
The sun rose in the distance, casting comfortable light over the room. Ali cannot help but think that this is one of the good bedrooms in the Sanctuary. Her walk from Negan's room was short last night, so he must be living somewhere very close.
She ignored Simon's calls yesterday, and as desperate as they sounded, she was glad he trusted her enough to be left alone. She would not have opened that door. Not in a million years.
After taking the world's longest shower and only stopping when the water started to go cold, Ali gets dressed and dries her hair, finally looking somewhat presentable. She ignores the way her eyes look hollow in the mirror. Like a doll that has been banged against the side of a table by a child having a tantrum.
She runs a hand over one of her eyes, hating how her eyelashes have faded out in the scorching sun on the road. Whatever. Mascara is overrated anyway.
She forces her hand to turn the lock on the door, and when it is pulled open, Simon almost falls through.
Their eyes meet briefly. He sighs in relief, clenching onto his walkie-talkie like it is his life source.
"Jesus, why didn't you open the door? I thought you-"
"What? You thought I'd kill myself?"
Simon laughs weakly at her dry humour, and even she is unsure where it came from.
His eyes scan down her body as if to make sure she is how Negan saw her last. Ali quirks an eyebrow as she steps aside to allow him the freedom to move around, although she is quite certain he will make himself at home without permission anyway.
He called Negan last night. Didn't he come?
"Negan wants you for breakfast," he says before clearing his throat, "He wants you to have breakfast with him."
"Yeah, I got that," Ali bites back.
Simon purses his lips together, wiping at the side of his head, "Darling, are you okay? You know the shit that went down last night wasn't exactly normal."
She stays quiet, moving her arms around herself.
Simon sighs, "I'm ready when you are," he gestures to the hallway.
Ali closes the door on her way out and lets Simon take the lead. He glances over his shoulder as they walk, making sure that she has not fallen apart again.
Sympathy is not uncommon in her life, but it pisses her off nevertheless. She is not weak. And she will not let the vile years of most of her life define her.
Soon, she starts to recognise the familiar hallway and stops even before Simon does. He tucks his walkie-talkie back into his belt buckle, reaching forward to knock on the most important door in the place.
"Come in!" Negan's voice bellows from the other side. Simon glances at Ali before holding it open without stepping in.
"She's here."
"Ah!" she hears the smirk in his voice before she sees it, "Bring her in."
Simon glances at her before hanging his head. She takes this as a sign to walk in. Once she does, the door closes behind her and Simon is gone. It's just her and Negan.
He gets up from his couch and wipes at the corner of his lips with his thumb. The scratches on his cheek are still visible, but healing nicely. His eyes dance over her body as his smirk falters.
"We need to talk."
Ali nods, digging her fingernails into her elbows. Negan smiles wider, nodding towards the couch.
"Sit down, doll."
She saunters over to the couch and perches herself on the edge, watching as Negan sits directly opposite on his coffee table. His hands hang near his knees, a yellowish bandage wrapped around one of his wrists. She takes notice of how there is some moisture around the collar of his white shirt. She is not the only one who has had a shower.
Negan smiles warmly, using his eyes. She finds this slightly odd, considering his position in the hierarchy and the way he was treating her yesterday.
"Ali, darlin'," he sighs uneasily, "You're probably fucking aware that you got me a lil' worried last night."
She shakes her head, finding the confidence to lean back.
"No?" he scratches at his brow, "Simon called me. Told me you were freaking out."
"You came?"
"Yeah, I fucking came," he puts his chin forward, "You had the door locked. I figured that barging in would not be the best fucking idea. Tell me I was right."
His eyes flicker over to her wrists. She turns them over, revealing perfectly smooth skin. He thought she would cut herself?
"You were right," she confirms hesitantly. Negan cracks a smile again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Ali listens to him breathing for a while, finding the silence slightly comforting. He is searching for the words. She knows what this is about.
"What's wrong, doll?" he looks back up at her, hand lingering around his chin, "Talk to me."
"I thought this was breakfast," she changes the subject. Negan smirks.
"Pardon the fuck out of me," he reaches behind him to gesture to a big tray with two plates of pancakes and a steaming cup of liquid. Ali's mouth salivates immediately, "Where are my fucking manners? Help yourself."
She reaches forward and with the older man's help manages to balance the tray on her lap. The pancakes are amazing. The blueberries placed conveniently into a smile burst in her mouth, filling it with flavour she has not tasted for months.
When she opens her eyes, she does not remember even closing them. Half of the pancake is gone. In her past life, eating like this would have made her uncomfortable, but right now she does not give a shit. Thankfully, Negan does not make a snide comment. He rubs his smile, watching her.
"Pace yourself, darlin'," his husky voice breathes, "I don't want you vomiting all over the fucking floor."
Ali picks up the ceramic mug and upon tasting the liquid realizes it is some kind of herbal tea. She burns her tongue as it flows down her throat. She glances at the second plate on the tray and figures that it is probably for Negan as the food is exactly the same. He nods at her, giving permission to eat, but she decides against it, moving the tray back onto the table.
He watches her with curiosity, still awaiting her answer. Ali puts the mug near the tray before leaning back in her seat, "I'm sorry about yesterday."
Negan sighs, "Please don't avoid my fucking questions."
Ali's heart drops. She knows that she must give him an explanation. This is his place after all.
Her mind flashes back to the half-naked women she saw before Simon told her they were Negan's wives. Their eyes lock. Is he a psychopath? Is he as evil as she painted him to be in her head?
Negan's eyebrows raise ever so slightly, urging her to talk.
Ali takes a deep breath, mouth going dry. She digs her nails into the palms of her hands. What can she even say?
"I was, um…" she glances up at Negan again, "I saw your wives."
The corner of his mouth twitches upwards, but then his eyes swim with interest, obviously unable to piece together the idea of somebody breaking down with the image of his wives. Jealousy? Of course not. Something does not add up.
"And?" his smirk widens, "They introduce themselves?"
Ali shakes her head, "It was from afar."
"And that made you turn into a blubbering mess because…?" he leaves his sentence as a question, hoping Ali would latch on and elaborate.
But her bottom lip starts to quiver and her head hangs down. Not here. Not now.
"Ali, Ali…" she feels his hands poking into her palms, detaching the fingernails from her bruised skin, "Stop that."
She places her hands flat on her knees, blinking back the tears. Jesus, she is a mess. She can't even have a conversation.
"I don't wanna… fuck," he breathes, "I don't wanna be overstepping a line. I don't want you to be getting upset, but I can't help you, sweetheart."
She looks up at him.
"I can't help you if you don't tell me what is wrong. I'm not a fucking therapist. I want you to fit into our little world, make yourself useful here. Have a decent job. Help move forward," he scratches the back of his head, "And for you to help me, I need to help you. That is how this shit works."
Ali nods, squeezing her eyes shut briefly.
"Did you lose somebody recently?" he asks. Ali shakes her head, recognising the boredom that starts to reach his face. He is not a therapist. And he shouldn't be. That is not what he is here for.
If she is this much trouble, he could just throw her out.
"My dad used to abuse me," she spits out, unsure of her choice of words. She could have said 'raped'. It would have been blunter. And she would not need to say anything else. Usually, one catches on after that and terminates the conversation.
Negan lowers his hands, peeking up at her face like a lost puppy, "That shit breaks my heart."
"He raped me," she tries again, feeling fresh tears burning the backs of her eyes. Negan stays silent, the only sound in the room becoming the sound of her erratic breathing and his heavy heart beat, "It started when I was small," she nods, finding the confidence to speak, "It was… it was before this."
Negan freezes for a moment before visibly moving backwards. Ali sees the puzzle pieces in his head fitting together.
"I killed him," she wipes her wet face, "A few months ago I killed him. And I thought that would be the end, but it wasn't," her words begin to get lost in the sobs, "I thought I would feel better, but I don't. It's worse now."
Negan's hand hovers above her shoulder. He takes it back.
"He was bit, so I killed him," she adds detail, not knowing how relevant it might be, "He raped me… I don't want to stay here. He raped me."
Her timeline begins to jump back and forward in front of her eyes, but Negan seems to grasp the basis of her story.
He disappears momentarily, coming back with a box of freshly opened tissues. He found tissues in the apocalypse. It is so stupid that it makes her laugh.
"Shh, calm down," he prods the material at her face, watching it turn into putty, "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
Ali cries into her hands, forgetting about her surroundings and that maybe Negan might be really uncomfortable. But at the same time, she does not care. She just wants to cry and curl up in a ball and not be touched or comforted by anyone.
In a foetal position on the couch, Negan's hands never come close.
It must be lunchtime when Ali finds the strength to move again. She is in limbo. Everything is white. It may as well be death.
"Darlin'," his husky breath fills the void in the room, "I want you to know that you won't have to go through anything like that ever again."
Ali opens her eyes and sees a shadow pouring itself a glass of whiskey. It could be scotch. Or water.
"Nobody at the Sanctuary wants to hurt you," he states, "I don't want to hurt you. You're safe here. I can promise you that."
She feels the rough material of a blanket rubbing at her shoulders as she moves. Maybe she did not sleep well at night after all.
There are pins and needles in her left arm. She turns to face the back of the couch.
"There's some food on the table for you, if you're hungry," Negan's voice is hesitant, "I got shit to take care of. I'll be back soon, alright?"
The door slams and the room is empty. But Ali cannot feel the difference.