[A/N] Hello dear readers! I'm really sorry it has been a while, I have been very busy with my education. This isn't the longest chapter, but it is an important one, introducing another aspect of Ellie's life. Thank you for sticking with me and with this story, and I hope you will enjoy this chapter.
As always, I'd like to thank everyone who followed and/or favorited this story.
Special thanks to the following people for reviewing:
Karen Wood, fixtures, Guest, enchantmentanjel, BreenaBelle-xoxo, JaliceJelsa4eva, Winter kiss and IAmTheRedMaskHeWears.
Also, what did you think of the first episode of the new season? I went crazy watching it and I am still grieving.
Negan's fingertips press tightly into the muscles of my shoulder as he roughly guides me up the stairs. Somehow, Carl's staying with him is less of a priority than his display of dominance over me. I guess my slapping his face went deeper than the skin of his cheek.
My hand is still red and tingling. I can't believe I did that.
No, actually I can. Who does this shit, forcing his dick on those women and punishing their men?
When we're on the second floor, he squeezes my shoulder as we turn a corner after a long hallway, running into a door. Negan throws it open.
"Welcome to my humble abode," he says, sarcastically bowing to me. Cockface.
My face automatically scrunches up at what I see. There are five brunettes and blondes within eyesight, all clad in the same black, lacy lingerie and black high heels. I feel anger bubbling inside me.
How can they be parading around here like they are in a blurrily-filmed 2001 porno instead of a fucking zombie apocalypse? How do they accept this shit?
Aren't they cold, squeezing those thongs between their ass cheeks all day and nothing else?
As soon as the women notice we entered the room, I see a familiar brunette. Sherry.
She approaches Negan apprehensively. "Did you really have to do that? She said she was sorry. You knew the was torn up about it."
Is she reasoning with him?
"Yeah I had to fucking do that. You girls know the rules."
"You could have gone easy on her for just once."
"Jesus, you act like I hit you girls. Never-motherfuckin'-ever."
Sherry bristles.
"Well, Amber locked herself in the bathroom. Congratulations," Sherry says deadpan.
Negan sighs with annoyance, muttering under his breath, "Fucking goddamn drama."
"Amber!" He yells, banging his fist against the bathroom door.
I eye Carl, who looks as dumbfounded as I feel. I raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugs a shoulder. I mean what else is there to do? It's like we are the only two people in this room who actually acknowledge how bizarre this shit is.
Not to say, uncomfortable.
"Goddamn it Amber, fuckin' open up or get the fuck out. I'm not up for this shit."
I hear a sob and her sniffing her teary snot.
The lock clicks.
Negan goes in and shuts the door behind him.
What if he will hit her?
At first, I resist the urge to stand closer to the door to listen in. Then I realize, what are these wives going to do? Tell on me?
It's not like I could insult Negan more than I did 10 minutes ago.
Besides, these wives look like they want to be here even less than I do.
I opt for leaning next to the door, angling my ear to catch their conversation.
"…the one thing I will not tolerate is cheating, Amber. You fucking knew that when you came to me."
A hum of agreement.
"You know I don't want anyone here who doesn't want to be here. Heck, I'm not a fuckin' monster. Then you just go back to earning your points and I don't touch you ever a-fucking-gain."
He makes it sound so easy.
"So, what do you want?"
"I-I'm staying. I l-love you Negan," she says softly, her voice thick with tears and snot.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. I wouldn't want to wake up to that baked fucking face either," he laughs.
Ugh. That was uncalled for. Fucking asshole.
Footsteps approach the door and it opens. Luckily the doors swings the other way, otherwise I would have had a door to my nose right now. Negan looks at me, smirking.
"Look who was curious."
I exhale through my nose. I'm done humoring him.
"I want to talk to you, Ellie. Alone," he hisses, his hand encircling around my wrist. His thumb ghosting over the 'S' on the back of my hand, to get a rise out of me, no doubt.
I'm just his branded fucking cow.
Like he didn't have enough cattle yet.
He guides me to the hallway, shutting the door forcefully.
"Since you so kindly listened in on my private conversation, you now know that I never fuckin' forced these ladies. They are free to leave any fuckin' time they want."
"Somehow, I doubt that," I say, squinting my eyes at him.
"Why?!" He's getting really annoyed now. His hand flies to my neck, pressing me against the wall. He isn't squeezing my throat at all, though. Just making sure I have nowhere to go.
"She sounded scared to leave. Like you would kill her. You really believe that she… loves you?" I ask with disbelief.
Really, all of my reservation went out the window. I don't know why. Something about him makes me bluntly, painfully honest.
"Of course I would not fucking kill her! What the fuck do you think I am, some raping, murdering fuckface?"
"Did anyone ever leave before?"
He seems taken aback for a moment. He frowns, before grumbling, "No. Why?"
"Because you can't even see that they're too damn scared to leave. They think you'll do something to them because you burned their fucking guys."
"And you can't even see that these girls are in it for an easy life. They use me as fucking much as I use them. It's motherfuckin' mutual."
"So you never pressured them? Not once?" I ask seriously, cynically.
"Not fucking once. I offer to fuck 'em all the time, but they are never obligated. Sure, I ask the hot ones to be my wife, might even ask fucking more than once. But no is fucking no."
"So you dangle a piece of luxury in front of them and they open their legs to get it?"
"Maybe. But they are not enslaved like Princess fucking Leia. Do I fuckin' look like the Jabba type to you?"
I can't hold back the snort that escapes me.
This violent idiot is actually pretty funny.
A silence falls between us. My eyes dart between his, his fingertips release some of the pressure, almost laying gently on my neck.
He can see that he is starting to make sense to me, and he couldn't be more self-satisfied.
I mean, the guy is still far from being a principled being. I don't think you could call someone who goes around burning faces for infidelity much else.
But he is right that the women have a choice. And I fucking hate it.
I could notice by the way Sherry talked to him. She didn't seem cowering with fear, like you'd expect someone to be when forced into sex slavery.
He is a violent, volatile asshole. But not to these women.
I take a few deep breaths, breaking his gaze.
In a softer voice, I ask, "Then why are they here?"
"Because they don't feel like working for points. Easy as that."
I frown. That is… kind of weak. It's like the ultimate cop-out for the zombie apocalypse. As soon as this circus would fall, they would die.
I sigh, bringing my hands up to massage my temples. For a moment, his fingertips tighten on my neck again in defense, before relaxing again, his thumb stroking twice over my collarbone.
Unease stirs in my stomach.
"Did you look around the place?" he asks in a low voice.
Now that I think about it, I didn't. "No," I sigh.
He's getting into my head, isn't he?
His hand leaves my neck and he opens the door for me. "Go and see why they fucking want to be here, sweetheart."
Back to the pet names. Great. Maybe I should get on his nerves some more so he calls me by my actual name.
He looks at me with a smirk, his tongue running over his teeth.
I step inside, catching Carl's questioning gaze. I send him a slight smile, as a sign that I am okay.
Then I really, really look around.
This place is huge.
It has a fucking fireplace. That explains why they're not freezing their butts off, literally.
I count five luxury couches. Five. The red, velvet cushions look softer than anything I've seen in months.
I open the bathroom door, feeling Negan's eyes prodding smugly in my back.
They have a bathtub, a container of water next to it. Whereas downstairs we only have the containers, filled with cold water, they probably get hot water here.
I can't help but feel the jealousy burning in my throat.
Maybe I have been spoiled too much at Alexandria, but facilities here have sucked ass compared to those in Alexandria.
I step back into the main room, catching Negan's gaze. I wish I could wipe that smug expression of his face. It makes my spine prickle with irritation.
On the right of the bathroom door, the living room continues. Matrasses lie there, with an undrawn curtain hung up around them.
Typical. Of course everyone's got to hear him fuck.
There is another door to the left of the bathroom door. I creak it open and take a look there.
Another large room. A king-sized bed is place here, together with a table and some chairs. This must be the quiet room where Negan sleeps.
At the table sits a girl. So here the wives retreat that want some quiet and peace.
Except this girl is dressed. She is drawing.
Her hair falls in brown ringlets around her face.
My heart seems to stop.
My heavy feet feel like weights on my legs as I walk step by step toward her. Toward the familiar girl.
She turns around to face me.
Kathy?
My stomach lurches and I choke on my own breath. Loudly, I can only guess, because I hear frantic footfalls behind me.
But purple static grows on the edges of my vision. My ears ring like a grenade went of next to me.
Then darkness trips me to the ground.
I am floating on a cloud. That could be the only way to explain the softness I'm experiencing right now.
I spread my fingers over the softness.
Blankets.
A noise of contentment escapes me. I haven't been so comfortable in a long, long time.
And then I open my eyes. I blink a few times before taking in my surroundings. I'm on a bed, a comforter covering me.
The table I last remember seeing. Not covered in drawings. Every seat unoccupied. No brown ringlets of hair.
"Awake, are you?" A voice suddenly rumbles.
I jump, my heart pounding out of my chest. Fucking Negan.
I sit up a bit, before locking my eyes with his, giving him a curt nod. I'm not ready for the questions.
"What was that about?" He asks, his expression a mixture of puzzled and annoyed.
Annoyed because I am lying in what must be his private bed.
He is sitting on a stool next to the bed.
I have no idea how much time has passed in the meantime.
"How long was I out?" My voice hoarse.
"Fifteen minutes."
It feels like longer.
"Have you not been eating?" He asks, his eyebrows knit together.
"I have," I say absent-mindedly, staring at the table.
"Then what the fuck is w-,"
"Was there a girl sitting at the table?" I ask, my voice worn and tired.
"What? No. All the girls were in the other room."
I rub my hand over my eyes.
This hasn't happened in a long, long time. It can't now.
"Fuck me," I mutter.
"Gladly. But what the fuck is going on?" Negan quips.
I don't have time for his weird sense of flirting right now. I feel too lost.
"Ellie?" He presses impatiently, an edge of worry (which I may very well be imagining).
"Hallucinations," I snap.
I really thought I didn't see ghosts anymore.
But I guess ghosts from the past stick with you like a disease.
He grabs my hand, his thumb on the contours of that 'S' again. He yanks me toward him. pain shooting through my shoulder, I wince.
He leans forward on the stool, his face inches from me.
It burns, the way he looks directly in my eyes.
"Tell me," he whispers. His frantic eyes dart between mine.
They're brown with green flecks toward the middle.
His eyes.
A pang hits me in my stomach. It makes him so human to have olive green flecks in his eyes.
Still, something about those eyes incites me to be honest.
"My sister. She died at the start."
"How?" He presses, his warm breath hitting my face at a fast pace.
"I-I-I," I pause myself, breathing in slow, controlled gulps. "I can't," I eventually let out, looking at my lap. Tears prickle behind my eyes. Knives scratching inside my throat for trying to keep them in.
Sure, I understand Negan a little better now than I did about half an hour ago. But it's still Negan. I don't trust him enough to let him see me cry.
I don't trust 99% of people enough to see me cry.
And then my breath hitches in my throat as he puts both his hands on my ears, comfortably muffling everything on the outside. "Breathe," I hear him command outside this little bubble. I obey, concentrating on the flow of air in and out of my lungs.
It works. My heart no longer feels like it will stop from overworking. My mouth no longer tastes of bitter panic.
In that moment it doesn't matter that it's Negan. I just need a distraction from the ghosts.
Once I am sufficiently calm, I grasp his wrists with my cold hands and move his hands away from my ears.
Our eyes meet. "We will talk about this," he mutters, his eyes dark and like they're full of knowing.
He stands up from the stool, slowly trotting to the door, his boots falling heavily on the carpet. Just when I think he is going to leave, he says over his shoulder, "It doesn't matter, y'know. Seeing shit. It's doesn't make you any less smoking motherfuckin' hot, anyway."
Throwing me one last smirk, he walks out.
So hallucinating fools are hot now? Typical.
…What am I even supposed to do, now that he left?
Well, honestly, I don't give a shit. This bed is so comfortable, I could stay here forever.
So I decide on drifting back into a soft sleep, where ghosts nor Negan bother me.
