Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead, and have no affiliation to AMC. I have full rights over my original characters.

Chapter 4: The Good Life Never Lasts

Laying down, I stared blankly at the ceiling for some time, before turning my back to it and closing my eyes. I had a feeling that tomorrow would be less than great, no matter what Leah had told me about Negan and the Sanctuary. I had a funny sensation in my stomach, like every time something bad was upon us.

I was woken up by someone shaking my shoulder, and I squinted my eyes open to recognize Leah leaning over me, her short blonde hair hanging in front of her eyes.

"Time to wake up, Violet." She told me in a sweet voice. "You wouldn't want to miss your first day of work." I most definitely did not want that, so I rubbed my tired face and got up. I changed into the clean new clothes the Sanctuary had given me; like I had expected, they were a size too small for me, and in spite of my very tiny figure they clung to every piece of my body. I only brought me back to my own frailness, to each bone I could feel against my skin, and I shivered from the sensation. The 50 kilograms of pure muscle I weighted when I was a ballet dancer seemed very far, now. Following the trail of women to the cafeteria, I tried to spot my brothers in the crowd, but to no avail, and I sat next to Leah and her friends. I was eating a big chunk of bread when I felt a hand on my shoulder, again: it was Dwight, and he gestured for me to follow him, so I did. He showed me the way until the barracks' underground, which reeked of crass. I scrunched my nose, but Dwight didn't seem that perturbed by the smell. I wanted to ask the reason for our presence here, but it might've been too bold, so I kept my mouth shut. We stopped in front of a janitor's closet, and I looked at Dwight, intrigued.

"This," he said, "is your new office."

"What?" I couldn't help but ask.

"You will clean the underground and the cells for 2 points a day." he explained. "Clean more and you might get more points, clean less and you'll get less. Simple, isn't?"

I looked at him, every inch of my body betraying my anger: my fists were tightly clenched, my jaw was set and my eyes were burning with angry tears.

"Is there a problem?" asked Dwight smugly.

"Why am I assigned at cleaning?" I growled. "I specifically told you I could-"

"Negan's order." he precised. "I can bring you to him if there's something you want to say. Is there something you fucking want to say to him about your new job?" I clenched my fists a bit tighter, but didn't utter a word. I was angry, but not suicidal. "That's what I thought." concluded Dwight. "The day typically ends at 6 o'clock, feel free to leave later if your heart says so." With that, he left, leaving the door leading outside open for me to have a bit of light. Putting aside the remains of a pride I didn't know I still had, I grabbed a bucket and a mop, and went to fetch some water by the wall. The "wall" was in fact a cage in which walkers had been imprisoned and roamed freely: it was terrifying to watch, but I had to get closer to it in order to reach the water reserve. A few zombies clung to the fence, trying in vain to grab a piece of me.

"Fucking scum." I muttered, more about the leaders of this camp than about the undead they kept like pets. When I had a sufficing amount of water, I went back to my own cage and began working. I soon discovered than my task was more Sisyphean than I had thought, as the crass hadn't been removed from its place in a very long time, if ever, hence the effort and time it required for me to scrub even the tiniest tile. I complained a lot to myself, everyday in fact, but never to anyone. Every day, I worked hard to gain my points, breaking nail after nail and creating layers of callouses on my hands from labor.

And every night, when my brothers and I met on the railing outside the dorms to talk, I put on a brave face and pretended I wasn't ready to die of exhaustion. After healing his knee in a few days, Julian worked at the construction and reinforcement around the Sanctuary, and got double the points as I did, which helped us provide Ben with what he needed since he couldn't work for himself. Put together, our points were barely enough to get us what we all needed, and Julian and I had restricted ourselves to the bare minimum, reducing our amount of food so our little brother would get more. It wasn't exactly the suite life, but it was manageable. After all in the middle of the apocalypse, we couldn't be too picky, and this was the closest thing we'd had in a while to a good life. Of course, we should've learned it wasn't meant to last. The good life never did last for us three. It began going downhill after our second week at the Sanctuary.

As per usual, I was scrubbing the underground, kneeling and pumping the sponge with my hands and the power of my arms, when suddenly my faint amount of light emanating from the door disappeared. Before I could realize what was happening, a body crumpled to the floor next to me, moaning in pain. I backed up to the wall, petrified by the apparition, my heart thumping in my chest.

"Isn't it cute, the brother and sister are reunited in their work!" roared Negan's voice. "Do you see it now, you fucktard? Your sister's been enduring this for two weeks without a word, and with a better condition than her you still found the mean to fucking complain? I think it's high fucking time you learned to appreciate what you get; or do I look like fucking Santa Claus to you?" Negan grabbed my brother by the nape of the neck, forcing him to look in his eyes. "Tell me, do I?" Julian shook his head in denial, and the leader released him. I quickly got to him and grabbed his limp body, as if I could shield him from the man's brutality. "You'd better teach him to be grateful, Violet," he said to me. "Other than that, good job." He ended his sentence with a big grin, as if he hadn't mistreated a member of my family right before my eyes the second before. He spun on his heels and swaggered out, leaving us alone.

"What have you done again?" I muttered, more to myself than as a question to my brother, upon examining his butchered face. I took a rag outside to wet it with clear water, and returned to lay it on his cuts and bruises.

"I'm sorry Vi," he articulated, "I just wanted-" His eyes began to water as he choked on his sentence. "I just wanted a raise- so Ben could-so we could..." At this point, he was a blubbering mess of tear and mucus, and I pulled him into a hug. It was the first time he'd cried since the beginning of the Apocalypse, and I knew he was letting out all his pain from our parents' disappearance and the shit life we'd led afterwards, but also the pain from the shittiest future laying itself out in front of us. He may have been 17 at the time, he was still very much a child and was losing the end of his innocent days. "It's… so unfair, Violet..." He kept muttering, and I had to hold back my own tears. I had always been strong for all of us, and intended to remain this way. I stroked his hair, shushing him softly until he calmed himself down. When he felt better, I held him by the cheeks, looking into his eyes:

"It's okay." I said. "I don't blame you. You did what you thought best, you tried your best to get us all better conditions, and you faced an enemy greater than you'd expected. What happened today is not your fault."

"What are we going to do now?" he asked. "We'll never scrape enough points to sustain all of us."

"It's okay. I'll try to find another job, maybe lick a few boots on the way, but I'll find something." I tried to reassure him, but deep inside I had a bad feeling about all of this. We were back to a wall, and had to be bold enough to dare the leap in front of us. "For now, you lay low and do what they say. This is no time for heroes, so don't you go act like one, okay?" He nodded, and I kissed the crown of his head.

The following week, we both worked hard in the basement, scrubbing every square inch that had to be scrubbed, sometimes speaking to each other when we felt like it. It was a bit better with Julian down here, but the sword of Damocles was too heavy above my head for my heart to ever feel light. Every evening, I would go around the Sanctuary to enquirer for jobs to be done, but never got any positive answer. Most sectors were already full and didn't need any new worker. I got a few indecent propositions along the way, and declined although I almost found myself tempted to agree if it meant getting points in the end. The lack of points was harshly felt, and I began skipping meals to make economies. I went down to one meal a day, Julian only took two small meals and we went on with our daily routines with permanently empty stomachs. It was a torture for me to work, and I almost threw up from hunger several times, barely managing to hold on to the scarce contents of my belly. I would get blurred visions each time I stood up, heat puffs whenever I did the lightest effort such as climbing the stairs or transporting water, and had to stop several times during my tasks so I wouldn't faint. An ill coincidence had one of the leaders eating every time I met them, and I almost dribbled on myself just seeing them there. All our efforts seemed useless, since Ben was getting skinnier each day that passed, and good fortune or optimism couldn't save us anymore. We had run out of it for good, this time.

I reached my personal limit on the second morning of our fifth week at the Sanctuary. I was out to get some water at the reserve, and was going back when I felt my head spin. My vision went completely blurry, and in spite of my efforts to remain balanced on my feet, I took a few steps sideways and fell on my side, hitting my body on the fence loudly. Alarmed by the noise, the Walkers approached me, all groaning and limping hungrily. I could see them, but my mind was too blank for my brain to command a retreat to my legs, and I just laid there witnessing my own programmed death.

"Violet!" I heard someone call. The voice didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular, it had just appeared in my mind. It did sound like Dad's voice, now that I came to think of it. "Violet!" called the voice again, just as I felt my hair being pulled by several hands. Was I dying? I couldn't think straight enough to realize if I was. The pulling suddenly stopped, and someone touched me behind the back and on the cheeks. Strong, solid hands. They had to be Dad's.

"Daddy?" I asked, trying to focus on the origin of the voice.

"I guess you could say that." chuckled the voice. The grip on my body tightened, and I left the ground. "Fucking Hell, Violet, have you been eating?"

"I'm happy to see you again, Dad." If I had been in my right mind, I would've remembered Dad never swore. He thought swearing was for rednecks, and had never sworn in his entire life. But my mind had long left my body. If only it had never returned.

Even to myself, waking up a few hours later felt like a miracle, and I gasped dramatically as I did so like they always did in the movies of the old time. "You took your time, didn't you Sleeping Beauty?" I sat down in the bed to see him seating just across from me.

Of course he had to be there to witness me at my weakest. He had planned it all so I would collapse in front of him and pledge the rest of my miserable life to him. "I know you schemed all this, Negan." I simply stated, although my throat was horribly dry. "Don't you go play the hero card on me."

He studied my face for a moment, then smiled. "I was about to offer you food, but if you don't want my help then it's too fucking bad."

"I want your food." I admitted. "I just don't want what it's going to cost me."

"Always so fucking mefiant, Violet! Consider that, this time, I'll let you off with a little treat." He smirked again, which only increased my nervousness. My eyes went from the food to him in quick movements, but I was unable to make a decision and he grew annoyed.

"Oh for fuck's sake, eat it!" He said, tossing me grapes and bread. I had to force myself to eat slowly instead of gluttoning it down as fast as I could, which would've only made me throw up. "I have an offer for you."

Here we go, I thought, but I remained silent. "I've been watching your merry happy family turn into grim skin and bones in a matter of weeks, and I don't fucking like it. You may not believe it, but I actually care for my people, and so far I've been doing an ill fucking job at caring for you three." I scoffed at the euphemism, but he didn't pick it up. "That's why I come to you with an offer."

"Why don't you drop the act with me, Negan?" I interrupted, frowning. "I can see clear through your games. Just spit it out already."

He smirked at my insolence, and stroked his beard. "I believe you know Sherry and Amber?"

I couldn't say I didn't know them, they were among the Queens of the Sanctuary. They couldn't be told no or anything that didn't go their way, all because they were Negan's wives. Just as I thought that sentence, I understood Negan's proposition, and all of my blood dropped to my toes.

"Never." I spat out.

He studied my face for a few seconds, then stood up with a grunt and tutted as he neared me. He sat on the bed. "Oh Violet," he said, "I didn't think you so selfish. What about your brothers, then? Are you going to let them starve to death, just because you can't make concessions?" He tutted again, looking away.

"I'm willing to do anything for them. But this," I winced just thinking about it," this is above my abilities. I'd rather die than give myself to you, Negan." I stood up from the bed, thankfully still entirely clothed. "Mark my words." I slid into my shoes and promptly left the room, grabbing a remaining loaf of bread on the table.

"I just did." He laughed in my back.