My breath shakes as I exhale. Anxiety continues to sink its poisonous fangs deeper into my veins, unleashing its toxins into my bloodstream. This is the thick of the story. The beginning of an end that I can't comprehend.

Rick sits with his elbows on the table, chin resting on his folded hands. Michonne is on his right, legs crossed with her arms resting loosely on her belly. Seated beside her is Maggie, eyebrows drawn together in fierce concentration. Jesus, who sits across from her, wears the same look, gaze flickering between the others and then me. The brothers, Sam and Dean are mirrors of one another. The two stare at each other, that silent language allowing them to have a full conversation with just the simple twitch of a lip or nod of the head.

I stop pacing, leaning back against the couch. My hands find purchase on the leather and I grip it tight. The white ceiling fills my gaze as I tilt my head up, refusing to look at them as I let my memories guide the story.

"Negan was charismatic, calculated. An egotistical man who talked too much and was true to his word. Sanctuary and everyone inside was wrapped around his finger, whether they liked it or not. He ruled with an iron fist. There were rules and if you followed them, you lived a decent life, I guess. You didn't starve, you were protected, but it wasn't equal. If you stole, didn't do your share, the consequences were not so great. Depending on your crime, you either lost a finger or got a hot iron to the face."

The image of burnt skin pulling off of someone's face like melted cheese remains ingrained in my memory. My stomach rolls, bile teasing my esophagus.

I draw in a deep breath through my nose, focusing on the musty air of a house barely used instead of burnt flesh.

"That's extreme for stealing some food," Dean comments. I shake my head, though, elaborating because it's not the full picture yet.

"The iron was saved for people who messed with Negan's wives."

"Wives?"

"Yeah. He liked women and he had no problem offering them a lavish lifestyle if they agreed to be his wife." My gaze drifts to the brown leather of the couch, picking at the sturdy material. "Most of the women didn't really have a choice."

"He forced them?" Sam growls and I nod.

"Let's say you weren't doing too great at the Sanctuary, you couldn't make enough points to get the medicine your husband needed. Negan would offer a woman to be one of his wives. In return, they could have anything they wanted, like the medicine to help their husband. Once you agreed to be his wife, though, you were his. Any attempt to be with your husband again would result in harm in the form of a hot iron to the face of the guy you loved."

"Fuck," Dean curses, the threat of violence lacing his voice.

"He coerced them," Michonne deadpans and the rage of unjust hangs thick in the air.

I nod, sighing heavily. "Negan was a man of example. Everybody in Sanctuary is gathered to watch that. When he'd go from community to community, if they didn't perform, give half of what they owed, he'd take one person to make an example out of." My gaze seeks out Jesus, meeting the man's eyes. Pain lines his features and I know that Hilltop was not spared that gruesome scene.

"His choice of weapon was a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire…" My voice trails off, thoughts revolving around that damn bat. The weight in my hand, the sturdiness-

"Aria?"

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. Getting lost in the memories now will lead us nowhere. "Yeah, sorry." Taking another second, I get a grip and continue. "Negan would pick someone out and beat them to death in front of everyone with that bat. Always random, he didn't discriminate either - men, women, old, young. None of it mattered as long as he got his message across."

The sun comes in through the windows, particles of dust getting caught in the light. I stare at them, letting the others absorb the information while I think of what to talk about next.

Exhaustion creeps up on me, draining me and putting me on edge as we draw closer to the parts I dread the most. It is emotionally and mentally draining reliving all of this. It's also terrifying, remembering what I was - the thing that I became.

"Why the fake name?"

Jesus's question catches me off guard. Of all the things to ask, I'm surprised he focuses on that. However, I appreciate it. The miniscule details give me a break from the larger bloodier picture.

"I had no idea if Negan had come to Alexandria yet. If they used my name out on runs or in a community, you guys would know I was there. You would try to come after me and it would only end up with you dead."

Satisfied with my answer, we all lapse into another silence. The patience they have is incredible. If it were me, I'd be firing questions one after the other. Basking in the quiet, I walk around the room, leaning against the wall by a window.

A soft breeze rustles the leaves outside, making me crave the fresh air. Spending a year in nature has me claustrophobic when inside. Sunlight washes over me as I rest my head on the glass. Its warm touch doesn't ease the frozen dread in my chest like I wish.

Please don't hate me.

The anxiety grows more vicious, a constant berating in the back of my mind that I ignore. It's easy to forget when I get lost in the memories, but then other emotions surface, ones that scare me more than the nerves.

That's all I want to ask of them, though. To not hate me because the next part of my story, it's why I hate myself. I'm a monster - a vile, traitorous, deceitful sack of shit. I'm seeking redemption with these people, but the truth is that I'm unredeemable.

"Aria?" Sam lays a hand on my arm, startling me as I'm pulled from my thoughts.

My hands tremble, and he notices, hazel eyes crinkling in concern. I squeeze his hand with a sigh before heading back to the couch to lean against. Sam follows, sitting again in his seat across from his brother. The look they share goes unnoticed by me.

Everyone is curious, their attention solely focused on what I have to say. There's no going back at this point. Crossing my arms to hide the shaking, I burn a hole in the ground with my stare, starting once more.

"At this point, I couldn't feel anything. The Mark drained me of feeling. I was a machine. Fear, happiness, sadness, anger - none of it mattered. I ran off of cold indifference. The people there meant nothing to me. I thought of them as another piece in the game, something to manipulate and use how I pleased. Somewhere I still cared about protecting you guys because my initial plan was to kill Negan and the other leaders. Once I was in, though, there was no way for that to work."

That lump returns, slowly making it difficult to talk. I try for a deep breath, to bulldoze through this as fast as possible, but my body betrays me - trying to cope with all the trauma I've neglected.

"Negan was smart, he would have seen me coming right away if I had done that. And it was big too. Bigger than I ever imagined. So, I took a different route. I got him to trust me, make me one of his lieutenants. A few months in and I was leading the pickup of supplies for a small community. The Saviors didn't question me, and I didn't either. If they asked, I performed. I told them to do something, they did. The Mark was sated, happy with the shit they had me doing, and Negan was on cloud nine with a lieutenant who knew how to run things with efficiency."

Tears burn my eyes, the more horrifying of the memories dredged up. I chew on my lip, letting my shorter hair fall in front of my face, shielding me from their inquisitive eyes. On instinct, I rub my right arm, expecting to feel the raised skin. Instead, it's smooth except for the ridges of my scars.

You're not that thing anymore.

The thought is impossible to swallow.

My leg bounces, foot tapping against the floor with a quick beat. The words on my tongue taste of gasoline as I admit, "I killed for them. I did so much fucked up shit for them."

There's a crack in my voice, emotion bubbling up, threatening to drown me.

Don't lose it. Keep it together.

But what comes next, I don't know if I can. My bottom lip trembles, thinking of the pain that my actions caused, that they are about to inflict. This last year was not just killing, it was a destroying of the promises and values that kept me human.

Ocean eyes keep flashing in my mind - wide with shock and a flurry of emotions. The tears slip down my cheeks and I draw in a ragged breath, glancing up at the ceiling to avoid the solicitous faces.

"Negan had taken a liking to me. The guy liked a challenge and unlike everyone else, I didn't bend over backward for him. He knew everyone's story but mine. It frustrated him how I acted, how easily I did what I did. I had no fear, unlike the others who cowered away from the man. Control and attention were all he wanted and he wanted it from me."

A humorless laugh floats out of me. I want so desperately to not feel anything again. Being back is everything I thought it would be - depressing and agonizing. There are so many broken pieces and I don't know how to put them back together.

You did the right thing by leaving and you know that. They would be dead otherwise.

This, though, what I'm going to admit. I'm certain it would have been better to have stayed away to save them from hearing about what I became.

"I was close enough," I admit, wiping the trails of tears off my cheeks. Monsters don't get to cry over their actions. "I didn't have to, but I did because I wanted to tear him apart. It was just for the thrill."

"Aria, what are you trying to say?" Maggie's pale green eyes are imploring, wanting to take this pain away from me. She can't, though. I'll have to live with this for the rest of my life.

The words are jagged and foul on my tongue. I wish they would cut my mouth up so I couldn't speak anymore

"I became Negan's right hand and his wife."

Bile burns my throat and I move, pacing the room again. I'm too ashamed to face my family, to see the looks of disgust on their faces. How could they be anything other than repulsed by me? I willingly gave myself over to a psychopath. I walked away from the love of my life, became a bed warmer, all for what? So, that I could destroy Negan like I thought he deserved? It disgusts me to my core how low I sunk, how I wanted to betray the man in that manner just to devastate him.

A few moments later, when the burn of bile is not so prevalent, I continue with hollowed words and a sudden dissociation to the moment. "I negotiated with him. Told him that I refused to be locked away and dressed up like a doll to play with. If he wanted me to be his wife then I had to be able to be out there with him, fighting and destroying, like him. He didn't have to agree, but he did because I was unique."

My skin crawls, Oriax's words filling my mind. I was the one that got away, the one who could endure. I was perfection in the demon's eyes and Negan thought the same.

"Was it because you were different or because he loved you? I think somebody who has a bunch of 'wives' is searching for someone who can fit the role he's always wanted."

The rest of what Dean says gets lost in the white noise of my mind. All I can think is, could Negan love?

I remember snippets of conversations, vulnerable moments where shit had hit the fan and put us on death's door. The truth comes out while I'm still in the haze, the words spilling out on autopilot.

"I don't know. The guy was all anger and crass. Love wasn't a word I would have put in his vocabulary unless he was talking about his bat or killing things."

Before all of this, though, he could. I know he had a wife and I know she died. Any more than that and I don't know. But, what I'm sure of was that he was punishing himself like I was.

"Did you love him?"

The blood drains from my face at the southern voice that fills the room.

My head snaps to the doorway to find Daryl standing there with his arms crossed, features blank, and eyes guarded. His posture reads casual, but I can still read him, pick up on those little nuisances.

Which is why the gaping hole in my chest ruptures and swallows me whole because the cold, sharp indifference of those azure eyes tells me that I'm not worth anything to him anymore.

A/N:

I'm back! Sorry, for the long wait. Like I said last time, I was on vacation for the last two weeks. I'm just getting settled back into my routine which means getting back to updating. Enough with the apologies, though, let's talk about this chapter!

So, now you see why Negan isn't a demonic version of John Winchester. Would have been sort of pedophile/incest and I don't want that. Aria doesn't want that either. But now you know the reason why. ALSO, DUN DUN DUN DARYL'S BEEN EAVESDROPPING! *Gasps* How much has he heard? All shall be revealed...several chapters from now...when we get back to Daryl's POV :)

I hope this was a good update for being late! I'm sticking to that two-week schedule I created still. I'm still working on this story while I post so hopefully at some point I can give you a rough estimate of how long this will be. It won't be anywhere near as long as His Mystery Girl. That is certain. I still am amazed by how many words that story is and I wrote it.

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