Chapter 12
Dwight took me to a shower room afterward, keeping his eyes on my back as I limped along the corridors. Once inside, I headed straight for a stall and stripped, not bothering to wait for instructions and not looking at anyone else. The warm water immediately soothed my aching body, the throbbing pangs dulling with each second. I cleaned myself up the best that I could, barely able to raise my arms above my head. It required more energy than I had left, but I managed. I was lucky I hadn't passed out in exhaustion yet.
"Don't take too long, I want to go to bed," Dwight called, seeming to become impatient.
I didn't respond seeing as I was too busy scraping layers of blood and guts off of me. He was going to have to wait a bit longer because this was going to take a while. I felt like I needed to bathe in bleach before I could ever feel clean again, but this was a proper start at recovering. As I was rinsing off the suds, I heard the doors to the bathroom burst open and the thudding stride of rubber soled boots. They stopped outside the stall I occupied.
"All squeaky clean in there yet?" Negan drawled out.
I froze. Warm water ran over my head, streaming over my face. I blinked and looked over my shoulder to the silhouette that darkened the thin, plastic shower curtain.
"Almost," I uttered, unsure of what to say or do.
"Listen, that episode you had out there got me to thinking and I believe it's time we had a little tête-à-tête. It doesn't have to be right now. I'm sure you're just beat," he paused, his tone affable, "so I'll make good on my word to be a little bit nicer to you and let you rest up a bit."
I didn't say anything, but listened and waited, watching his shadow through the curtain. Suddenly, he ripped it back and cold air rushed over me. I scrambled against the cool tile wall, covering myself the best that I could. Dwight stood just behind Negan, his eyes cast down to the floor.
"Jesus, lady, we fucked your shit up," Negan's eyes scrutinized my many bruises, his face serious and brows furrowed. Then he smiled, "A real work of art."
I shivered, the icy air a shock compared to the warm steam of the shower. Negan stared at me for a second longer, his eyes locked with my own, and then gave a soft laugh. He let go of the curtain and rubbed his jaw.
"Don't make any plans for tomorrow night. We have a date," he wiggled his eyebrows at me and took a few steps back. I stayed plastered against the wall, not moving a single muscle, and watched him like a hawk. Dwight lifted his head as Negan came up beside him; the latter's eyes still on me.
"Why don't you get her something nice to wear? See if Sherry has anything," he clapped a hand to his shoulder and gave me a wink. He strutted out the door whistling.
Dwight narrowed his eyes at the door, his hand a tight fist on the crossbow. I watched him carefully, clearly witnessing something private. His eyes snapped over to me and a hard look etched his face.
"Finish up," he snarled and walked out the bathroom door.
He took me to the infirmary. Dr. Avery was sitting at a desk, studying papers of some sort. He looked up, startled, when Dwight busted into the room with me following close behind; a few others in the room looked too, but quickly went back to being sick when they saw who it was.
"She needs to be looked over before I take her back," he said monotonously. My heart sunk at the words, but I guess I shouldn't have expected more.
Dr. Avery placed the papers in his hand down on the desk and stood, giving me a warm smile. He gestured for me to take a seat on a small but clean cot on the opposite side of the room. Dwight didn't say another word, but strode out of the door and slammed it behind him. Dr. Avery gave me a questioning look and I shrugged my shoulders, turning to walk to the cot.
I took a seat as the doctor rummaged around the room, washing his hands and getting tools. He folded a stethoscope around his neck and walked over to me, rubbing his hands together.
"Hi, Everly," his face was warm, but his eyes looked weary. "Have you been feeling any better despite your circumstances? Sorry I wasn't able to check in on you again. I was away for a few days…"
"It's okay, and not really," I replied, looking down at my lap. "They just made me…"
I couldn't finish. Thinking about what transpired earlier, the pain still fresh and coursing throughout my body, made me feel violently ill. I swallowed hard and breathed out slowly, trying to tell myself I wouldn't get sick. Not that I had anything in my stomach to throw up anyway.
"It's okay," Dr. Avery replied gently. "Let me just look you over."
He wrapped my chest and ankle again with fresh ace bandages, commenting that the bruising and cuts looked better, but both areas were far from being healed. He placed an ice wrap around my ankle and propped it up on a pillow.
"Have you treated a man named Daryl in here at all, by chance?" I looked him in the face, hoping to see a hint of recognition on his features, but there was none.
"No, I'm sorry," he shook his head. "It's possible Dr. Carson has, though."
Doctor Carson, I remember when Dr. Avery had introduced himself that he mentioned being one of the doctors in the compound. I didn't think of the possibility of Daryl being attended to by another doctor, but that had to be the case. Daryl was tough, tough as fucking nails, but everyone has their limit. We might be prisoners here and we might have suffered a lot because of it, but I didn't think Negan had us here for nothing. Whether we were bargaining chips or the noose around Alexandria's neck for its compliance, there was no immediate reason to have us killed. He had to have seen a doctor. I was fervently convincing myself of that fact.
"Here," the doctor handed me two pills and a cup of water. "Take these and rest. I'll deal with him outside."
"What were you reading when we came in?" I asked suddenly curious, chasing the pills with a gulp of water.
He gave me a wary look, seeming unsure of how to answer and looked back to his desk. He turned back to me and took off the stethoscope around his neck, placing it on the tray by the cot.
"Those are…just some data records of certain experiments a few other doctors and I are involved in," he looked slightly uncomfortable.
"Experiments?" I was feeling drowsier by the second. The pills I had taken were hitting me hard.
"For a cure," he smiled sadly and turned away as my vision blurred.
"Are you guys close?" I whispered, but I fell asleep before I could hear the answer.
I woke up some time later in darkness. A hard coldness was seeping into my bones from the concrete floor and goose bumps ran up my spine. I smelled something savory and lifted my head up, reaching out blindly for whatever it might be and my stomach grumbling excitedly. I felt something cold and smooth on my fingertips and wrapped a hand around the curved surface. It was a bowl.
I smelled what was inside, unable to see what it was, and gave it a taste. I let out a thrilled sigh and consumed the contents. It was some sort of beef stew, cold and chunky, and it was the best thing I had eaten since I had been here. I finished it quickly, my stomach pained from the sudden consumption. I set the bowl back down and felt something graze the back of my hand. I reached out for it and picked up a glass. It contained tea, sweet tea. I guzzled it down as well.
Was this what the higher ups had to eat when the rest of us had the same old plain fare that barely filled our stomachs? They got the luxury of a hearty, flavorful meal? I let the glass clatter to the floor and kicked the bowl away, ashamed at myself for enjoying it, but still thankful nonetheless. It had been a long while since I had eaten.
Speaking of, I had absolutely no idea how long I had been passed out. It could have been hours or days for all I knew. There was no telling, at least for the moment. I hoped someone came soon because I felt wide awake now, finally well rested for the first time.
I silently assessed my wounds, concentrating on each area to gauge the pain. It could have been from the rest, the coldness the suffocated the room or from seeing Dr. Avery the last time I'd been conscious, but the soreness had greatly abated. I rotated my ankle carefully and felt a good amount of pain, but nothing compared to what it had been before.
How long have I really been asleep? I wondered. I reached down to touch it and still felt the ace bandage wrapped around it and my chest, too. My ribs were considerably more tender than anything else, but I felt almost like new. It was hard not to feel a bit optimistic at that. The only thing that could possibly make me happier would be if I could get out of this godforsaken room and be out in the common area again. I had really underestimated how much I enjoyed that stiff cot compared to the barren floor.
My ears perked up when I heard approaching footsteps. I sat up with a mix of excitement and dread as they stopped in front of my door and clicked the lock open. Dwight stood in the hallway, Daryl's crossbow hanging from his hand and a bag on one shoulder.
"About damn time you woke up," he said amiably. "I'd say you look like shit, but you look a lot better compared to a couple of days ago."
He looked down at the floor and noticed the bowl and glass scattered about. He gave me a look that told me I better pick them up, so I did and placed them neatly on the ground by the door.
"I've been asleep for two days?" I asked weakly.
"Just about," he said and motioned for me to stand up. "Let's take a walk."
I did so attentively, my legs and ankle weak, and walked to him with a lethargic gait. He shut the door behind me and wrapped his fingers around my left bicep, setting a slow but steady pace.
"What's the destination?" I hesitantly inquired. I wasn't sure if he would get annoyed or not, but I wanted to know; needed to, just in case it was to see him.
"Well, for starters, you need to get cleaned up," he replied. "You'll get a shower, freshen up. Then I'll take you to see Sherry."
"You're wife?"
He stopped, his fingers crushing into my arm, and glared at me.
"Negan's," he spat out.
"Yours," I retorted back. He let out a puff of indignation and set off again, this time dragging me forcefully along.
"You know I'm right. Negan saying she's his doesn't make it true."
Dwight tugged me to a stop and slammed me against the corridor wall, his fingernails biting into my skin. He shoved his scarred face up to my own, his eyes a pair of burning coals as he stared into mine.
"She is, for all intents and purposes, his. She fucks him, follows him, takes care of him, loves...him!" He roared out the last word, his voice strong and piercing in my ears. I winced.
"Okay," I whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Yes, you did," he rasped angrily. "I know exactly what you're trying to do and it isn't going to work. So just shut up and do what you're supposed to before I throw you back in that room and forget you ever existed."
I nodded lamely and pressed my lips together. He stepped back and began guiding me to the bathroom again. I looked over at him, his face taut and enraged. I felt sorry for what I said, but knew I would say again if I had to. I was going to initiate something; something dangerous and risky. I just had to be careful that my plan didn't come back to bite me in the ass, but it seemed I might be off to a good start already.