Chapter 13
My hair was still dripping by the time Dwight escorted me to Sherry's room. She sat at a small dinette, smoking a cigarette and wearing a small, light pink nightgown. Her room was dim, only lit by two lamps and the windows were dark, a full moon visible under wispy clouds. She had it good; real good.
The room was very large with a high ceiling and nice furnishings. It had a small kitchen and a section closed off by sheer curtains in the far right corner that seemed to be her bedroom. There was a door that led to a darkened room that looked to be the bath. She had an assortment of possessions stacked on shelves; books, trinkets, dvds. It seemed Negan really tried to take care of his wives, and I didn't know if I found that surprising or not.
I looked to Dwight to find him staring at Sherry, his faced pained and his jaw muscles bulged. He swallowed hard.
"Hello again, Everly," Sherry spoke, smoke flowing out of her mouth as she did so.
"Did you know?" I asked her angrily. "Did you know what was going to happen and you didn't say a thing?"
Dwight's face took on a look of confusion and he broke his trance to look at me and then back to Sherry.
"I kind of cornered her in the bathroom a week or so ago. I just wanted to see," she said before Dwight could ask. "And no, I didn't."
"You should stop doing stuff like that. If Negan found out-" he was cut off by Sherry.
"Negan wouldn't have done a thing," she replied. "In fact, I think he subtly encourage me to seek her out, the way he mentioned her."
I gave her a puzzled look, not understanding why I would matter to his wives. The anger I felt abated just a bit, but I didn't trust her. She had to have known something was going to happen that night, and I wanted to ask her how she knew Daryl, but I had already pushed Dwight's buttons and didn't feel like pressing him any further. Yet when I looked at him, he gave me a look that seemed awfully worried and, glancing back to Sherry, she held a similar expression.
She put out the cigarette and stood up, walking over to stand in front of me. She reached out to touch my hair, her fingertips tracing my face softly. Her brown eyes washed over me, taking in every detail. Her breath was soft and sweet on my face. Dwight watched us intently; sweat popping out on his brow. He cleared his throat, seeming to come back to himself.
"Uh-um," he stuttered, "I've got to get her to Negan soon. Just need you to pretty her up a bit."
Shit, I thought. I knew this visit would lead to seeing Negan, but I had intently hoped otherwise. I hadn't forgotten about our "date" much to my disgust, but felt a bit smug that I had made him wait longer than he probably had wanted.
"I don't think I have to do much," Sherry stated. "Just need to cover what's left of these ugly bruises and find you something decent to wear."
She tugged at the haggard t-shirt I wore. She turned around and went behind the curtains that shielded her tiny bedroom. She rummaged around and walked back out, a navy blue sweater dress draped over one arm and heels in the other. Ew, I grimaced inwardly.
"Oh," she said, taking note of my facial expression, "he is an asshole, but you get used to him after a while. He's does actually have a soft side."
"I find that hard to believe," I said, but remembered the look he had given me after I had been ganged up on; how serene and loving his face had looked as he held me. His affection came at a steep and dangerous price.
"Well, put these on. Hopefully they'll fit okay. I'll get some make up," she handed me the clothes and I took them reluctantly, the high heels dangling from my fingers. I wanted to scream at her, do you not see me!?
"I don't think I can wear these," I held my hand with the heels up. "My ankle…"
"Oh…," she looked at Dwight concerned and then back at me, "I'll just get you some flats. The bathroom is there."
She pointed to a darkened doorway by the kitchen. I looked to Dwight and he nodded. I went in and shut the door, throwing the dress onto the small counter with a burst of anger. I placed my hands on the formica countertop and looked myself in the mirror. What am I doing here? I lamented and gritted my teeth in frustration. I did not want to do this.
My heart started to pound and I felt my chest begin to tighten. There had to be something I could do to get out of this, but I knew, just as I had known in that van two months earlier, that I would have to do some things I didn't want to. I had asked myself then if I could do what needed to be done to ensure my survival. I hadn't done such a great job so far in that respect, but I was still here. I can find a way out of this, I promised myself when a sharp rap hit the door.
"Hurry the fuck up," Dwight barked. I stripped and put on the dress.
I waited outside a set of metal double doors. From either side, two armed Saviors stared at me, smirking. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared nervously at the floor. My ankle throbbed. The white flats that Sherry had let me borrow were not exactly providing the best support. She had put more than just concealer on me and she did my hair, too. I felt like a prized pony getting ready to prance around for a show and I felt ill.
"Hey," one greasy looking Savior got my attention, "when Negan gets tired of you can I get a ride?"
Both of them started to laugh. I narrowed my eyes at the one who spoke to me, giving him a look that clearly expressed my answer. He shrugged his shoulders and blew me a kiss. Then I heard voices getting louder from behind the door and I straightened up, my heart pounding painfully. The doors swung inward and Negan stood there, a giant smile on his face.
"Well, hell-fucking-o!" He cast an appreciative eye over me. "I thought you were gonna show me up again, but look at you all dolled up and pretty as a peach."
I blushed angrily as Dwight stepped out from behind him as did Simon and a few other high ranking Saviors. They each gave me a look over while Dwight obliged me with a brief, piercing glare before striding down the hallway. Simon let out a low whistle.
"You clean up well," he said. "You know, you really shocked the shit out of everyone with that performance you put on the other night. I have to say you've earned a bit of my respect, warrior princess."
He threw an arm around me and gave me a good shake, smiling wide. I could tell he was mocking me, but I grimaced a smile back and resisted the urge to slam an elbow into his stomach.
"Thank you, Simon, but you can take your respect and ram it down your throat until you choke on it," I shot back.
"Ooooh, reow!" Simon made a swiping motion with his free hand and some of the men chuckled at him. His hug tightened and he leaned close to whisper to me, his eyes on Negan. "Hey, I have a friend. He kind of likes you, but he's too afraid to say anything about it," Simon shifted his gaze to me, a quizzical look on his face. "We were talking about you and we just kind of wondered…are you a virgin?"
My eyes widened as I felt my face flush hotly. The Saviors that were still around were choking back their laughter. Negan only smiled. Simon threw his arms up, a surprised look on his face like he meant no offense, shaking his head, "Hey, it's no big deal if you are or aren't. I'm just asking for a friend! Nothing at all to be ashamed about. I personally like the ones that are a bit more broken in, but to each his own."
He clapped a hand on my back and winked as I stared at him with contempt. I knew my face was bright red and I blinked away the sting in my eyes. I felt absolutely humiliated. Negan gave Simon a smile that said he was amused but he'd had enough.
"Catch ya' later alligator," Simon called as he sauntered off, the other Saviors following behind and freely laughing now.
"Oh, if looks could kill… Let's have our chat now, Everly," Negan said still smiling.
I took a deep breath and walked past him and into the room. It looked to be a large office with tones of gray and black. Only a desk, couch, coffee table, and some shelves occupied the room, minimal and modern. On the shelves were books and many different kinds of baseball memorabilia; I should've known. Lucille was his one true love and she laid on a stand directly behind Negan's desk, ever sharp and alarming.
"Take a seat and I'll get you something to drink," he said, pointing to a black leather couch to the left.
I walked over to it and plopped down, feeling scared and angry. I didn't want to be here. I shouldn't be here. It took every ounce of my self-control not to rush at the door and try to make a run for it, but I stayed seated where I was at, my hands clutching at the leather. Negan made his way over, two glasses in his hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He poured us each a finger and handed me a glass.
"You know, Simon is right," he said, standing in front of me by the glass coffee table. He took a sip of his whiskey and eyed me. He smiled when I didn't say anything. "I mean about how everyone was impressed with you. That shit was insane!"
I lowered my eyes to my lap, "Yeah, well, you didn't leave me much of a choice, did you?"
"No. No, I didn't, but that's part of the fun, right?" He sat heavily beside me, throwing back an arm behind me to rest on the top of the couch. I turned away from him, silently fuming and wanting to scoot away.
"Is that what your wives think?" I snapped my head around to look at him. "They're left with no choice, but it's part of the fun?"
The glass in Negan's hand stopped half way to his mouth and the corner of his parted lips lifted up slightly.
"Why don't you take a drink of your whiskey so you can loosen up a bit," he suggested.
"Did something happen to you as a child?" I shot back with a glare. "Were you not loved enough or something or have you always been a demented fuck?"
He only grinned and took a sip of his drink. He flicked his eyebrows up and rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch as he let out a big sigh. His fingers drummed on the leather behind my head, thrumming irritatingly over and over. Suddenly, he leaned forward and set his glass down on the table. He turned his body to face mine and placed a hand on my knee.
"Don't," I flared, pushing his hand off of me.
I gasped as he grabbed my thigh roughly and pulled my body to face him. He yanked the glass out of my hand and slammed it down on the coffee table.
"I brought you here to talk, not for you to sit there and ignore me. When I speak to you," he raised his eyebrows, "you look at me and answer. If I touch you, you damn well better welcome it."
He put his hand down on the couch on the opposite side of me, leaning over to look into my eyes. I pushed back into the leather, my heart racing. The air barely stirred around us as we stared at each other, his eyes hot and austere and mine defiant. We sat like that for a moment, daring each other to make a move or say something first. I wanted to make a run for the door again. I wasn't sure what he wanted, but I could guess.
"I had a very happy, normal childhood," he said at last, his eyes still locked on mine. "My adulthood was just as copacetic if not boring at times, but the world now"-he laughed-"I've adapted quite well for the world the way it is now. You see, I don't know if you've realized, and I've said this quite a few times, just in different ways, but I'm a great fucking leader. I do what needs to be done, no ifs, ands or buts about it. I set the rules the way they should be and people, at least the ones who don't have shit for brains, thank me for it because without a leader like me they're just another group of dumb assholes that don't know shit. Kinda like yours."
"You don't know a damn thing about us or what we've had to do… A community can have a leader that isn't a murderous asshole and survive," I furiously replied.
"It can, Everly, you're right, but it doesn't last long in a world like the one we're in now. Do you want to know why?"
"I don't nee-" I started, but he cut me off.
"Because it is weak, and sooner or later someone will come along to tear it down," he gave me a meaningful smile. "But that isn't what I want. I want vassalage, not eradication. It's important that you know that. We can all live in harmony, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, so long as I hold the sovereignty," his brown eyes searched mine, vibrant and eerie. "I'm not a murderous asshole just for fun, Everly. People in this world need control. Otherwise there won't be anything left. Not everyone is strong enough to set that order and take it for them-fucking-selves. I am."
I swallowed. What he was saying was just the tip of the iceberg that was his moral conscious. People did need a limit to prevent pandemonium, he was correct in that. We all had lived through enough already. Yet, his methods of exacting his authority and justice were not sound. He wanted to dominate through fear, pain, and death, but what he didn't realize was that his ways caused even more chaos and destruction in the end. It set order to nothing but his own sense of self-entitlement and fed into his sociopathic tendencies.
"You are the biggest narcissist I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. I know perfectly well how and what you think, you're not that difficult to read. In fact, no part about what you just said could I remotely relate to or find logic in. How exactly is striking fear into those who serve you scream security to you? Do you not ever fear that maybe one day you just might end up with a giant knife in your back from your so-called vassals?" Dwight's face flashed into my head and I narrowed my eyes at Negan. "You can't displace respect with fear, only resentment. And sooner or later, when you think you have everything under control and you're feeling safe in your fucking macho man leather jacket"-I flicked at his zipper with disdain in my eyes-"you will be the one who will be torn down."
With that, I shoved his arm that blocked me away and stood up, walking to the door as dignified as I could given my current physical condition. I had nearly reached it, putting out a hand to grasp the knob when he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me back. He spun me around and threw me to stumble against his desk, coming up on me before I had a chance to straighten up.
His fingers encircled my neck, his face a visage of animosity, but while his grip was firm it wasn't choking. He only stared at me intently, his eyes dark pools of rage. We were both breathing heavily and my hands were tight fists at his shoulders, the soft cotton of his shirt balled in them. I was ready to fight against him, but I didn't think I could win.
His features changed then, so subtly. It was clear he was still angry, but it looked like he was having an inner battle with himself, like he was deciding between tightening his fingers around my throat and ripping my clothes off. Instead, he brought his hands up to my head, placing them flat over my ears in a firm hold. He put his forehead to mine and let his eyes shut, breathing in deeply. His wiry beard scratched my jaw as he dug his fingers into my hair; his lips barely on my own.
"Go sit back on the couch. I'm not done with you yet," he rasped and let me go, taking a step back and unzipping his jacket which he took off to toss on the desk behind me.
I was shaking uncontrollably from my fight or flight response, adrenaline high-jacking my mobility, and I walked disjointedly to the couch, sinking down into it, feeling perplexed at what had just happened. I looked up to see him still standing in the same spot, staring intently at where he had pinned me against the desk. He looked menacing again, his bare arms bulging as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Then he turned away and marched toward me. I sat back, panic a quick switch on my heart.
"Here's the sitch," he said as he picked up his drink and downed it. He was back to normal as he flashed me a smile, "I'm going to share a piece of my past life with you which is something I very rarely do, and you're going to sit there and listen. You will only speak when I ask you a direct question. Let's give it a try to see if you understand."
He set the glass down hard on the table and I recoiled at the sound it made. He put his hands in his pockets, the gray t-shirt he wore stretching over him as he did so, and focused on me. His hair had become disheveled from our encounter, but he didn't move to fix it.
"Before people started dying off by the millions and reanimating, I was a high school teacher and a coach. I was also a used car salesman part-time, trying to bring in extra money for me and my wife. Her name was Lucille."
My eyes flicked to the barbed wire bat that sat on a shelf behind his desk. He waited until I looked back at him.
"I lost her not long before the outbreak, but she's still everything to me," he paused, thoughtful. "I had always been an asshole, I suppose. Only thinking about myself, never caring about others or what I did to them. Hell, most of the kids I coached were terrified of me, but we won nearly every tournament. They didn't want the shitstorm that came if we didn't," he smiled nostalgically.
"I truly did care for those kids, but her," he continued quietly, "She was the only other person in the world that I couldn't say no to and she deserved better than me... After I lost her, I had absolutely nothing else to live for but myself, and that's what I've been doing since. Living only for me and controlling any and every aspect of this life that I can. I was handed the perfect fucking opportunity to make this world mine two years ago and I took it. And here we are."
I was shocked. The fact that he had had a normal life before, let alone could care so deeply for someone, baffled me. I figured he had always been an egotistical brute in a position of power; perhaps had even been a real-life Patrick Bateman, which would have been very fitting, leading up to the apocalypse. It's was laughable to think that he was nothing but a teacher and salesman before. I couldn't picture it.
It was clear he carried a lot of demons; yet, there was the chance that he was just making all of this up. If it were true, I could say that it made a vague amount sense. If he truly did love his deceased wife as much as he was confessing to me right now, the loss of her was weighing heavily on him; I also got the feeling that he felt guilty for something. Still, while most widows and widowers felt bitterness at the passing of their spouse, not many of them went on a tyrannical rampage, killing and hurting people with no remorse because they felt like it. I frowned at him.
"Okay," I said quietly, unsure of myself or what to take as truth. "Why are you telling me all of this?"
He stared at me for a minute, contemplating something.
"So that you can understand me," he said and came up to lean down in front of me. He placed his hands on the back of the couch on either side of my head. "You said I'm easy to read, but you don't know shit about me, darlin'. I do have a beating heart despite all the evidence stacked against me. I can feel pain. I've felt the loss of love…but I also that know I am a depraved bastard. I've done a lot of fucked up things in my life…and I've barely gotten started."
I stared at him, trying not to feel foolish. I knew enough about him to not trust a damn word that came out of his mouth. A smile slowly crept across his face.
"I told you all that I'm a man of my word. I don't spout off bullshit not to follow through with it, but as a used car salesman, sometimes it's worth it to wring the holy hell out of the truth to make it look just good enough for some poor sap to believe it because, hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, and you never know what someone will do when they're desperate," his eyes flitted over my face.
"What're you getting at?"
"Daryl's been locked in that cage since you saved him from those dead fucks. He hasn't seen the light of fucking day in, what, a week if not longer?" he smiled again. "So, here's my pitch, and you can say no if you want as is your right, but if you want Daryl to start having a life again, if you want him out of that cage and well, I'm gonna need something from you, and once you agree there is no turning back."
His eyes searched mine. I could feel his body heat, one of his arms brushing mine. I scrunched farther back into the couch. He took my right hand in his and brought it up firmly to the buckle of his belt. I tried to yank my hand back, using my other against his shoulder as leverage, but he held on fast, a wicked smile locked onto his face.
"No!" I yelled in his face.
"Now, listen, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, but if you do this I might let Daryl spend a few days in the infirmary. He can finally get out of that cage and heal comfortably. Simon would maybe stop tormenting him as much, although it is one of his favorite pastimes… So, it's up to you. Just know that. It's your choice and I won't force you," he released my hand and I fell back into the couch, cowering against the armrest to get away from him as much as I could.
"I won't ask for anything more or less right now. This is the deal," he finished.
I took a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself and wrap my head around the situation. I wanted Daryl to be free from that cage, to heal and get stronger. I also wanted another chance for us to figure a way out of here. Is this what it would take to get that?
"If I don't?" I asked, wanting to know all of my options.
"Then things go back to their regular routine. Except I might need to keep Daryl locked up a bit longer. You know, to even things out between you and me," he smirked. "It doesn't have to be tonight, although I'd prefer it, but I can be patient when I want to be. So…what's your answer, Everly?"
I didn't know what to do. I had been faced with pretty hard decisions in my life, but never one like this. Never thought I would have to deal with one like this even though the possibility had increased since the world turned to shit. I tried to think about all of the consequences of refusing and accepting. Either way looked grim for me, obviously, but it was Daryl I worried about. If I could buy his freedom with this one deed, it could be worth it. Especially if Negan kept to his word, which he claimed and seemed to do so far, and allowed Daryl to stay in the infirmary until he healed.
"What-" I started, but the rest of the words got lost on the way out. I tried again. "What…exactly do you want?"
Negan smiled and chuckled once, licking his lips, "I told you before you went outside that fence that I'd let you suck my dick clean if you could play by the rules. You did. And here's your chance."
I thought about it for a minute, anxiety ripping me apart inside. I sat up, pushing him to the side to reach for the glass of whiskey on the coffee table. I drained it and said, "Okay."
Welp, count me as disappointed. Lost a few faves and follows which makes me a bit sad, but I guess I can't please everyone. It is a little discouraging and confusing, though. I mean, I did not think I was leading anyone to believe this was a romance, right? My story is still decent...right?
Anyway, what an end to a chapter! Talk about uncomfortable, amirite...?! Do you think Everly will go through with it? What's Negan's angle here, huh? I guess you guys will see next weeeeeek! At least she isn't crying anymore, right enchantmentanjel? Haha. Thanks to those who are sticking around! I really didn't lose that many readers, just a few. :( Hey, if you guys every do decide to stop reading, I wouldn't mind learning what led you to your decision. I think it could help me out as a writer. So, if you decide you're sick of me don't be afraid to PM me and let know know why. I won't hate you, I swear. ;) Have a good weekend, people.