Chapter 20

"Well, shit!" Negan expressed as we stepped into my old room, slamming the door behind us. "I forgot we took all the mattresses out of this place. Now my joke doesn't make any sense."

He turned to look at me with a dramatically disgruntled look and twirled Lucille around on his shoulder with a flick of his wrist. He stopped in the middle of the room with a stomp of his foot and sighed, his eyes roving around to examine every corner. I stayed by the door, unhappy that I was once again in a confined space alone with him.

"Pretty nice," he complimented, his lips turning down slightly as he nodded his head. "Not bad at all. You have some cool shit in here."

He crossed the room and up to my dresser to pluck a book from it and looked at the cover before chucking it to the floor, "Boring."

"Could you not?" I asked, stomping over to pick it up and placing it back where it belonged. He ignored me and continued his own personal tour around my room.

"What in the cocksucking hell?!" He let out an astonished laugh, propping Lucille up against the desk he was standing by. He picked up an object from my desk and started messing with it. "You've got an iPod? And it works!? I haven't seen one of these motherfuckers since… Well, since the new world began."

"That's great," I replied in a snarky tone and walked over to grab it from him. It was one of the few things I had taken with me and managed to keep track of two years ago. I didn't want him touching it. I reached out a hand to grab it from him, but he twisted his arm away with a reprimanding look and an index finger in my face.

"Put it down, seriously," I begged.

"Alright, hold on, now," he chided. "I'm gonna have a listen because I am the guest and you need to be a big girl and share."

"No," I swiped out a hand for it again, but he lifted it out of my reach easily. He smiled.

"How about this, I'll give it back to you after you answer my last three questions. Sound fair?" He raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"No!" I said again, getting more and more frustrated with him.

He pushed my shoulder, causing my upper body to sway back, "What're you gonna do about it then, tough shit?"

He pushed me again, harder this time, and I stumbled back a step. I smacked his hand away as he went in again for another shove.

"Stop it!" I hissed, my eyes blazing. He pushed me again and again, each thrust of his fingertips more forceful. He smiled teasingly at me as he advanced on me, causing me to back away from him.

When I felt my dresser behind me, I had a brief idea to grab something, anything useful, to defend myself. My book, I felt behind me and wrapped fingers around the thick spine. I held it in two hands, ready to swing it at his head and he stopped, his face a show of amused astonishment. He put the iPod in his jacket pocket and then let his hands hang at his sides as he studied me.

"Really?" He asked. "Is this the way you want today to go? I was fucking with ya' just now. No hard feelings."

My temper was at maximum heat, but I was afraid in spite of the rage and chagrin I felt. This day had been one hell of an emotional roller coaster and I felt myself tearing at the seams. I could barely control myself and was well on my way to getting into some major trouble, but at the moment I didn't care. No one else was around to take the blame but me. And I really wanted an excuse to hit him.

"It doesn't have to go this way if you'll just back off and let me leave," I said, raising the book up a bit. I wasn't exactly sure how this would follow through, but I was willing to find out.

"Jesus Christ," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "You are a fucking crazy bitch. I've done a whole ass load of messed up shit to you and you wanna fight me!" He laughed. "I don't know if I find that incredibly fucking hot or stupid. It's kind of hard to decide between the two. It's almost as if," he took an aggressive step forward and I reared back, ready to strike, "you want me to punish you."

He lunged at me. I swung down as hard as I could, catching him on the shoulder as he ducked to the side. It didn't seem to do any damage at all as he grabbed both my arms, knocking the book from my grasp and shoving me against the wall. He pinned my wrists in both of his hands on either side of my head, one of his knees digging painfully into my thigh.

"Calm down," he placated me sternly as I struggled to get away from him. I attempted to bring a knee up and into his crotch, but he blocked the hit effortlessly and pinned my other leg as well.

"I thought you didn't hurt women," I said insolently.

"I don't if I can help it. I'm just diffusing the situation, baby," he smiled down at me.

"Get your fucking hands off of me!" I sneered.

"Damn," he smiled and pressed into me, his face hovering a fingerbreadth from mine, "I'd love nothing more than to hate fuck you against this wall right now. I'm sure we'd both enjoy it, but unfortunately for us, there are children downstairs and I'm not so sure that Daryl isn't listening through that door over there."

"You don't get it do you? I'm not interested," I violently struggled against him again, but he held me firmly to the wall. I huffed out an angry snarl in his face. "Is your head really that far up your ass or are you just willfully blind to it?"

"I'm painfully aware of your feelings toward me, make no damn mistake. That doesn't mean I won't stop trying. You have to know by now that I'm not one for throwing in the towel easily. You're still breathing, aren't you?" he said, further amused with me. "But I just don't know what else to say to you to get you to understand that fact. You're compliant one second and reckless the next. At least Daryl's consistent… You're fucking unpredictable, and frankly, that makes me a tiny bit uneasy."

"Good," I mocked him. "I understand perfectly well what's at play. I've already been living through the misery. You will always have the upper hand. That is as plain to see as the brainless arrogance you strut around with every day, but the truth is that I feel sorry for you. You control nearly every part of this ballgame, hardly anything happens without your say-so, but at the end of the day what do you have?"

Negan's smile started to disappear and it looked like he was working to hold it in place, but it was hard to tell. He looked down at me, his attention on high alert as he silently listened to what I had to say.

"You have nothing," I continued. "Everything you have is fake. Nothing truly belongs to you, you just like to pretend it does. And I feel sorry for you, honestly…You are one of the saddest people I've ever met."

He didn't say anything for a moment, his lips holding up their weight and his hands still a tight vise around my wrists. I, on the other hand, felt lighter. The anger was gone, taken over by true sympathy to my own astonishment. In this moment it was easy to see just how entirely devoid of human emotion and integrity Negan really was. He worked so hard to take and take that by the end of it all he was left with absolutely nothing. The more he got, the less he had. I began to understand Sherry's argument for his humanity a bit better. He was a prisoner just like me, I saw that now, and a small portion of him, maybe someone he must've been before, was buried deep inside, pushed down beneath the murky depths of his cruel insanity to mask his insecurities.

Do not go soft, I warned myself. I couldn't let these confusing and unwarranted emotions cloud my judgment. I wasn't going to be Sherry, that thought alone was frightening.

As the minutes passed, we fought with each other in a silent battle of wills. Who would look away first? Who would be the one to back down? I almost did, growing tired of the situation, when he let me go and took a step back. He put one hand on the wall beside my head, leaning deeply to stay close to me and I rubbed my sore wrists.

"We still need to finish our game of twenty questions," he finally said. His voice was deep and soft. "I've only got three."

I gave him a look that told him to go ahead.

"Why do you think I chose you, out of everyone else, to take back?" He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"To torture me," I said matter-of-factly. "To torture the rest of us. That's was your intent and that's what you've done, nothing else. I was defiant and you wanted to prove to me, and everyone else, that no matter what we said or did we were powerless."

He chuckled slightly, his breath a soft blanket on my face, and I was attentive to the fact of how close he was to me still; how big he suddenly looked.

"That's part of the reason, yes," he responded. "It's always fun to break in the determined ones. Makes their defeat that much more delightfully satisfying. It's like finally getting some fucking head after weeks of shitting out empty compliments, opening doors, and jerking myself off after every goodnight kiss. The wait can be worth it if you choose the right person."

"Victim," I corrected, the ire building up again.

"Your words," he rolled his eyes airily. "The other reason was that even in the face of fear you stood up for your group. You and Daryl. I had to at least try with the both of you, see if I could make you mine. I need people like you by my side. I need loyalty, sacrifice, strength. I saw that in you."

"Am I supposed to feel flattered?" I asked, raising up one eyebrow in contempt.

"Well, I sure as hell hope so. I know my asshole gets jealous of the shit that comes out of my mouth sometimes, but I told you I'm not a liar. I'll twist the truth around as you very damn well know, but when I say I'm for real, I'm for real," he smirked.

"And Abraham? You didn't see those qualities in him?"

"Big Red? Oh, yeah," Negan agreed, "but I knew I could never break him in. He was the one threat that actually had me pissing my pants a little bit. And I had to choose one of you."

He pushed off the wall and I finally had some room to breathe. He kept on a smile and it fit more easily on his lips than it had a few moments earlier. He walked around my room just as he had downstairs and toyed with my various belongings.

I took Negan's distracted silence as an opportunity for myself to gaze around my room as well. I had missed it along with everything else. I looked at the barren spot where my bed once stood and wondered what Negan had done with it. I didn't remembered seeing any new mattresses come through the Sanctuary, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. They could've filtered through while I was locked away in that old utility closet, my cell.

I picked up the book I had used to defend myself and placed it back on my dresser. It was a large volume of short stories from various authors. I had barely gotten started on it when I was taken away by Negan. It was the first book I had the chance to read after the world ended, and opening it up for the first time, smelling the paper and ink, was when I felt like things could be normal again. I had been so naïve then, catching on a bit too late at how dangerous the world would always continue to be. I wouldn't be safe until I was cold, stiff, and six feet underground.

"Following my first question," Negan said as he ended his stroll around my room, stopping to give me his full attention again with an expectant smile adorning his face, "how far away are you from accepting your fate?"

"My fate?" I questioned in response, not sure what he meant. Was it some sort of threat?

"Yes, your fate. The fate I've handed you with my generous, reasonable, bare-balled fucking hands," he splayed them out for me to see just how open and generous they were. "The fate of you owing your undying fealty to me. I've saved your life whether you choose to believe it… You think any other motherfucker would have kept you alive this long? After all you've done? Even in the face of whatever potential you might possess," he looked me up and down slowly, "I don't think most would have had the patience. I do. I have a whole hell of a lot if you haven't taken the time to notice already. How-fucking-ever, you can count this encounter in here as your official strike two. It did get me excited as hell, but it was a tad too damn bold for my taste. You've got one more chance. So, don't strike out and answer the damn question."

I crossed my arms as I lowered my eyebrows. I wanted nothing more than to tell him that he would waste every breath from this moment to his last on trying to get my loyalty and that the most he's ever done with my life is put it in danger, but something stopped me. It was the sudden thought that I wasn't sure if I could outlast him. I didn't know if I was tough enough and, eventually, I saw myself giving in. It all depended on how much he really wanted to wear me out; how badly he needed to. He was much stronger than me, and we were both headstrong, as was Daryl, but once again the query of who would win formed in my mind and the answer was always uncertain.

"Far enough," was all I said. He might wear me down one day that much might be true, but it wasn't happening now.

"Ah," he said, smiling and shaking a finger at me, "I'll get you there soon enough. I can practically see your resolve chipping away already. You're tough, Everly, you are, but you're emotional, and the emotional ones are so much easier to bend and mold…"

He winked and pulled out my iPod to untangle the headphones. He placed an earbud in one ear and turned it on, searching through my library.

"You've got some good fucking tunes on this thing," he said with a forming smile and dancing slightly in the streaming sunlight from the window. "I haven't heard some of this shit since my college days twenty-five years ago."

He suddenly stopped, looking out the window with a shocked expression.

"Shit!" He turned to me with a disbelieving expression. "Has it been that damn long?"

He walked over to me and took my hand. He pulled me to the middle of the room and put a bud in my ear. I heard the upbeat melody of This Must Be The Place as he slid a hand to the small of my back, pressing me closer. He placed the iPod in his pocket again so he could hold my hand in his. He swayed against me, singing down at me while I tried my best to stay still, planting my feet to the ground.

"Come on, dance with me," he looked offended.

"You're a dumbass," I replied and put my free hand to his chest to push him away.

He only held me tighter, grabbing my hand from his chest to put it up to his neck, and started singing more loudly with the song.

"The less we say about it the better, make it up as we go along, feet on the ground, head in the sky, it's okay I know nothing's wrong…nothing."

What a joke, I thought as he got more into it. Of course he would choose one of the more optimistic songs I had. It was like he was rubbing in my face just how carefree this situation was for him. He certainly had nothing to worry about. As he danced with me, he leaned forward and dipped me back. I let out a squeak of surprise and latched onto his neck for support, pulling myself into him.

"That's more fucking like it," he whispered, his lips against my cheek.

"You're gross," I said, pushing away from him and trying to stand back up, but he kept me bent backwards. The song played animatedly in our ears, the cheerful melody a contradiction to everything that was happening inside this room and out.

"Last question and I'll let you go," he said, raking brown eyes over my face. "Right now, at this very moment, I've got you balanced on a narrow-ass precipice and I don't think you realize how high up you are. The fate I've given you, it's not just in my hands…it's in yours as well. You make as much of the decisions as I do. Every move you make, every thought and every action…is a play-by-play of your story and you have to be the one to write it. So, one year from now, two, maybe ten or on your fucking deathbed when you're remembering all the shit that led up to it, what do you want your story to say?"

I opened my mouth, not knowing how to answer him. I wasn't ready for a question as loaded as this one. My answer would determine what the rest of my time here would be like and how I'd continue my life at the Sanctuary. I looked at his thoughtful face, trying to predict what my best option would be. Should I tell him what he wants to hear or should I tell him what I really think? He could probably see through any lie I might come up with, he pretty much had me pegged down already.

"I want it to say that I did all that I could to fight and survive. Not just right now with you, but through the whole thing. All of it," I answered truthfully. "I'm not going to be one of those people who gave up. I can't be that person. I've lived through so much, lost so much even before…," I stopped, having said enough in that respect. "The point is I have nothing else to do but gain. I know everything is temporary no matter how much I want it to be otherwise. I'll fight and I'll survive whether it's with you or against whatever else is out there. That's all I can do."

Deep lines formed on his face as he studied me and processed my words. A small scowl pushing down on his mouth, but his eyes looked thoughtful. Possibly even a bit praising.

"Great fucking answer," he admitted after a while. "That's what I admire so much about you, Everly. That fucking unyielding preservation and honesty that marks every decision you make and it's not preservation just for you. Hell fucking no, it's for everyone. Even people you don't know, I bet. You're one in a fucking million in this world, sweetheart, and I'm dying to know who it is you're willing to fight and survive for. I want to know who exactly you belong to."

His lips slid up ever slightly, barely changing the pensive expression that still lingered. It was a statement, but while he was telling me what he thought and how he felt, but he was also expecting me to answer. And he waited, staring down at me in thoughtful expectation, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. I couldn't admit to what I didn't believe to be wholly true. And what would happen if I didn't?

"I am, uh…I, um," I stuttered as I fought the urge to not say the wrong thing. Daryl had been able to do it and maintain his unshakable, if not haggard, dignity, why couldn't I? "I'm y-…ugh."

Negan's face was an array of entertained expressions, his mouth moving back and forth with mine as I struggled to answer him. His brows lowered in delighted confusion, an intrigued smile curving up one cheek. I sighed heavily.

"I'm…," I closed my eyes and let out a muffled groan behind my lips, "yours, Negan. I'm yours."

"That's right," his teeth gleamed in the bright sun, white and smooth as pearls, "you are. There's only one more thing I need to know, though, and that's your name. I can take a pretty damn good guess at what it is; I just need to hear it come out of your mouth to make it real."

I heaved out another sigh, my fingers digging into the arms of his leather jacket.

"Negan," I bit out.

"There it is," he whispered and then let me go. I fell to the floor with a thump, the breath temporarily knocked out of me. Negan laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair.

"You're a fucking asshole," I choked out, a small ache stretching its fingers along my back.

"Don't forget it," he grinned, reaching into his jacket pocket and bringing out my iPod. He threw it at me and it landed on my stomach with a plop. I grabbed it angrily, slowly relaxing my tense back. He sighed, rolling his shoulders and neck and straightening his clothes.

He looked proud of himself as he held out his gloved hand to me, offering it in truce. I took it in respite, my white flag not full mast yet, and he pulled me to my feet. I let out a groan as I stood up.

"Turn around," he chuckled. I glared at him, rubbing the small of my back to ease the ache and placing my iPod on the dresser next to me.

"Uh, no," I declined.

"I wasn't asking," he said and grabbed my shoulder to spin me around. He put his hands under my shirt, his skin cool against mine. I flinched forward.

"What're you-!?" I started, pulling away from him.

"Just stay where you are and relax," he commanded me and pulled me back, slipping his hands back underneath my shirt. He began to kneaded my back with his thumbs, soothing the soreness and aches.

I stiffened. I did not want him touching me and I did not feel comfortable at all, but this wasn't exactly the worst feeling either. He worked on me for a while, his rough hands gliding up and down my spine. I should feel angry. I should feel disgusted. Instead, I felt an ease work its way through me, alleviating my irritation both emotionally and physically.

What are you doing? I questioned myself.

I stepped forward intent on getting out of his reach. I didn't want to be in this situation anymore, my comfort level had officially plummeted past zero and was dropping into the negatives. He caught me, his hands capturing the curves of my waist and his fingertips pressing into my belly. My back hit his chest and I felt his beard on my neck as he leaned over my shoulder.

"Chip-chipping away," he whispered in my ear.

He let me go and walked to the door, opening it and stopping in the doorway to look back at me. I looked over at him, terrified and confused, and he was smiling so proudly. His arrogance was a choking cologne clouding the room. I could barely breathe.

"You comin'?" He asked.

Run along, little puppet, a mocking voice rang in my ears, and I did, following him out of the room and down the stairs by his side.

Edited by lolasskicker.