Survivalist

Chapter 10

Summary:

You make a decision which may haunt you for the rest of your life, and you relive the terrifying events which occurred when you were in Woodburry

Notes:

TW: Sexual Assault, and attempted suicide. If you have any triggers towards these subjects I strongly suggest you don't read this chapter. I love you all. Please let me know if you like this chapter, and comment any thoughts or suggestions in the section below.
National Suicide Hotline: 800-273-8255
National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800-656-4673

Chapter Text

You woke up in an unknown area. You felt cool concrete on your head, and realized you were laying on the ground. Tried to move and sit up but you couldn’t, you could only move your head. That was when you noticed that you were laying in a pool of blood. Your own blood. You jumped suddenly. You weren't bit, only wounded. Your head, someone had hit the back of your head. Your memory was foggy of what happened, and when you tried to move your hands to touch your head, you realized you were handcuffed. You moved your feet, and heard a clicking noise. Your legs were also chained to the ground.

“Rick?” You yelled.

“Daryl? Anybody?” you cried. 

“Hello?” You rolled over, and managed to prop yourself up on your elbows, to try and see a little more of the room. There wasn’t much, other than an eerie looking chair. It looked almost like a dentist's chair. That was all that was in the room. It was cement. And the walls were metallic, like the metal used in train cars. Scrap metal. You were alone. You sobbed for what felt like hours. Screaming, but nobody heard you. You were going to die. You knew that you probably had a concussion, your vision began to blur in and out. You were going to die. 

Suddenly, the door opened, and a man in a polo shirt walked into the room.

“Hi. I’m Milton.” He greeted you, then moved towards you. Instinctually you jumped away.

“I’m just here to treat your head, okay?” He told you. 

You nodded, and moved back slowly, towards him.

“Damn, they got you bad.”
“Why are you patching me up? Isn’t The Governor just going to kill me?” You asked.

“I’m not sure. I’m just doing what I was told to do.” He responded. Your head ached as he placed something around your head, gauze of some kind. You shuttered, you had never had a concussion before. But you knew it couldn’t feel good.

“Now… All better, huh?” He asked. You just looked at him coldly. You still didn’t feel any better. You didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know if anybody was going to try and find you. And you didn’t know why you weren’t killed. It would have made more sense just for them to kill you. Why were they doing this?

“I’ll tell them to bring you water, and some pain killers for your head.” The man said. He then left the room briskly. 

Negan let you frame the photo that Judith drew for you, and it sat on your nightstand. It had been three days since your trip back to Alexandria, and Negan was being an honest gentleman. He brought you flowers, would draw you baths, he read The Stand to you at night. You had been silent. And honestly, you had been a real bitch. But he was patient, and you had to respect that. You now had permission to move around the compound freely. Although you knew that people would be constantly keeping an eye on you. Negan told you a good place to go outside and smoke, but honestly you did not want to travel. You did nothing but stay in the robe he had given to you, and chain smoke. It was getting bad. You felt depressed, a depression you hadn’t felt since what happened to you at Woodbury. You hated how completely empty the world seemed lately. You missed Judith most of all. You missed the way the world felt when you held her. She gave you hope that there was a future, an easier and safer future. You didn’t know if Rick would ever forgive you. You didn’t know that he would ever understand. The letter probably wasn’t enough. It did make you happy to know that at least Rosita and Daryl understood. Negan kept bottles of alcohol in his room, and you pulled out a bottle of tequila from his cabinet. He also had some weed stashed, some of the saviors had pre-rolled joints for him. You took a joint, and flicked your bic to the end of it. You inhaled the plant, puffing it out. An intense clarity met your mind, and you knew exactly how you could end it all that day. End Negan, and yourself.