Negan - Still Breathing (Part 1)

Thou Shalt Not

Rules, rules, rules. The life that Negan built was cramped with regulations. You were fully aware that every good behavior came with access to necessities, every favor came with a desired luxury, and every crime came with a very specific consequence. But in order to understand this new civilization, you had to delve deeper into his code. Your father always reminded you, "To beat anyone in a game, no matter what that game may be, you have to know the rules inside out and backwards." Of course, at that time, you were a grungy, angsty adolescent who despised restrictions. Before the world went to absolute shit, you viewed laws and social mores as malleable. You lived by your own moral code and conducted yourself in balanced way--divergent but careful. Though you discreetly flipped a big, fat middle finger at authority, the rule makers would still give you the benefit of the doubt. You weren't a delinquent, you were a free spirit. But in Negan's territory, your method of survival was learning the clockwork of the New World Order.

You listened studiously on the plush couch in the Playboy Mansion--taking mental notes as he explained the rewards and responsibilities of his harem...or the "Negan's Cock Fan Club," as The Saviors called it. "So those foxy fucking brauds serve one purpose in order to live comfortably. You obviously know what that single purpose is. Once they 'give it up,' they've signed themselves over to me. Sex equals automatic wife. I suppose it's a bit like consummating a marriage. But romance, intimacy, candle-lit dinners, roses and all that corny fucking femmy bullshit isn't a part of it. Attachment causes a big fucking load of trouble." Negan folded the cuffs of his dress shirt, revealing his strong, sinewy forearms. "The 'No Kissy-Kissy' rule is in place to avoid any sort of clinginess," he elaborated while stroking his bottom lip with his thumb.

He was so close, you could practically taste him. Licking your own lips as you watched him subtly tease, you responded, "Which scares you more? Your wives getting clingy with you or you getting clingy with them?"

He sighed and ran his fingers through his silver beard. "I don't get attached, doll," he murmured. "Do I pick favorites? Sure, if the chick gets fucking wild in the sheets. But do I get down on one knee for that bitch? Might as well get in line to be fucking neutered."

You chuckled and flicked the ashes of your cigarette. "It's funny, you sound a lot like me."

A smile raised the corners of his mouth. His gaze appeared condescending. "Oh yeah, Miss Independent? You fucking disproved that statement in the boxing ring."

You shrugged your shoulders and took another drag. Playing dumb was the only way to get a glimpse inside this man's mind. "What do you mean?" you asked, trying to sound earnest.

"You know what I fucking mean, hon. You just don't want to admit it." He adjusted the buttons on his shirt, unveiling his firm abdomen. His deliciously musky aroma drowned the smell of your cigarette smoke. "I thought your fucking Hulk-Mode temper was your tragic flaw. Now, I believe it's your pride."