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Hours before, she dreaded sharing a single word with the man that sat before her.
His calloused hands were clasped tightly together, leaning forward in the leather chair with an intimidating look playing at his features. Although, she'd become accustomed to it somehow, and no longer found it as chilling as she used to.
It didn't seem so horrible anymore to be talking to him. She surprised herself by sharing the information she did, but nonetheless didn't regret it. It was something she had to get out. She even felt a sense of serenity, especially since the room was so unlike anything she'd seen in the past three years. It was beautiful, organized, and seemed as if there wasn't a single speck of dust dirtying the area. It reminded her of her parents room before the apocalypse. They looked scarily similar.
Negan ran his tongue across his bottom lip, cracking each finger singularly. He watched as the girl rose from her seat and wandered around the room. She dragged her nimble, cold finger along the edge of the counter, humming to herself as she went along. It was quite frigid, although Negan's room was comparably warmer to others.
She wrapped her arms around herself and eyed the area, looking for anything of interest, anything that could break the silence that had formed between them. Her attention landed upon a stack of records piled on the floor beside the nightstand. She ambled over to it and crouched, reading the named of all the titles.
"These are pretty good," she nodded, picking up a Pink Floyd album. She ran her hand across the cover and smiled at the image.
"There's more in the cabinet," Negan popped his jaw and took a generous sip from his wine glass. He then tilted his head back so that his line of vision was fixed on the ceiling.
She opened the small cabinet door and gaped at the number of albums he had. It was like heaven to her; she hadn't listened to real music in nearly three years. She frantically looked through all the titles, pleased with most all of them, before stumbling across one that made her stop in her tracks.
She pulled it strategically from the piles of albums and grasped it longingly between her fingers. She then took it carefully from it's cover and placed it on the record player. As Negan continued to watch the ceiling, she positioned the needle on the vinyl and listened as it began to ring out.
The tune was soft yet powerful. In her early years, she would be quick to anger and tears, more so than the average person. However, her favorite song would always calm her down. Stop the tears. It wasn't much more than a love song, but the melody had a strange power over her. Wicked Game, it was called. Her dad bought her the vinyl when she was young, maybe twelve, and she listened to it almost every night of her freshman year.
