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The narrow dirt road spanned further than she'd remembered. Densely packed white pine trees aligned the desolate street making each twist and turn identical to the other. She nearly lost her way a time or two. Without music or Negan at the wheel, the drive seemed longer and painfully tedious. Every now and then a walker would stagger by, trailing her car and wailing its arms in the air, but she merely averted her gaze with knitted brows. The sight of the dead still sent her stomach swirling.
The clock read 1PM. She'd spent the last few hours raiding stores in town and grabbing whatever she could get her hands on. To her luck, she stumbled across a dilapidated store loaded with canned vegetables, the last they had stocked, and a myriad of bathroom essentials. She'd grabbed a few things for herself, some for Negan, and left the rest for her family. She didn't want to go home empty handed.
Shirts, pants and accessories cluttered the passenger's side. The back seats contained canned food and hygienic products. Her father was beginning to need a shave again, so she bought him a specialty razor. He told her once he preferred cartridge over straight.
After what seemed like hours of driving, the conspicuous house adorned with the vibrant red roof appeared around the corner. To her relief there was no black pickup truck in the driveway. She wanted to change out of her blood and dirt covered clothes, into something nice and comfortable before Negan arrived. She shut off her car, grabbed a few items from her car, and hurriedly made her way to the front entrance.
The smell started to become familiar. Oak and an artificial floral scent, something she still hadn't found the source of. She wasted no time climbing the creaky stairs and entering the master bedroom, then picking an outfit. With paltry clothes to choose from, she settled on a loose fitting white tee and black sweatpants.
She decided to fill time she'd make dinner. As much as she wanted to sit around with a good book and wait for Negan to arrive, the gurgling noise in her stomach was beckoning her to do otherwise. Grabbing a pot, she filled it halfway with bottled water and flicked the lighter over the gas top, causing it to ignite. After she situated the spaghetti noodles on the counter, she took a seat at the island and tapped her feet patiently.
Laying on the table was a plain black shirt, fingerless leather gloves and a tight fitting leather jacket. She picked them specifically for Negan. Although it wasn't much of a switch up, the jacket did look fairly different from the one he was often clad in. Tighter, more pockets and zippers. She hoped he'd appreciate it. Nobody else would. His style was rather unique for the apocalypse.
Bored, she tugged at the fingerless leather gloves and slipped them slowly on her hands. They weren't too snug, and the holes which were supposed to end mid-finger, spanned all the way to her nails. She smiled and slipped the other one on, liking the way they looked, and clenched her fists.
