Poker Face

Chapter 52 - Wandering Mind Syndrome

The door creaked open and light flooded in, and in the doorway stood the man's silhouette, fuzzy through Aven's weak and malnourished vision. Her heartbeat picked up but she stayed frozen in place, staring at him with an empty expression. She had a brief thought that she hoped he'd pick Cindy or Melanie but immediately hated herself for it.

As if instant karma were in play, the man came straight towards her cage. As usual, she wasn't going to make it easy for him, so she pushed herself to the back wall of the cage and hugged her knees to her chest so he had to crawl in partway to get her out. He unlocked the cage and reached in to swipe at her, grabbing her forearm, but his grip slipped and he inadvertantly scratched his nails into her skin as he tried to keep hold. Before he could reach out again, she swiped back, scratching him across his face.

"You fucking bitch," he spat, bringing his hand to his cheek and feeling the broken skin. "How the fuck am I supposed to explain that at work tomorrow?" It was the voice of her kidnapper, but as her blurry vision began to focus, it looked more like the white-haired man who had assaulted her in the woods.

"Just tell them you fell down the stairs, you fucking pussy," she said as though she were an abuser talking to her victim. She never wavered in treating her captor as harshly as she possibly could, though it never helped her. In fact, it made things worse for her time and time again.

The man didn't waste a second before his knuckles connected with her jaw and she was immediately thankful for her choice to slide to the back of the cage; the blow felt like it would have broken a bone if it had been executed properly, if the man wasn't stomach-down and head-first in a cage made for a large dog. She saw him before her, reaching towards her again but she suddenly felt another bigger, stronger hand weighing on her bare shoulder, which had only a moment ago been covered by her old t-shirt. She jumped, her arm flying up with her hand in a fist to fight away whomever the new hand belonged to.

She would have punched Negan square in the face if his reflexes weren't so keen. He quickly leaned out of the way and pulled his hand back as she pressed herself into the corner of the large bathtub, gazing at him with wide but stoney eyes and seemingly no recognition.

"Hey, hey," he said soothingly, "it's just me." He was kneeling besides the tub in a gray t-shirt with a dark spot from a large splash of water that had flown from the tub when Aven jumped at his touch. He held out his arms to her but didn't move in closer, waiting for her to come into the moment and come to him, which she quickly did. She stared blankly for another moment before pushing herself back towards him and resting in his arms with the rim of the tub between them. She nuzzled her face into his neck, breathing rapidly and holding back tears, her jaw numb with the phantom feeling that she'd just been punched.

"Come on, let's get you outta there," he said with a gruff but gentle voice, firmly rubbing a large, callused hand up and down the bare skin of her back. It was his body heat that made her realize she was cold and shivering as she let him help her stand. She wavered in place, still dizzy and fatigued in recovery, and Negan wrapped an arm tightly around her waist to support her, his fingers splaying over her skin, before swiftly wrapping her in a towel and scooping her up in his arms in one swift motion. He held her high up against his chest and hugged her tightly against him as he carried her into the bedroom.

He walked to the bed and sat down before swinging his legs up and scooting back against the headboard. Aven instinctually and eagerly curled up so her face was buried against his chest, and he rocked her slightly until her rapid heartbeat slowed again.

"What happened?" he asked with a soft voice, placing soft kisses on the top of her head.

"Nothing, I just got scared," she replied with an uncharacteristically small voice.