Negan doesn't grace me with his presence for a while, but someone does come to get me eventually. I stir from a dreamless, restless sleep as the door creaks open, a square of light acting as my alarm clock. I stay down, closing my eyes again. The more defeated I look, the better, and though part of this is an act, it's hard to imagine getting up and walking when I feel so weak. I think I could eat a five-course meal with extra dessert and still have room for more.
I hear footsteps, then a hand on my shoulder. I expect a rough yank, manhandling, but instead, the person gently shakes me.
"Get up," he urges.
I force myself to open my eyes, and immediately upon seeing the man, I'm more awake. Dwight kneels beside me, still wearing Daryl's vest, and it burns me inside to see him wearing it. I push myself up with speed that surprises me, pressing myself against the far wall in a bid to get as far from him as possible. His expression falls.
He's the one who stole Daryl's bike and left him in the burnt forest. He's the one who shot Denise. He's the one who tortured Daryl while he was a prisoner here. How dare he look at me with...what, sadness?
And yet, my anger at him doesn't threaten to consume me, not like how I feel around Negan. His wife gave up everything to save him, and he lost her twice. Maybe that's the sorrow I'm seeing on his burned, scarred face.
"Come on," he says. "You're moving."
"Where?"
"You'll see."
All my choices have been taken from me. I stand and follow him from the cell, mentally preparing for the trials that await me today.
----------
Dwight leads me to a room just off the wives' lounge. It's furnished with all the creature comforts of the world—a four-poster bed, plush armchairs, a black leather couch, and a glass coffee table. There are shelves tastefully decorated with vases and statues. It's the nicest place I've seen outside of Alexandria's fully furnished houses.
Negan sits in one of the armchairs, Lucille laid out on the coffee table next to a plate with an egg sandwich and potato chips on it. He grins when he sees me, spreading his arms wide.
"Good morning!" he greets. He gestures to the armchair across from him. "Sit down."
He waves his hand at Dwight, and he leaves without a word, shutting the door behind him. I wait for a second, looking around the room, then at the food on the coffee table. Negan waits while I slowly take a seat, arms crossed over my chest.
"Go on, eat," he urges. "The chips are homemade. Kettle cooked."
The sandwich looks delicious, and I haven't had a potato chip in forever, but I don't want to trust it. His wives fed me, and nothing happened, but what if he laced it with something? Can you get roofied from a sandwich?
He sighs. He reaches over, takes half the sandwich off the plate, and bites the corner off. He chews, swallows, and opens his mouth to show me that it's empty again before setting the sandwich down. He waits, expectant.
I must look like an animal with the way I devour that sandwich. I barely stop to breathe between bites. I think the last time I had eggs was at the C.D.C.—the best powdered eggs I'd ever eaten. It almost brings tears to my eyes at the thought.
"Damn, Negan Junior must be hungry," he says. I cough a little, slowing myself enough to make sure I don't choke, and he grins. "That sandwich? That's nothing. As my wife, you wouldn't want for anything. Whatever you want, you take. Your friend Eugene has really gotten with the program."
Eugene. I feel foolish for not thinking of him since arriving here, but Negan's words confuse me, pushing past any fleeting guilt. I look up from the plate, now just chips, and frown. "What?"
He raises his eyebrows. "I'm saying Eugene saw which way the wind was blowing and chose the right side. He's my chief engineer, my bullet maker." His tongue flicks across his stupidly white teeth. "He's smart. You could take a page from his book."
I choose to believe that he's telling the truth. As much as I hate to say it, Eugene is the type to seek safety. For someone as smart as him, someone who can make bullets, it's no wonder that the Saviours would want to keep him happy and comfortable.
The difference between him and me is that I can't live with a lie.
"What would a marriage between us look like?" I ask. I play it like I'm curious. I just want a glimpse into his twisted mind.
Negan smirks. "It's not hard. You're nice to look at. You spend time in the lounge with the other ladies, and every now and then, you get alone time with me. As my wife, you get access to anything and everything around here. Food, comforts, this room...it's all yours. Just say the word."
All mine, but all I want is Daryl. All I want is him and me, alive and raising our baby in peace.
"Sometimes, you'll entertain my men. No sex," Negan clarifies. "Cheating is my biggest no-no."
"Then our marriage is over before it began."
He chuckles. "Is that so?"
"Even if I say yes, I will always love Daryl. I will never be yours, not really," I say, and his jaw clenches even though he keeps a smile on his face. "Is that what you want?"
"Ha..." He runs a hand over his stubbled chin, glancing away for a moment. "So you're so damn loyal, you think feelings count?" I bite the inside of my cheek, and he grins. "Daryl really is the stupidest motherfucker out there, throwing you aside."
"He didn't throw me aside."
"Really? It seems to me like he ran from here first chance he got and didn't even try to go back to you."
My hands clench into tight fists against my knees. He's pushing my buttons, and I know it isn't true, but I lean into the upset his words cause me. It's better for Negan to think that he's getting to me. I need him to believe my pain.
He leans forward, hazel eyes smouldering into mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "If you were mine, I'd raze this place to the ground just to get you back. A woman like you is in short supply, and he hasn't even tried to keep you."
If all is going as planned, Daryl doesn't even know that I'm here. That's good, because the Daryl I know would do exactly what Negan suggests. I picture Rick and Michonne holding him back, reminding him of the long con, but I would be lying if I said I didn't want him to burn this place down. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him to come for me, tear me from the wreckage and spirit me away.
I turn away, letting my eyes get wet, blinking to let the tears roll, painting phony tracks down my face. Negan flops back in the seat, rolling his eyes.
"He doesn't deserve your tears, darling," he murmurs. The prickle against my skin grows into a crawl that spreads across every inch of me. "You could be happy here. I'll raise your kid like they were my own, train 'em up real good. You'll realize soon enough that I'm the best option, and you'll forget all about Daryl dumbass."
"You..." My voice comes out too thick, choking me, and I cough to clear it as I look at him again. "I don't understand."
"What don't you understand?"
"You haven't tried to take what you want. I've known men who don't ask." For a moment, I'm back on that dark street, pinned beneath Harley with nowhere to go, trapped like an animal. "Why try to convince me?"
His smile drops as disgust curls his lip. He briefly folds his hands over his mouth as he takes a deep breath. Then, he focuses on me again, dead serious.
"I'm not like that," he says. "You don't have to be scared."
I'm already scared. I would argue I've been scared since the world ended, a feeling that lingers deep inside, not always showing its face but always lingering in my peripherals, ready to remind me of how fragile everything is.
"I won't touch you," he continues, "unless you ask."
"I will never say yes."
His eyes glint like he doesn't believe me. "Maybe for now, but there will come a time when you're just...aching." He smirks. "When you're alone and empty inside, all you'll want is for something, someone, to fill you back up."
"For someone who claims to value consent, you clearly don't know what it means," I retort, unable to bite my tongue before the words escape. Negan's eyebrow arches. "How do you live with yourself? Your wives don't look you in the eye. One of them is drinking herself to death as we speak. You're a monster."
His smile falters. He gets to his feet, and I immediately wish I hadn't spoken, but it's too late now. He steps around the coffee table and looms over me, leaning until his hand grips the back of the chair, caging me in. The plush fabric presses against my back, blocking me from getting further from him.
"Those women made a choice," he says, voice low, almost a whisper. "If Amber is so unhappy, she can leave. I'm not forcing her to be with me."
"You act like you're giving them a choice, but it's all an illusion." I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. He's an intimidating man, but I've faced those before. "What happens if they don't sleep with you, Negan? Would you kill someone they love, remind them that they're helpless, use their love against them?"
Part of me loves seeing him angry. The other part of me, the rational part, tells me that I need to shut up, but I feel invincible. If he wanted to kill me, he would've done it already. I'm alive, and it's not because of anything I did, but because I am a pawn to him, someone to use to cause greater pain. He believes that I carry the key to Daryl's downfall.
The joke's on him. I have never been anyone special.
Negan glares at me, a tense muscle in his jaw flickering with barely concealed rage. It's the calmest anger I have ever seen on a man other than Rick. I hear the wood of the chair's frame creak beneath his grip, hands so close to my throat.
What will you do, Negan? Make a choice.
I meet his eyes. "If you're okay with treating women like this, then it's clear to me that you've never truly loved someone before."
I see his cheek flinch, one eye just barely twitching, a beat of a bird's wing as he pushes off the chair. "Dwight!" he shouts. After a second, the door swings open. "Take Hope back to her cell."
Maybe it was foolish to piss him off. Maybe it was flying too close to the sun. I don't care. If he wants to push my buttons, I'll push right back. I want to see how far I can go.