forty two
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↳ haven ↲
WHEN CARL WOULD WAKE, there would be a note, awaiting him on the bedside. It's thick paper; crinkled. The wrinkles were quite obviously attempted to be removed by the press of a hand, or the smooth of a palm, but the deep running lines had failed to truly fade. Instead, it was weakly pressed together, unfolding its body on it's own by the time morning light came round.
Inside, the ink ran dark. Upon the space, a small note was written. Just for him, from me. In the dark of the cold grey concrete walls I was enclosed inside of, I could still recite the exact words I'd written, the night before. I thought maybe I had recited them at least ten times before this moment. Each instance, they rolled off my muttering lips like a quiet weep, more meaningful than the last.
"Carl,
Yesterday morning, I would have told you that there was hope in this war we're fighting. That we were going to prevail, and all would be alright. I swear, I would have. That's what I believed.
But then we saw the ocean. The very place I've been holding onto, this entire time. And suddenly, nothing felt right. This horrible feeling grew in me. One that said we weren't going to win. That something was going to go wrong. Maybe that one of us would not survive, till the end. I knew it was right. Somehow, I just knew. I don't think I've ever been so certain of something in my life, other than what we call 'love'.
After we left the beach, I knew what needed to be done; to save us all.
Do you remember when you told me that we'd be okay? That we were going to win? I believed it. I did. But after seeing the ocean, I realized something. Even if you did think you were right, you weren't. We aren't going to win, Carl. That's just how it is. How it will be. I wanted to hold onto hope. I tried so badly. But lnot everyone is as strong as you. Not many can hold out this long. I don't think a single person is willing to fight, just as harshly as you. Not even me.
That's why you're reading this. Why I left, and why I'm not going to be coming back, anytime soon. This will forever be one of my greatest regrets. Forever. Even if it's for the best. You don't see it now, but you will. I promise, you will.
I don't want you to die. I don't want our family to die. However, I'm selfish — I always have been, because most of all, I won't let myself die. Not you, or them. Me.
You promised you'd keep me from it. You know how afraid I am to die. I may be selfish, but I'm not stupid. I know that I cannot ever truly be protected from death. At least, not like how we're living. Over time, I've realized I'd do anything to avoid it. Even if that means, I join them. The saviors; Negan. I'm bringing peace to him. Not for us, but for me. Only me.
Negan will let me in. Don't let yourself think about it. Even though I'm sure if you've read this far, you must hate me more than you've ever hated anyone, I know you still care. Because if your words were true like mine were, you love me. I hope you know that everything we've ever spoke to one another was true. I do love you, back. You should believe that much.
This is goodbye. It may not be forever, but it might."
My lips finally slowed, and closed together. I didn't want to say it again, anymore. I wanted to forget. To close my eyes, and escape the dark room I was locked inside of. Although, when they shut, I was still immersed in the dark. It didn't make much difference, apart from the small break of light underneath the heavy metal door. With closed eyes, I could not block out the sound, echoing off the hall's walls. Replaying, repeatedly. Again and again.
This music had been going since early morning, when I was first brought to the room. Even as I had placed all my weapons down on the floor, it hadn't been good enough for the saviors. Some of them knew who I was. What I had done — or, attempted to do to their leader, Negan. So my hands had been quickly bound, and I was brought here. Forced to change into thick cotton clothes, then submerged into the cold cell.
That was when the music started. American Pie.
Something about it was extremely ironic. Not because it was a song which lasted around ten minutes, but because I knew all the words, before they had even begun playing. I could recall them, resonating from my family's car. My mother stayed on the same channel, often. She deeply loved all the songs which came from it, claiming those classics led her throughout her teenage years. Occasionally, she'd hum the lyrics under her breath as she went about her day. Eventually, the song became rooted into my sister and I's own mind. It was something that was always with us, later in our lives. After she was gone. Then, Allie. The tune seemed to suddenly die, with her death. I hadn't given the song one more thought, until this present time.
It was back, now. Singing to me, coaxing my soul with the gentle memory it brought past my eardrums.
'And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey in Rye, singin', "This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die".'
My head rested against the supporting brick, my eyes finally opening as the song was cut, refined light flooding across the blackened four walls enclosing me. A figure was between the light, the rays shining past their silhouetted body. They walked forward, then the door was closed behind them, leaving the two of us alone. The former light had tweaked my retinas, making this newfound darkness much more harrowing as I felt the person kneel in front of me.
It was quiet for multiple counts until two brass clicks sounded. Suddenly, a small flame was lit in the space between our bodies. The soft auburn glow provided me just enough light to study who sat in front of me, their rough demeanor cracking apart as their lips curled upwards.
Negan. In his dark pupils, I witnessed the flame flicker.
"Oh — you couldn't even picture the amusement on my face when I woke up this morning, and got wind of who was down here. No, you couldn't." He flicked the square lighter closed, then opened it again, pulling the lever and relighting the flame. "You here to kill me?"
It was silent for a while, until I broke the prolonged silence. "No."
His head tilted at me. "You tried to kill me. You put a damned bullet through Lucille. Which — by the way — really hurt her feelings. But you know what's worse than hurting my baby? Hurting me. And darlin', you came real close."
A small, sarcastic laugh came from me. It sounded fearless, despite the way this room had been making me feel. It was as if the dread had melted away by the heat of the flame. "You think I'd miss from five feet away? I'm honestly offended you take me for such a horrible aim. I shot the bat on purpose."
He chuckled at my words before ultimately growing a ticked-off look, not wanting to feed into my attitude any more. "The hell is that supposed to mean? You puttin' on a show, or something? Is this all a big game, for you? Was killing Olivia not enough?"
"If I wanted to kill you, I would have. My group only needed to see that I tried." I ignored his questions.
He breathed in a short, amused breath. "And why would that be?"
"You're right. I do like games." I admitted truthfully. "And I don't like losing. I know that they're never going to win, so I came here."
"You — ". He stopped himself, shaking his head low. "Who the mother fucking — god-damned — hell, built your self-importance so high and mighty?"
"I could get into my family history and tell you all about it, but I'd rather chat about the important stuff. The things you care about, Negan."
"And what would that be?" He challenged.
I shrugged my tired shoulders. "Let me out, and maybe we'll talk. Show me some southern hospitality, for God's sake. This isn't how you treat a girl."
His brows scrunched together in interest. "Give me one good reason. One reason, and I might be so kind."
I looked to the flame, my eyes shortly flicking back up. "I thought it was obvious, but if I have to spell things out for you; I K-N-O-W every move the group has made, since we saw you last. I know our connections. Our gun count — our ammunition. And you need that type of information."
He really contemplated this, for a long while. Eventually he stood himself up, turning towards the door and letting the light through again. I thought he was leaving me here, before he turned back.
"Alright, kid. I'll take it." He agreed, holding the door open, watching closely as I brought myself to a stand and moved forward.
He stopped me briefly with his arm, grinning again. "First. . . I wanna hear it."
I knew what he wanted, but I still gave him a questioning look to not fall directly into his hands, yet.
"Who are you?" He whispered, awaiting my answer with a smile.
Then, without hesitation, I spoke two words as if they were the most certain ones in the universe.
"I'm Negan."
▬ ▬ ▬
The haven of theirs was corrupted in many ways. This was evident as I was taken around the sanctuary, familiarizing myself with the compound which had just become home.
Here, this place was many things. Lonely grey hallways, and illuminated floors which reflected stories of it's past. Ridged metal, and wilting plants which never stood a chance against the invasive heat. Curtains drowned of color — corroded yellow paned glass. The cost of life. It was expensive for the saviors to keep themselves afloat. As I was brought through the common area, I watched each person earn what they took. As simple as the item, it cost. The blankets they slept on were thin, and worn away. Threads coming loose, fabric torn apart.
It looked more like a prison, than the real one back in Georgia. It was just that. A jailhouse —the subjects inside, condemned to suffer.
I was ready to place my things down at the end of the row upon an empty mattress, when Negan stopped me for the second time. He said nothing as he shook his finger, leading me up the gruely alloy staircase, many levels. He brought me through a vacant hallway, then stopped at the foot of a door. I eyed him for moments, knowing he expected me to twist the knob, and open the door myself.
However, my lack of trust was evident, and his eyes rolled back. "Darlin', is there zero trust between us? Well, here I was; thinkin' we were building our broken bond again. You know — from back when you tried to kill me? Or am I just making this shit up, and you're really not here for trust, at all?"
My eyes parted from him, and my hand reached for the doorknob. Pushing it open, I quickly realized it was only a room. This one had it's very own bed, sheets nicely folded and it's corners tucked into the base. It was unlike what I had witnessed downstairs. The carpet below my dirtied boots was colorful, and lively. There was a small woven chair near the window, faced out to the high level we stood at. A trunk was placed against the wall, supporting something I hadn't used in a long time. A tv. And there were empty boxes to be filled, and things hung upon the walls. Posters, and wooden shelves. Racks waiting to be used. Fluffed pillows; plasticy green plants.
This was not a prison, but a home. As I stepped foot inside, I decided so.
"It's yours, if you want." He told me, turning back for the door. "Play by my rules, and sometimes I'll play by yours."
I turned around. "Why?"
The bat hugging his shoulder did not seem fond of me. I laid my eyes on the impacted surface, looking closely to discover the bullet was still lodged into its wood.
"Trust is everything." He told me, swinging the door open.
"Your clothes are in that closet, over there." Negan motioned. "Now, even though this hobo style works, I think you looked more badass with your other shit."
I stopped by the frame of the door, watching as he left me here alone, and walked himself down the hallway. I faintly heard a challenging 'don't be a stranger' from him, before he turned the corner and I lost sight of him.
His whistles echoed down the empty corridor. They got quieter, as seconds passed.
I was beginning to go back into the room, when the door next to mine came open. My body moved backwards a bit, head turning to the man who stood at the frame, feet away from me. Eugene. Though, as I was only beginning to get a single word in, he closed the door back on himself. His lock clicked in place, leaving the hallway silent at last.
I thought about knocking on his door. To say I was sorry for having been the reason he was here. But instead, I decided against it. He obviously had no interest in speaking with me, as the door was practically him begging me to depart. For the brief glance I'd been able to take of him, he looked well. He was clean. In fresh clothes. If his room was anything like mine, he was not even struggling a bit. If he was truly here to serve Negan, he was alright. Just like me.
I was just given my own abode, away from the others. All for the small price of giving Negan intel on my group, for the chance he might win the fight. I assumed Eugene was treated the same. Maybe even with better care, assuming he was willingly making bullets for the saviors.
I was set up well, too. So in the end, I didn't knock on his door, and attempt to make peace with him. I only let myself fall back into my room, and lock the door just as he had done. In the hours I was left on my own, I had changed out of the thick sweater I was originally told to wear. Instead, I slipped my old sleeved henley shirt on, then changed back into the jeans Maggie had passed down to me, after claiming her pregnant figure could no longer put them on.
I missed her. I missed all of them. But here? I had something more. A job. One that I would see through, until the end. Then maybe, just maybe, I could return. That is — if they would take me back. If I wanted to go back. I had met the group, as a traitor. Only looking out for myself, too high strung on survival to care about much else. Even after all this time, I was back to it. Apart from betraying all of my family, most of all, I had betrayed myself. I would never forgive it; never forget. Because I was that same fourteen year old girl who was behind those chained fences pointing a gun at the people she would come to love. Watching as the ones I stood with trampled the collapsed walls. All for the hope of survival, destroying others in the process.
That was the elemental part of me. It always had been. We couldn't go back, after we had become something. I never did. Not after that day I agreed to follow Brian. I forever would be a soldier, condemned to a life of battle. The only choice I was capable of making was how I would fight. That was why I was here, at the sanctuary. I was choosing a path to pursue along.
And so choosing this path, I obliged as a savior eventually came knocking at my door, letting me know that Negan had asked for me. I willingly let the tattooed woman guide me further into the compound, stepping into a room lit only by three glass windows. Here, upon a couch, Negan awaited my arrival. The door behind me shut, and I was ushered to sit across from himself.
"How are you likin' the place?" He gave me a sheepish grin, leaning onto his elbows placed on his knees.
Before I had a chance to respond, he tossed his hands in the air. "It's cool as shit, isn't it? Cool as shit."
I nodded. "You have something good here."
He shook his head at me, letting off a smile. "You bet your pretty little ass, I do. And Cyn, do you know why that is?"
"You've got power. Discipline." I said.
"Fuck yeah." He spoke low. "Which is exactly why you're going to help make sure things get back on track today. That's why you aren't down there, in that miserable cell. Rotting — just how Daryl was. Because our trust, here? It's built. Still, darlin', I'm not so sure you don't just want to slit my throat, right here and now. But with your help? Maybe you wanting to kill me, doesn't matter much."
I leaned further into the cushioned seat. "Maybe I do. After what you did to my group, wouldn't it be justified? But still, I didn't come here, for that. You know why I'm here. I want to win."
Negan chuckled at my forwardness. "You're brave. Strong willed as shit, and you don't suffer one goddamned fool. No ones gonna want to watch you die. I don't want to see that. So — you don't have to. But someone does. Maybe a couple others, tops, but not you. That's how we are going to solve some shit."
My chin tilted. "What do you need from me?"
▬ ▬ ▬
"That's the plan." Negan finished. "That's what I need from you. And when you come out of that coffin, not a peep. They will stand down, if they haven't already."
He brought Lucille level, twisting the bat with his gloved hands. "And then Lucille here? Well, she gets her three; and we move forward with a new understanding."
I shook my head. "I can do it. I can — but nobody has to die."
He placed Lucille on his table, with a thud. "See? That's where you're wrong. Punishment; can't do anything without that. Punishment is how I built everything I have."
"No one has to die." I spoke again, this time, harsher than the last.
He scoffed. "Okay. How bout' this? One. Just one. I mean — I was going to pull three out of the pool, but just one, and just for you."
My eyes stopped at the window, pupils expanding at the light reflecting in from the paned glass. One person. One. As I took a breath inwards — my chest expanding with life, I knew just who that person would be. Who death would fall upon, in the time to come.
Then, I nodded.
"Okay. Just one."
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3,284 words • 2:35pm
sincerely yours,
nika.