A week has gone by since the Walter-incident. Odd as it may seem, we're starting to get somewhat used to life at the Sanctuary. Of course we miss our friends but with no possibility of escape yet, we try to make the best of it.
Ella has gotten to know some other teens that she's started hanging out with. And if she's not with them, she's often in Eugene's room. She thinks he's a stupid ass for committing to Negan, but they both share a love for video games. So she puts on a friendly face with him, so he'll let her play with the console he's been given.
I make long hours in the doctor's office, but I don't mind. I always loved my job and it's not much different here. I'm starting to get to know some people. They're not all bad. Most of the workers are just regular people. The Saviours are another story. They're often assholes. Cal actually turns out to be one of the best of them.
He's still assigned to guard me during the day. But though he's still a grumpy jerk, we've kind of gotten used to each other. He lets the hard exterior drop sometimes. Mostly when B's around. We usually all have lunch and dinner together and even hang out in the bar sometimes.
Then there's Negan. I've seen him two more times for a sort of performance review. Fortunately, he's made it clear that he's pretty happy with me. So each visit ended with a fresh supply of medication for Ella. Being around him is still nerve-racking. But I think I'm doing a pretty good job at getting him to like me. The trick is to stay as genuine as possible, because Cal was right. Negan sees right through bullshit.
I manage to deal with Negan by giving everything I hate here a positive twist. It's the only way I can earn his trust without being entirely fake.
I tell myself he could just force me to work for him without giving me anything in return. That's how I manage to smile and say thank you when he gives me Ella's meds instead of telling him he has no right to keep them from us in the first place.
I tell myself he could have shoved us in a random broomcloset and we wouldn't have been able to do a thing about it. That's how I manage to tell him how much I appreciate the room instead of breaking down over how much I miss our old, obviously way more beautiful and spacious house back at Alexandria.
I tell myself he could have kept me locked up in my room and the doctor's office. That's how I manage to tell him how much I enjoy everything the Sanctuary has to offer, instead of complaining about the guards that still constantly follow us.
Anyway, he's been pretty nice to me. Seems to enjoy talking to me. And strangely, I don't hate talking with him either. When he's not asking me to sleep with him anyway, which he still does regularly. He's pretty funny, and he can be charming. So he's not bad company if you can forget he's a ruthless murderer.
Which I didn't forget. So with everything we do here, I keep my eyes on the main goal: getting the hell out of here.
Making friends? That makes us less suspicious. The more we seem to like it here, the less people will think we'll try to run.
Spending time around the Sanctuary? I'm studying every damn exit this place has. When we hang out outside, I keep an eye on the guards at all times and try to learn when they switch, which parts of the gate are least guarded, which guards are the sloppiest... Anything we can use.
Quality one-on-one time with Negan? Excellent. The more I see him, the sooner I'll grow on him. I'll laugh at his jokes, I'll blush at his flirtations, I'll let him put his hand on my back or my shoulder. Negan's not a fool, but he's a man and he thinks he's got me in his pocket. One day soon he's going to have to get rid of our guards and then we can really start to plan our escape.
But until then, I'm the Sanctuary's favorite doctor. And only doctor, but anyway...
'Yeah, I really don't think there's anything to worry about, Mrs. Wright. It really looks like a regular mole and it hasn't changed a bit since last week.'
Old Mrs. Wright came to see me on my very first day here. And then again three days later. And now she's back again. She's convinced herself she has cancer even though there's not a single indication that she does. I've read her file in the meantime and found out that she used to visit the old doctor pretty much every week as well. Every time she was convinced she was dying with some sort of horrible disease, but the truth is that she's remarkably healthy for a 72-year-old.
'You say that, but you're not really looking', she says agitatedly. 'In all my life I've never found anyone with a mole that looks anything like mine.'
'So you've had this mole all your life?' I ask her.
'Yes!'
'And it's never changed in size or in color?'
'Well, no', she says, somewhat less confidently, sensing that she's walking into my trap. 'Although perhaps it used to be a bit darker', she mumbles unconvincingly.
'Mrs. Wright', I say, pushing down a frustrated sigh. 'I really can't find anything wrong with you. I'm afraid that if nothing changes, you still have many healthy years ahead of you. I really do advise you to save all those points you're spending on these visits. You should be using them to spoil yourself.'
'What do you know?' she snips at me as she angrily pushes her shirt back down, covering up the perfectly normal mole on her back. 'You're like 12 years old.'
I look over exasperatedly at Cal and roll my eyes at him behind my patient's back. He sniggers quietly and hides his face behind the magazine he's reading.
'Well, they're your points', I say, trying to stay professional. 'But I would advise you to only visit me if you really notice a change in your health.'
'Young people like you just don't want to work for your money anymore', she complains, refusing to get out of the examination chair. 'But if you think you can just brush me off that easily, you're in for a surprise.'
What money? I think exasperated. I lean back a little when she wags her finger at me like a stern old teacher or something.
'I don't know what else to tell you', I say, starting to lose my patience. 'You're welcome to ask for a second opinion if you can find yourself another doctor.'
'Little brat', she mumbles, glaring at me murderously. God, I do love my job, but...
'That's enough now, Mrs. Wright', Cal says sternly, getting up from his chair. He doesn't need to do anything else, because his intimidating form is finally enough to get Mrs. Wright out of the chair.
'Alright, alright, I'll go', she says, making a bit of a show of it as she climbs out of the chair with exaggerated difficulty. Then she's finally at the door, but she turns around for one last remark.
'I hope you feel good about yourself when you find my cold dead body in my bed.'
I look indignantly over at Cal, but then we both burst out in chuckles.
'Thanks for that', I tell him. 'She never would have left if you hadn't been here.'
'No worries. If she wants the privilege of calling you a brat, she should suffer full days with you, like I've been doing.'
'Your strength is admirable, Cal', I say sarcastically.
He grins, but before he can come up with a retort, we're disrupted by his portable radio going off.
'Cal? You copy?'
My ears perk up at the sound of Negan's voice, curious to hear what this is about.
'Yes, sir.'
'Bring the doc over to my room after dinner.'
'What?' I ask, instantly feeling anxious. Why do I have to go to his room? It isn't time to pick up new meds for Ella yet. Have I done something wrong?
'Why?'
Negan must have heard my response, because before Cal can say anything, his voice sounds through the radio again.
'Curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart. See you tonight.'
I throw up my hands in exasperation and lock eyes with Cal again.
'You got any idea?' I ask him. 'Did he say anything to you?'
'No'
'What the hell is this about then?'
'I'm sure you'll be fine, doc.'
Well, I'm not so sure. So my anxiety grows throughout the rest of the day until it's finally time to make our way down the hall to Negan's room. I've thought out a hundred scenarios while I worked. Mostly, I keep worrying that he found out somehow that we're not as on board with this place as we're pretending to be. That we have every intention of finding a way out. But how could he possibly know? He could only know if Ella said something and why on earth would she do that?
My mind is still spinning when Cal knocks on the door and we both get down on one knee. This ridiculous manner has become somewhat familiar to me.
'Just relax', Cal mumbles. My anxiety must be showing, then. 'You didn't do anything, did you?'
No, I didn't. So what's the worst that could happen? If Ella has slipped up about wanting to escape this place I'll just have to downplay it. She's just a stupid kid, she doesn't know what she's saying. Probably just trying to impress some boy.
'Good-fucking-evening', Negan greets us as he opens the door. 'On your damn feet.'
I get up quickly and smile at him, hoping it doesn't look too nervous. He seems in a pretty good mood. But what the hell does that mean?
'You can go on and enjoy your evening, Cal', he says. 'I'll get the doctor back to her room.'
'Thanks, boss', he says, before he turns around. He throws me a last glance that might be meant to be supportive before he leaves me alone with Negan.
'Do come in', he says cheerfully, holding his arm out like a doorman.
I say a final mental prayer that this won't be anything bad and walk past him into the room.
'So what's this about?' I ask, trying to sound somewhat casual. 'I wasn't expecting to see you for another two days.'
'Nah-ah', Negan says, wagging his finger as he approaches me. 'You know what we gotta do before I tell you anything.'
'Oh. Yeah, sure', I say unenthusiastically. Negan still insists on searching me every time I go to his room. I think it's more for his pleasure than him actually thinking I might try to smuggle a weapon in here, but what can I do about it?
I raise my arms obediently and try to control my nerves while he once again lets his hands slide over my arms, my sides and my legs. His voice is close to my ear when he streches up again and puts his hands on my shoulders for a second.
'All clear.'
I let out a breath of relief when he takes his hands off me and allows me to turn around. There's a strange look in his eyes. Like he knows something that I don't. I want to shake him and yell at him to tell me what the fuck this is about, but since I doubt that would be appreciated, I try something else.
'You're making me a little nervous', I tell him with a cautious smile.
'I have that effect on women', he responds with a cheeky smile. 'But I just can't turn this charm off.'
A short chuckle escapes me and I shake my head a little exasperatedly.
'Yes, well, you're making me even more nervous than usual, if you'll believe it. Why did you want to see me?'
'There's no need to be nervous', he says reassuringly. 'I just wanted to thank you.'
'Thank me?' I ask surprised. 'For what?'
'You have really impressed me, Christina', he says, looking me intently in the eye while he moves closer to me. 'Sure, I knew I'd get you to do work for me, but I hadn't expected this level of dedication or personal involvement. Your patients love you.'
'Well, don't talk to Mrs. Wright', I mumble, feeling a little embarrassed by the sudden praise. I drop my gaze to avoid the intensity in his eyes for a moment, but he gently cups my chin and makes me look at him again.
'I know you weren't happy about getting dragged out of your house, leaving your friends and having to work for the biggest asshole you'd ever met.'
He's so close! Why is he always so close?
'I don't think you're an-' I start unconvincingly, but Negan cuts me off.
'No bullshit, Christina.'
My heart stops for a moment, worried that I've angered him, but there's still a smile on his face. I'm fact, it grows wider.
'It doesn't matter. Because even if you weren't happy with it, you put on your big-girl-pants and you did what was fucking asked of you.'
He runs his thumb over my jaw and then finally lets his hand drop. But I don't dare to look away again.
'So, thank you, Christina.'
Why is this man always so intense? Honestly, I couldn't even look away if I tried. His sudden sincerity is so overwhelming, that he has me trapped in his gaze.
'You're welcome', I say in a small voice. It sounds stupid. Insufficient. But what else am I supposed to say? Negan smiles, his eyes flicking over my face for a second.
'So, I got you something.'
'What?' I ask stupidly. 'Me? Why?'
'To thank you', he chuckles. 'Close your eyes.'
Close my eyes around this man? Does he think I'm crazy?
'Uhm, no thank you', I say uncomfortably. He only laughs in return.
'Go on, you'll like it. I swear.'
I wouldn't be surprised if his idea of a thank you gift is a sudden striptease or something, with all his talk about his impressive skills in bed. So, I'd rather keep my eyes wide-open and tell him to stop if he gets anything like that in mind.
'Negan, I really don't need a gift. I'm just doing my job, it's fine.'
'Alright', he says, rolling his eyes. 'I'll do it myself.'
'What? Oh-'
Before I can stop him, he gets behind me and places his big hands over my eyes.
'Negan, goddammit', I argue, trying to drag his hands away. Of course, it's no use.
'You make it really fucking hard to surprise you', he complains as he starts to push me in some direction. I've half a mind to really get mad, but I have to keep remembering who I'm dealing with, so I sigh and hope that whatever this is, it'll be over soon. At least he can't be taking his clothes off while he's guiding me to wherever he's guiding me to.
'Okay', he says, taking his hand off my eyes to put them on my shoulders. 'You can look.'
Feeling annoyed and ready to shrug his hands off me, I open my eyes. And they land on three large boxes. The lid on one of them has been opened so I lean a little closer to see what's in it.
Then my heart stops. Seriously, I think it skips like three beats.
'Told you you'd like it', Negan says dryly.
Like it? I fall to my knees before the box and stick my hands into it to look at the contents more closely. My eyes aren't deceiving me. Dozens and dozens of boxes of carbamazepine. Ella's medication. And this is what's in all those boxes? This could give her years longer without seizures. Decades!
'Where did you find this?' I ask, completely dumbfounded.
'I have a lot of people', he says coolly, though I can hear the pride in his voice. 'We cover a lot of area. I had them search every hospital we know of.'
In a daze, I drop the medicine back into the box and get back up. I search his face when I turn around and walk back to him. I don't understand. Why would he do this for me?
'Why?' I ask him, losing all composure for a second. He didn't have to do this. He already had our meds, all the pressure he needed to make me work for him. What does he gain from this?
'I told you', he says, his eyebrows furrowing a little. 'To thank you.'
Maybe he doesn't gain anything from this. Maybe he really just wanted to thank me. Maybe he just gave me the best gift anyone has ever given me in my life.
I must have gone crazy. Because I slide my hand over the back of his neck to pull him closer and I kiss him. I kiss him! I don't even know how to feel right now. I just know that I want to hold the man that gave my sister more years to live and feel his lips on mine. It takes him a second to catch on. He obviously wasn't expecting this. But then he kisses me back. I feel the pressure of his lips on mine and his arms sliding around my back. He holds me close to him. I press myself even closer against him.
'Thank you', I whisper, breaking the kiss for a second. 'You don't even know...'
Then I crash my lips onto his again. He opens my mouth, runs his tongue over mine. One hand travels up my back and into my hair. The feel of his fingers running over my scalp and through my curls raises the hairs on my skin.
This is insane. I must be insane. But I don't want to stop. I feel a desperate gratitude that I don't know how else to express. I don't mind his hands on me anymore. I want him to never let go.