You hated a lot of things. Being humiliated, falsely accused, and caged were just a few items on that extensive list. Negan had successfully checked those boxes. But there was one thing you never had patience for: acting your gender. Being girly was never a part of your nature.
Before the outbreak, you lived in a household where your mother would scold you for not wearing dresses on special occasions. "Why don't you throw on some makeup once in a while!" she'd reprimand you. "Why don't you get some girlfriends? Why don't you try out for the cheer squad? Why don't you wear an actual bra, for a change, and throw out those sports bras? Why, why, why?" Her nagging drove you to rebellious lengths--from wearing jeans to a wedding to shooting some cans with your father at the rifle range to engaging in drag races with the guys at school. You truly were just one of the boys, and you loved it.
But now...you were being led to a wardrobe crammed with silky nighties, sheer panties, and lacy bras. Other dressers were stuffed in this room, which lay between the lounge area (where you arrived with Negan) and the shower room. They must've utilized the area as a giant walk-in closet. It looked like a porn-star's dressing room. And this Nicole chick was absolutely determined to dress you up like Booty-Call-Barbie.
"Take your pick!" she cheered, and she pulled open the doors of the cherry-wood wardrobe.
You've got to be joking, you thought as you stood awestruck in front of the mess of frills and lace.
"Um...where did all this come from?" you inquired. The provocative variety seemed endless!
"Negan," she crooned. "He went on countless supply runs to the outlet malls. Everything we request, he delivers!" Nicole sounded quite spritely. Her baby blues held no hint of darkness. You were starting to wonder if she was even aware that the world was swarming with the undead. She didn't seem to care about the frightening things that crept outside the compound. "Judging by your skin tone, I think you'd look stunning in turquoise," she added as she picked through the pile of undergarments.
You cleared your throat, not quite knowing how to make conversation. "So, how long have you been here?" you asked.
"Six months," she answered as she bent over, looking for nylons. You couldn't help but notice her soft, milk and honey skin. No scars, no bruises, no burns...
"And before that?" you inquired.
"I worked in the kitchen at the Hilltop Community. That's another place Negan owns."
"Owns?" you responded without thinking. As much as you wanted to be courteous, you had to pry. "So, this is just his home-base, so to speak?"
Nicole clearly didn't hear your question with her head stuffed in the wardrobe. She tossed a few silky garments at you, and you caught the lacy, turquoise material. "Could you strip for me? I need to check your bra size," she said, spinning around like a ballerina and facing you.
Strip? Like hell, I will! you thought defensively.
"Sure," you replied. Hesitantly, you removed your heavy, black trench-coat and your blood-stained, grey T-shirt.
"You poor thing! Those clothes look atrocious!" Nicole exclaimed as she helped pull the shirt over your head.
Oh thanks, Nicole, you fumed. Her breasts were uncomfortably close to your face, and the rosy perfume she wore nearly sent you into a sneezing fit.
"Just a little wear and tear, that's all." Your voice was muffled by the shirt as she hurriedly peeled it off and threw it to the side.
"Goodness, you should burn those." She wrinkled her nose in disgust at your filthy clothes--the ones you'd worn for the past month and a half.
You grit your teeth and fixed your eyes on the ceiling as she sized up your breasts in a far too friendly way. Sure, you had to deal with some sleazy guys in the past. But you felt more violated now than ever before. Your face glowed so red, you would've made a tomato look pale. "They're the only clothes I have, really," you said, attempting to mask the annoyance in your voice. She dragged her shimmery pink fingernails down your waist gently before unbuckling your belt.
"You don't have to worry about that, anymore," she giggled as she unbuttoned your jeans. Her eyes sparkled in a coy, flirty manner. You could recognize it when her thick lashes fluttered. "What's mine is yours. Isn't it funny, we're the same size!"
No, it's not fucking funny.
"What do you mean I don't have to worry about--"
You were interrupted by a piercing, "Nicoooooole," being called in unison from the luxurious lounge.
Another voice chirped, "Want us to top off your drink? We're about to play Bridge!"
"Yes, pleeeease," she sang like a canary. "One sec, girls!"
She fussed with your jeans until you were completely bare, and the sudden exposure caused you to shiver. "Okay, sweetheart. The shower's all yours. If you need anything..." she trailed off and her eyes flitted to your lips. "Just call me." She ran her tongue over her glossy bottom lip and winked, causing you to drop the turquoise garments in shock.
What in the actual fuck! you screamed internally.
Nicole giggled at your reaction and covered her bleach-white smile with her manicured hand. "You're so adorable! I'll pour you a drink once you're washed and dressed," she laughed and flounced into the estrogen-ridden lounge.
------------------------------------------------------
"Adorable? Fucking adorable?" you hissed as the warm waves of water softly brushed the dirt from your body. Ruthlessly scrubbing your skin with a hot-pink loofa, you continued your ramble of curses. "I'm not fucking adorable. I'm not a puppy." You clawed the shampoo through your scalp. "I'm not a kitten." You scraped a razor against your legs. "I'm not a hamster." You furiously washed your face and gargled the excess water before spatting, "I'm no one's pet!" Hysterical giggling crackled like fireworks from the lounge. "Unlike you. I don't bat my eyes for protection."
Stepping out of the shower, you pat yourself dry and reluctantly slipped into the lingerie. With every garment you shimmied into, you felt more and more like a sirloin steak in a butcher shop. Wiping the steam from the mirror lined with light bulbs, you stared at your reflection. "So this is how it feels to be a woman. Soft, exposed, and vulnerable." A growl emerged from the back of your throat.
You rummaged through the dresser drawers for a hoody or a jacket. Since you weren't used to wearing next to nothing, you were freezing. How do these women dress like this without getting hypothermia? you wondered. All you could gather were delicately embroidered kimonos. Tossing a mint green, lily-speckled kimono over your shoulders, you tip-toed toward the lounge. The door was closed, and hushed voices chattered from the interior. Odd...only a moment ago, they were laughing like hyenas. Let's get the scoop on the gossip...
Stealthy as a fox, you quickly grabbed a drinking glass from the bathroom and dove to the door. You place the glass against the wood and held your ear to the cup. Listening intently, you made out a few words being exchanged...
"What do you think of her?" a woman whispered.
"She seems a bit off..." another voice chimed in.
"Very pretty, though. I like her." That voice sounded like Nicole's.
"Do you think she'll be the sixth?" a nasally voice asked, displeased.
"Why else would he tell her to stay with us?" Nicole murmured. "I agree, she's a bit off. Maybe he didn't tell her yet."
"Tell her what?" a girl said with too much volume, and the rest of the nymphs shushed her.
"Maybe he didn't give her the option..." Nicole continued. "Personally, I think she'd make a lovely addition."
"You just want a taste of that sweet ass," the nasally voice yapped. "She's not wife material."
Wife? The pieces of the complex puzzle abruptly fell into place. It all made sense. Wife...pet...property...
"I'm no one's property," you whispered as your fist clenched around the glass. Your anger crescendoed as the ladies gossiped, and steam practically burst from your ears. A sudden shatter of the glass made you jump. Your rage made your grip so tight that you broke the cup. All that was left was the large piece you still held as blood pooled in your palm. The shard of glass resembled a dagger.
"Hey! Are you okay?!" Nicole hollered, and the lounge door flew open with a thud.
Your eyes were black as pitch, and you ignored the throbbing pain in your hand as you white-knuckled the glass. Five sets of terrified, unblinking eyes stared back at you. "I'm pretty far from okay, Nicole," you snarled.
And that's when you sprang to action. They held out their arms to impede you, but you shoved and clawed your path to the exit. Tearing through the group of girls, you leapt for the door and tumbled into the hallway. Your legs swiftly carried you down past rows of doors as you heard echoes of screams and panicked volumes behind you. Move move move fucking move!
The staircase wasn't too far ahead, and you jumped for the steps, catching a long distance of air before you slid down the stairs. The clatter of the metal would surely alert the men creeping around the cafeteria, but the hall looked vacant. Damn fools, you thought as you kept sprinting. Your feet barely made a sound as you eyed the large metal doors you entered a few hours ago. There had to be guards on the grounds...you braced yourself and held up the shard of glass. Reaching the doors, you slowly pushed against the metal. They weren't locked. Some fucking fortress this is.
But of course, there was a brick-shit-house of a man on the other side smoking a cigarette. His eyes widened and his muscles bulged in his wife-beater as you flew out of the factory. You noted the handgun in his back pocket, and you crouched as he drew the gun, scurried behind him, and held the dagger-like shard to his jugular. "What the fu--" he nearly shouted, but you cut a small slit in his neck.
"You want more?" you growled as you pressed the glass against his punctured skin. "Huh? You want more, big guy?"
"You crazy bitch--"
You didn't let up. The glass carved a little deeper, and he whimpered. "Don't you dare think I'll even hesitate to drown you in your own blood. Do you want more?"
"No, no..." he groaned and tried to break free, but every shift in his stance made the glass slice deeper. Blood dribbled down his white shirt, and his grip on the weapon weakened.
"Then be a good boy and give me the fucking gun," you hissed. He resisted for a moment, and then dropped the gun into your hand. In all the excitement, the cigarette had fallen from his lips, and you picked it up before he could tackle you. "Thanks, man," you snickered. You took a drag as you raced toward the gates.
A couple of other members of the night-watch spotted you, and rallied the troops. The sound of combat boots thundered against the gravel of the grounds outside the factory. You could hear them closing in like a tumultuous storm. Spinning around for a second, you took a breath and aimed at the nearest target. A bulky, tattooed thug in a vest was on your tail. Lowering your aim, you locked on his foot and pulled the trigger. He let out a cry and crashed to the ground, sending a wave of pebbles flying through the early morning air. Your breath grew ragged as you slid like a baseball player to home plate; you were right at the foot of the gates. Great. Only twenty-five feet to the top.
Throwing the shard of glass to the ground and jamming the gun in the waistband of your panties, you jumped on to the first hand-hold you could grasp. The massive fence was riddled with rusty, little holes you could use to climb and make your escape. As you raddled up the fence, sirens blared and pierced your eardrums. No, no, no! Not yet! You're almost fucking there! An erratic beaming of flash lights illuminated the yard of The Sanctuary. Your head whipped around as you clawed the metal fence. A hundred men spilled out of their dwellings, half-dressed and armed to the teeth.
You looked up at the five-foot space between you and freedom. A pale light spread through the sky and cast a peachy glow on the clouds. You could hear the birds singing over the amalgamation of yelling and shouting. Your bloody palm left a slippery trail as you pulled yourself to the top of the fence. Only one more push and it would all be over. Your muscles strained, and your hands throbbed with pooling gashes; the droplets slid from your arms to your ankles. "Almost there," you panted, desperately.
Suddenly, your foot slipped on your own blood, and you lost your hold on the fence. Mayday!
Time slowed to a snail's pace as you fell downwards. All you could feel was air against your back as you stared at the sunrise. The rays of light spread like incandescent fingers in the atmosphere. Cyrus clouds beamed with pinkish hues. A flock of geese darted over the canvas of dawn like fighter jets at an air show. For a brief moment, it was all so...beautiful.
The landing knocked the wind out of you, and you coughed violently. Smacking the back of your head against the ground, you lost your vision for a moment. But the short period of blackness soon faded to stars and blurred shapes. Adrenalin coursed through your veins, and all you could feel was the dull sting in your torn hands. You wheezed as your vision cleared, and you could taste something coppery in the back of your throat and on your tongue. Blood. Your ears were ringing mercilessly. The only voice you could identify was Dwight's. He commanded the horde of men to stay back. Other than his fierce shouting, it was all a muffled mess.
"Get this girl a fucking medic! Don't touch her!" a booming voice yelled. Why did its deep tone sound familiar?
The ground vibrated with foot steps, but not just any footsteps. These were hard, heavy, commanding steps. Their stride awakened a sharp, cold feeling in your gut. A large shadow stood above you, and you recognized the leather jacket and the cargo pants. The figure knelt down as your vision cleared. "Well, that wasn't a fucking smart move, hon," he murmured. His voice caressed you...dark and smooth and warm as the blood that poured from your hands.
You blinked and the fog lifted. The salt and pepper beard that lined his lightening grin, the crow's feet that framed his amber eyes...it was none other than... "Negan," you gasped. Then, the world pulled a black shroud over your eyes. Out cold.