It was a wonder why the only calendar in The Sanctuary was in Negan's office! You lost track of the days on three different occasions, and counting. Time seemed to speed up since you were welcomed as one of The Saviors. After your roller coaster of a conversation with Negan, he decided to punish you in the most petty ways possible: A shit ton of errands and the silent treatment. He barely acknowledged you after you stormed out on him back in August. Even when he overheard you tossing crude jokes around with the men, he'd point Lucille at you and declare, "Points deducted for screwing around. Get the fuck back to work!" Though you wanted to rip his head off for ruining your fun, you didn't retaliate. Not in front of the men. Negan was killing you with tasks, but you didn't want to be perceived as a whiney, little pussy. You thought he'd cool down in a few days, but the days turned into weeks...then months. His grudge against you and his foul mood was a dreadful combination. In his brooding state, he doubled your workload.
The task lists he administered to you and the rest of the men were nothing short of exhausting. From supply runs to cleaning up herds of walkers on the outskirts of your territory, your duties left you dying for sleep. You were so drained, a couple of men joked and asked if you were turning into one of the undead. They had grown very protective of you over time--especially after the showdown with Dwight. They praised you for your bravery and treated you like a little sibling. But you didn't appreciate them fretting over your health. Brushing off their comments, you'd continue to slave away as Autumn flew by.
In this time, you managed to visit Nicole a lot more often. You'd help stock the wive's lounge with hair products, winter clothes, aromatic lotions, and nail polish. Her company was a delightful respite from your countless tasks. She could tell that you were withering away. Your diet consisted of apples and peanut butter--courtesy of Dwight, who would scavenge for these items to keep a smile on your face. But you started to look frail. Any trace of baby fat on your body soon transformed into muscle.
One day in Nicole's room, where you were showering her with little trinkets from the supply run, she mentioned, "You look like a bag of bones!" She applied cherry-red lipstick to her plump lips after she nit-picked your thinning figure. You couldn't help but watch her--mesmerized.
"Are you alright?" she chirped. She puckered her lips at you, coyly.
You hated that inquiry. Even if you weren't alright, you rejected words of concern. "I'm fine, no worries," you replied. Your voice sounded meek.
"Jackie, you don't have to play tough with me. What's wrong?" Nicole asked, placing her arm around you. Her frilly, hot-pink robe tickled your skin.
Noticing the anxiety in her baby blues, you responded, "I don't know, Nickie. There's just been a lack of action. The days are starting to melt into each other. Nothing new, nothing exciting...just a fuck ton of shit to cross off the list."
She giggled, "But your life is so much more thrilling than mine. You get to leave the compound now! That must be freeing!" Removing her robe, she danced circles around you and snuck peeks of the gifts you stole for her.
You pulled a few bottles of perfume from a duffle you used on the run. Tossing them onto her feather-bed next to her Teddy Bear, you muttered, "Work is work. We arrive, we raid, and we leave. Sometimes a couple of pricks get all up in our business, but it's nothing a few bullets can't fix." Desensitized to the amount of people you killed while running errands outside The Sanctuary, you blurted out those words without much thought.
She lowered her head and twisted her bleached curls. In an attempt to make the conversation more interesting, she asked, "How's Dwight?"
You'd informed her of your encounters with Dwight over the past few months. Interactions with him had become limited, due to Negan's ardent envy. But you'd meet with him often before the night watch, just to catch up. Visiting him in the watchtower near the gates, you'd play cards and swap dirty jokes until you were both breathless from laughter. Even after the fight, he didn't hold anything against you. He blamed himself for using excessive force under pressure. But you reassured him--telling him that he was right when he said it was just a show. You also convinced him that your suicide attempt with Negan's pistol was also an addition to the theatrics. Had you told him that you were genuinely fed up with life in that moment, it would've crushed his poor heart. You could tell he adored you, though he tried mask it. Sneaking a handle of whiskey to the tower, one night, you celebrated Halloween with him. You told ghost stories, poured each other shots, and giggled like little girls about the ridiculous costumes you'd wear as children. Alcohol made Dwight more touchy, and there were a couple of times he'd gotten so close to kissing you. But you'd nip it in the bud; you couldn't bare any more drama. Nicole was aware of all of these brief moments of happiness--every detail. You missed Dwight dearly; you two had become so distant.
"D is doing alright. You should've seen him on the last walker-clean-up. It was a slaughter. I managed to get six, but his kill count was eleven. Damn savage," you chuckled as you passed some pink nail polish to Nicole. Though plenty of the men high-fived you for your walker-kills, Dwight always beat you. It was friendly competition, but you often took it seriously.
She twiddled her fingers and eyed you in curiosity. "And Negan?" she asked, sheepishly.
You shuddered when you heard his name. "Oh he's just being his usual, dickish self. Hollering out orders and parading Lucille around," you said, unemotionally. Though Nicole was your primary confidant, you never mentioned Negan. You were determined to forget that evening when you two danced to "Jackie Big Tits." It was all too perplexing.
"Ughhh, God...I look terrible," Nicole cursed quietly. She picked up a brush and began to tease her hair, gazing in the mirror on her wall. She continued to dig for Negan-related information. "He hasn't been himself for the past couple months. Haven't you noticed?"
Organizing some items on her bed, you snipped, "Who the fuck cares?"
She combed through her locks and constantly sprayed product to hold them in place. "Well, the wives care."
You sighed as you put a couple of tubes of mascara in the makeup pile. "Let it out, dear. I can tell when there's trouble in paradise."
Grabbing glittery lip gloss from her nightstand, she returned to the mirror. "He's been acting strange, lately. Not as charming, not as smiley, and..." She applied the lip gloss and blotted her lips with a tissue.
"What else?" you asked, feigning interest.
"This is the weird part. He hasn't slept with any of us since September," she said, fixing her eyeliner with a liquid pen. "I don't even know why I'm doing my makeup right now. He's not gonna call for any of us. Force of habit, I guess."
You pursed your lips and set coconut oil lotion on her nightstand. "That is weird. What month is it, again?"
"Pretty sure it's November," she sighed. Twirling in front of the mirror, she adjusted her curls with a small comb. "All he really does now is bring us sweets and disappear into his lair."
"Would you look at that. The insatiable tiger is on his man-period. That's a bit out-of-character," you cackled. But the Negan you know is always out-of-character. Could you be the reason for his dry-spell? you thought. Nah, that would be vain to think. You pulled out a rather large, cylindrical object from the duffle. It was purple, ribbed, and lined with buttons on its handle. "Is that why you asked for this...contraption?" you inquired, holding up the cucumber-shaped toy.
Nicole turned around and snatched it from your hand. "Oh thank god! Where did you find this?" she squealed in delight.
"The Adult-Mart near Remington. I was a bit surprised; half the store was cleaned out. All the Penthouse magazines were gone," you giggled, throwing her some KY oil, as well. "And I found this tingly stuff as a bonus."
She must've been sexually starved, because she immediately turned on the cylindrical toy and moaned in response. It vibrated powerfully. "Thank you...I really needed this," she cooed. "Did you get spare batteries?"
"Right here," you answered, reaching into your pocket and handing her some triple A's.
"Yesssss," she purred. "Finally, hours of fun...ever use one of these?" She batted her thick lashes and lightly licked the tip of the vibrator.
Her flirtatious question startled you. "Oh, um, I've never...uh, touched one of those...whatever you call them." You found it slightly amusing that you could be yourself around the men, but Nicole managed to turn you into an awkward mess.
She giggled and walked over to you. You froze. Running the vibrator over your chest, she smiled at you. "Doesn't it feel good?"
You stammered, "S-s-seems a bit over-stimulating, don't you think?" Clearing your throat, your eyes darted away from her beautiful, ocean irises.
Nicole loved playing with you. Making you blush was her mission every time she saw you--that little minx. "Well, if you ever want to try it out..." she began and kissed your burning cheek, "...just stop by after your errands. You look tense."
You were aware that girls were more comfortable talking to each other about sexual topics than boys. But she was very open with you. You couldn't tell if this was a joke or an invitation. Breaking the moment of awkwardness, you exclaimed, "Jesus, you girls must be going mad!" You brushed passed her and dumped the rest of the duffle on the bed. Only a couple of hair products and undergarments remained.
"You have no idea," she sighed and shoved the toy and the batteries into her nightstand drawer. She sounded disappointed. "When's the last time you talked to Negan? I overheard you two back in August when you were in the lounge. Sounded a bit...intense."
Your eyes widened, and you raised an eyebrow. "Of course you were listening in..." You pulled some lacy undergarments from the piles of supplies and began to fold them. "If you must know, we had an argument about the whole wife thing. I suppose he just about had enough."
"But you were the one who was yelling," she piped up while inspecting the panties.
You sighed, heavily. Shrugging your shoulders, you responded, "I was tired of his shit. I know you wanted me to reconsider, but I shut all of that down."
"Why?" she inquired, skipping to the bed and sitting Indian-style as you neatly folded her new clothes.
"The Saviors have grown to respect me, Nicole. Any sexual interaction with Negan would ruin that respect. Do you realize that?"
She tilted her head and twirled her hair. "I guess I never had to worry about that. Didn't think about it that way--"
"Well, I have to," you interrupted. "I've earned my place. This is my life: I work, fight, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat. And the men admire that. I'm somebody, now."
Picking up a nail filer, she touched up her manicure. "Hmmm...I didn't think you'd be the type of person who'd work her ass off for status."
"I don't do it for status," you barked. "I do it to live."
"Bullshit," she yapped. Throwing down the filer, she looked into your eyes with conviction. "You just want to show Negan that you have power. All you want to do is beat him down and rub any defeat in his face. We get it; you won't be his. But he's not Satan, Jackie. He's still a man--a man who has feelings. You hurt him bad, and you continue to hurt him!"
You stuffed her clothes into her dresser and slammed it shut. The furniture shook in response. "I haven't done jack-shit!" you shouted. "Hell, I haven't even talked to him since the day Amber died. I'm not trying to be a bitch. Trust me, that's the last thing I'd want to be. If he's being all gloom-and-doom, that's all on him. I had nothing to do with that! He can rot in a ditch somewhere, for all I care! Zero fucks given!" Your voice was as sharp as a razor, and the flicker of your temper frightened Nicole.
Glancing over at her, you noticed her bottom lip twitch. Her eyes were watering. She was clutching her Teddy bear. Staring at you as you calmed down, she murmured in a wavering voice, "Look at yourself. You're just as bad as him. You're both fucking miserable."
Your demeanor softened. Approaching her as she swallowed her tears, you caressed her shoulder. "Nickie, sweetheart...I'm sorry. I've just been so tired and overworked. I...I guess I have been a royal bitch," you whispered gently. You hardly understood your own actions towards Nicole. Since you never had any female friends, you didn't quite know how to respond to her. So you treated her like a girlfriend. You even addressed her as if she were your lover. Fuck, I hate seeing her cry...
Suddenly, a knock interrupted the moment. You both fixed your eyes on the door. "Just a minute!" Nicole called in a shaky tone.
You fetched her a tissue and patted the corners of her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll get it," you whispered. Strutting toward the door, you swung it open. A broad smile instantly illuminated your face. Dwight stood in the frame. You pulled him in for a tight bear-hug. "Dwight, you son of a bitch!" you laughed in delight as he wrapped his arms around you.
After you broke the embrace, you glanced back at Nicole. A scowl tainted her gorgeous disposition. "Hey, Nickie," Dwight greeted her. She merely nodded in response. You read his expression, and it seemed like he was in business-mode. "Negan's got another job for you, No-Name," he uttered.
You rolled your eyes. "Right after a fucking supply run? It must be ten o'clock by now. Look at these bags, Dwight." Guiding his hand toward your eyes, you pointed his finger at your dark circles. "I. Need. Sleep."
He chuckled and caressed your cheek-bone. "He's been a pain in the ass, I know. But I think you'll like this task."
"What is it?" you asked, hardly interested.
"Prison duty," he replied. "Some guy was caught outside of the gates. We've locked him up for questioning. He's a little...odd."
Your eyes lit up. "How odd?" you inquired.
"I'll show you," Dwight said, and his eyes flitted to Nicole. "Sorry to steal her away, sweetie," he addressed her.
"It's fine. Go ahead," she snipped, hugging her stuffed animal. She looked pissed.
You walked over to her and kissed her hand. "I'll come by tomorrow. How does that sound?" you comforted her.
"Whatever," she pouted and yanked her hand away.
Though she was a little catty sometimes, you knew how to handle her. "If I bring some M&M's, will that cheer you up?"
Her eyes abruptly glowed like sparklers. "Yes please!" she sang. You leaned in for her usual goodbye peck, and you ran your fingers through her locks. Bouncing on the bed, she slung her hands around your neck and planted an enticing, wet kiss on your lips. You expected her to go for your cheek, and you jumped.
Dwight's eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. "Goddamn...hope I didn't ruin anything--"
"Shut your ass up, D," you barked in embarrassment.
Bidding Nicole farewell, Dwight led you to the prison. Yes, finally! Something exciting to shake the fuck out of this boredom.
------------------------------------------------------
"There's the sneaky fucker," Dwight announced. The cell was tucked in the corner of the factory's basement, right beneath the cafeteria. It was cold, dim, and damp--it wreaked of mildew. You investigated the figure in the cell, but it was so dark. Only his burly silhouette was visible. He appeared to be as large as a black bear, and a fleeting moment of nervousness made you shiver.
"How long should I guard him?" you asked, wondering if you'd get any sleep at all that night.
"I'll ask Negan. Hopefully I'll be able to take over later and cut your shift in half," he said with a wink.
Giving him a bro-hand-shake, you nodded and smiled at him. "Thanks, D. You're the fucking best." You planted yourself on a bench next to the cross-bars of the containment area.
"No problem, Nameless." He lifted the bottom of his flannel and withdrew your .44 caliber from his waistband. Handing it to you, he whispered, "Just in case." Though the basement was barely lit by the camping lantern that was placed by the bench, you could see the redness flooding his face. His dark-turquoise eyes glimmered, and he left you with the mysterious prisoner.
This man was strangely quiet. He crouched in the back corner of his cell like a threatened lion, and he didn't move. All you heard was his deep, rhythmic breathing. You stared at him cautiously as you lit a cigarette. Your fingers trembled as you brought the Camel to your lips.
A gruff voice reverberated in the darkness. "Could I bum one off you?" His tone sounded like brassy thunder.
Flinching, you touched your handgun. Quit being such a scaredy-ass baby, you scolded yourself. "Uh...sure," you replied, lowering your timbre. You slid another cig from the box and dangled it through the iron bars.
The figure stood up slowly and walked to the entrance of the cell. He dragged his heavy feet. Though his shoulders were slumped, he still appeared quite tall. His legs looked as thick as tree trunks. The shadow crept closer, and a ray of lantern light fell on his face. You winced at the sight and choked back a gasp. It was grotesque! At first glance, he resembled a walker! His head was covered in putrid rot from scalp to neck. Knots of skin glistened in greenish-yellow lumps. There was a hollow where his nose used to be, and his eyes were framed by exposed flesh. You were horrified! Dropping the cigarette in terror, you couldn't rip your eyes from this prisoner.
He tilted his head, picked up the Camel, and muttered, "Thanks." You noticed his lips didn't move when he spoke. He raised the cig to the gaping hole where his mouth protruded. "I could use a light."
His words took a moment to register in your scattered brain. "Uh, y-y-yeah...here," you stuttered. You slid the lighter against the floor toward his cell.
Retrieving it, he lit the cig and exhaled a voluminous cloud of smoke. His lungs must've been the size of hot-air balloons. That gruesome face locked on you. "What's a gal like you doing in a place like this?" the walker-like figure asked.
You hesitated before you answered, "I work here...for Negan. If you haven't met him, you will soon."
"Oh, I've heard plenty about this infamous Negan," he growled. He stepped closer to the cross-bars and took another drag. "How's life here?"
You nodded, trying to appear unafraid. "Good enough."
"Did you come here willingly...or were you captured, too?" he inquired with a low rasp in his throat. His tone wasn't aged. He actually sounded younger than expected.
Peering between the bars at his rot-eaten mug, you replied harshly, "That's none of your goddamn business."
In response to your feisty remark, he laughed and shook his head. Smog billowed in the cell as he chuckled. "Sassy as ever! You haven't changed one bit!"
His comment hit you like a cold slap in the face. Knots formed in your gut, and goosebumps festered throughout your body. Your jaw dropped. Hold up, this THING knows who I am? Hastily, you lunged toward the bars. "Who are you? Tell me!" you demanded. You spotted pink, untarnished flesh beneath his green-marbled exterior. There seemed to be a crease between his neck and his chest. Noticing flaps on the sides of his cheeks, it dawned on you that he was wearing a mask. "Show yourself!"
He cackled loudly, and his muscular frame shook in amusement. "Anything for an old friend," he said, and he peeled off the disgusting disguise. He wiped away beads of sweat from his forehead and leaned in towards the lamplight. Whipping the grisly mask to the ground, he burst into hysterics at your surprise.
When you beheld his true likeness, a surge of nostalgia washed over you. You couldn't believe your eyes--it felt too surreal. This vision, this figure, this man...you knew him! You recognized his honey-skin, his wiry, chestnut beard, his coffee-brown eyes, his button-nose, his tawny mess of hair, and his bushy eyelashes. A few dusty memories returned to the front of your mind--memories of drag-races in the neighborhood park, mosh-pits at local concerts, jamming out in the band room at school, joking around in English class, and drinking Miller Lite on the bed of his forest-green, pick-'em-up truck. Moments that belonged to another lifetime suddenly materialized in the present. You gawked at him for minute, processing his appearance. Then, you smiled and bayed with laughter. "Well, if it isn't Giovanni-class-clown-Pecora!"
He howled and clapped his hands in elation. "Well, if it isn't Joline-G.I.-Jackie-Bennett!"
"What the fuck is up, Gio?!" you shrieked in utter joy.
"Still fucking breathing. That's what's up!" he shouted.
"How the hell did you make it this far?!"
"Oh ye of little faith!" he retorted with a grin. "I joined forces with a community south of here. That's where I got the mask. They fucking skin the walkers they kill. Can you believe that crazy-ass shit?! I thought all communities had gone tribal like that one, but this..." he trailed off, gauging his surroundings, "...this is something else."
"You're fucking kidding! Who are they? How long have you been with them? Is it a big group?" You rambled with inquiries and hopped up and down, ecstatically.
"Hey, hugs first. Questions later," he chuckled, stretching his massive arms toward you.
Leaping for the cell, you reached between the bars and pulled him in for a warm, familiar embrace. Of all the things you thought would happen in this new life of yours, you didn't expect a high school reunion to be one of them. "Gio, you motherfucking dago! Never go AWAL on me again!" you cried in rapture.