The time was 7:30am. The sky radiated with a violet glow. Blood-orange stripes stretched over the treetops. Birds chirped like a chorus, announcing the dawn of a new day. You sat in a chair by the window, attempting to write a letter with your left hand. Struggling to make the words look legible, you carefully dotted your I's and crossed your T's.
Dear Rick, you wrote on a piece of floral stationary. Then, you added, and Daryl and Carol and Carl. The fingers on your left hand were straining. I regret not giving you earlier notice, but I must leave. There are matters of great importance that I must attend to. If we cross paths again, I'll explain everything. Your script was sloping on the paper. Shaking your head, you silently cursed your horrible handwriting. You wished you were ambidextrous. Thank you for helping Gio and me. I will never forget your kindness. A sigh rushed through your lips as you thought of Rick's warm smile. And if you find yourselves in trouble in the future, head south. You might run into me. Nodding as you read over the message, you signed: Jackie (aka No-Name). You reviewed your penmanship...it looked like fucking Comic Sans on LSD. It was dreadful. But it was still comprehensible, or so you hoped. Folding the letter in half, you left it on your bed and rushed out the door. Your legs were still wobbly, but you tread with care; heel to toe, heel to toe.
Gio was preparing for the journey ahead. He tossed your bag and a few medical supplies into the back seat. Tucking Lucille into the trunk, he turned to you. "Did we have to leave this early?" he asked, slamming the trunk shut.
The air was chilly, and you could see your foggy breath. "Sorry, but yes. We're better off without all the questions and goodbye's."
"I know, you're not one to be delayed by the mushy stuff," he chuckled and slid into the driver's seat.
You reached into your bag and retrieved your Camels and your lighter. Settling into the passenger's seat cautiously, you lit a cig. It was your first one in a few days, and the lovely head rush washed over you. Sighing in contentment, you looked at Gio, "We should be there by noon. Maybe a bit before, if we're quick about it. No rest stops."
"I don't have the bladder of an infant," he laughed and put the keys into the ignition. The engine sputtered and roared. You exited through the back gates, and headed for the highway.
Tearing through the crisp November air, the speedometer rose to 75 miles per hour. You blew smoke out the window and it swirled into the towering pines. You were silent, at first, conversing with your own thoughts. Were you happy to be going back to The Sanctuary? Of course, you were. Were you hesitant to tell Negan about your wild quest? Absolutely. Did you want to see the look on his face when you handed him Lucille? Definitely. But were you afraid he'd find out about your encounters with Rick and his group? YES. Your impending return contained a mixture of happiness and fear. Don't be such a worry-wart, you thought, relaxing your tense shoulders. Enjoy this homecoming. You can bring up your concerns after a few hugs and some drinks.
The evergreens disappeared as you traveled south. Forests drew back their leafy curtains and revealed the jagged hills on the horizon. The sun poked its fiery head over the peaks of the mountains, and the mauve light trickled through the windshield. Gio pressed a button on the dashboard and turned up the volume of the speakers. You giggled as you flicked your ashes out of the crack in the window. The song Stuck in the Middle with You by Stealers Wheel reverberated through the clunky confines of the vehicle. Gio tapped along to the rhythm on the wheel. You swung your head from side to side and sang along. Bobbing your heads, you drove down the abandoned road into the sunrise. Between The Saviors and The Whisperers, I truly am stuck in the middle with Gio, you mused as the tune blared.
After about four hours of weaving through pot-holes and small herds of walkers, Gio decreased his speed and entered a patch of forest couple of miles from The Sanctuary. Tents and lean-to's peeked from the woods, and you spotted a few men in tattered clothing. A couple of them were sharpening spears and knives. Some carried masks in their hands--the skinned faces of lurkers. "This is my stop," Gio announced. The car halted, and he jumped out of his seat.
You met him in front of the camp of nomads. "Thanks," you murmured, eyes tracing the scars on his enormous body.
"For what?" he questioned with a hint of a grin.
"For everything," you answered. "That was one hell of an adventure."
He wrapped his strong arms around you, leaned down, and kissed the top of your head. "I have a feeling the adventure isn't over just yet," he whispered, tenderly. You gave him a tight hug with your left arm, and you heard him sigh in elation. "I knew you'd make it."
You kissed his chest. "I wouldn't have made it with you." As you embraced, you caught a figure out of the corner of your eye...watching you. Turning your head, you saw a woman of about thirty-years-of-age with a shaved head and eyes as cold as ice. Her hands rested on her hips in a stern manner. "Who's that?" you inquired.
"Layla," Gio said under his breath. "She's the chief's daughter." He looked to her and nodded in greeting. But her eyes were fixed on you. "Once her dad kicks the bucket, she'll be the queen bee."
"Oh yeah?" you remarked, breaking the hug. "She sure looks like a royal bitch." You kept your voice down, hoping she wouldn't hear you.
"She's pretty temperamental. And not very nice." A tinge of apprehension darkened his gaze.
"I'm sure you can handle her," you said in reassurance.
"Yeah, we'll see." He took a step towards the camp and glanced back at you. "Take care of that arm," he called before he departed.
"Take care of yourself," you responded, waving to him.
As you climbed into the car and turned the keys, you noticed this Layla lady staring at you, again. She nodded in your direction with a smoldering smile on her lips. What's HER problem? you thought. Making a U-turn, you headed to Negan's territory, and the woman with the shaven head disappeared in your rear-view mirror.
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When you rolled through the gates of The Sanctuary, dozens of Saviors dashed to your car. Their eyes were wide with joy. A few of their mouths hung open in disbelief. They cheered as you parked and slipped out of the driver's side. Crowding around you, they patted you on the back and smothered you with words of praise. They were delighted to see you alive and well. A couple of them asked about your arm, which was tucked in the sling. All you said was that you had a terrible tumble, and dismissed their questions. As you grabbed your bag and opened the trunk, they stared in awe. You held Lucille high above you, and the men erupted into applause. A smile of victory spread across your face; you never thought you'd be hailed as a hero, of sorts.
Making your way inside the factory, you ran into Dwight, who greeted you with open arms. "I can't fucking believe it!" he bayed and hugged your left side. "What's with your arm?"
"It's just a scratch," you replied, rolling your eyes. Spots of blood seeped through your bandages, and your wound was still incredibly sore.
"What happened? How did you get Lucille? How'd you get hurt? Did you find the lumberjack?" Dwight pelted you with a rambling questionnaire. He was vibrating with excitement.
You interrupted him, unwilling to regale him with your treacherous tale. "I'll tell you later. But first, how's Sherry?"
"She's healed up just fine," he answered with a glimmering smile. "Feels strange finally getting to see her again. That was a fucking weird move on Negan's part...you know, letting us be together."
Weird, indeed, you thought. "Well, I'm glad she's better." Adjusting the strap of your pack on your shoulder, you eyed the window of Negan's room. "How's the boss?"
Dwight tried to hide a mischievous grin. "He barely left his office since you went on the mission. Your trip left him pretty worried."
Your irises sparkled, imagining Negan missing you so much--to the extent of isolating himself in his room. He must've been terrified for your safety. "I'd better make a special delivery, then," you said. "I'll catch up with you later."
After briefly embracing Dwight, once more, you walked up the stairs to the hallway above the cafeteria. A tingle of nervousness fluttered in your stomach as you slowly strode past the rows of doors. What should I say? Should I just give him the trophy and leave? What if he asks about my arm? I'm DEFINITELY leaving Rick out of it. Will he bring up his proposal? If he does, how will I respond? You worriedly considered how your conversation with Negan would unfold. Even your heart quickened its pace as you neared the door to his office.
But you where caught off guard by a pair of lily-white arms hugging you from behind. You smelled cherry-blossom perfume. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!" Nicole voice squealed in ecstasy.
Pivoting your stance, you faced her. She was actually clothed, which was odd. Your eyes grazed her petite body. She wore a heavy pink sweater and black leggings. Her baby blues were misty with overwhelming rapture. "Nickie!" you cried. You dropped Lucille and held her close.
She trembled in your arm. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you!!!" she bawled.
As she suffocated you with hugs and kisses, she held you too hard. "Ouch!" you hissed. She accidentally bumped your wound.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she cooed, backing away. Studying your injury, her eyes filled with concern. "What happened to you?"
"Long story," you sighed, fixing your sling.
"Tell all!" she sang. "I have plenty of time." Pulling on your shirt, she urged you to talk in her bedroom. You picked up Lucille and followed her inside.
Like the good hostess that she was, Nicole helped you out of the strap of your bag and placed Lucille in the corner. She led you to her bed and seated you. "So, did the change of temperature finally get to ya?" You gestured to her outfit.
She simply replied, "It's been a little chilly." Opening the cabinet on her night stand, she removed a bottle of Strawberry-Lemonade Smirnoff and a glass. "Wanna drink?"
"You read my mind," you laughed as she filled your cup. "By the way, I have to thank you for giving me Ruffles."
"Where is he? Is he okay?" she inquired, handing you the pungent beverage.
You swirled the liquid in the glass. "Actually, he's cuddling with a tiger, right now."
Nicole gasped, "WHAT? But how--"
"Don't worry about him. He got me out of a lot of trouble," you comforted her. She settled into the mattress next to you, and you placed your arm around her. "You were right, he did protect me from a monster. A mighty big, feline monster."
She nodded her head as you told her about your moment with Shiva. Eyes unblinking, she looked like a mesmerized child during a fantastical bedtime story. "Did she hurt you?" she asked, looking at your bandages. "Because of she did, I'll cut her tail off!"
"No, no, no...Shiva's a good kitty, deep down." You rubbed your sling. "This was just a bad run-in with a sword."
Nicole shook her head. "Good God, Jackie...that's horrifying..."
"All that matters is that I'm talking with you now," you murmured, kissing her cheek. You sipped the berrylicious liquor. "This is pretty damn good. Are you gonna have some?"
"No thanks," she chirped.
"Come on, Nicole. I know how much you love these lady-martinis," you tried to persuade her.
"I'm good, thank you," she snapped, rather defensively.
Cocking an eyebrow, you hummed in confusion. "Okay, okay. I won't pressure you." You slipped a cigarette from your pocket and brought the lighter to the tip.
But Nicole slapped it out of your hand. "Don't!" she objected.
Your head whipped around in shock. "Calm down, Nickie. Why are you being such a prude?" Picking up your cigarette, you moved to the window. "I'll smoke here, alright?" You cracked open the pane.
"No!" She rose from the bed, scurried over, and slammed the window shut.
"What's with you?" you barked. "Nicole, I'm fucking dying here. This'll be my second one today."
"Then, get your nicotine fix somewhere else," she demanded in a shrill tone. Her peachy cheeks flushed in anger.
"Ughhhh, are you on your period or something?" you huffed and put away your cig. Knocking back the liquid in your glass, you gave her a quizzical look.
Her eyes lowered. "No...I haven't had my period for the past three months."
"Hmmm, that's strange. You been eating enough?" Then, a realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You almost spit up your alcohol. Choking a bit, you put down your cup and coughed violently into your sleeve.
"Listen to you," she complained. "Those cigarettes are killing your lungs!"
You glared at her during your coughing-spell. "My smoking habit is not the fucking issue here." The words were muffled by the fabric of your shirt. After you regained your breath, you motioned for her to sit on the bed. "Let's talk." Timidly, she crawled onto the covers and you began to pace. "You've never cared about my chain-smoking before, so why do you care now?"
She played with her fingers and bit her glossy lip. "I...well...it's just that..." Words escaped her.
"I don't have all day, princess," you bellowed. "What's going on?"
Nicole stammered and her shoulders shook. "You s-s-see...what happened w-w-was..."
Your steps grew heavy as you walked back and forth. "Come on, let it out," you commanded.
She let out a wavering sigh. "Promise you won't freak out?"
You threw your head back and looked at the ceiling. "I promise."
"Pinky swear?" she muttered, holding out her little finger.
Running your hand through your hair, you approached her and clutched her pinky, firmly. "Fine. Now, what's up? Why are you acting like the carcinogen police?"
Her shaking ceased and a tiny smile raised the corners of her mouth. "I don't want you smoking around the baby," she said with a twinkle in her gorgeous eyes. There was a certain glow about her that you hadn't seen before.
You stopped cold. "The what?" you asked. Hardly able to process what you just heard, you collapsed onto the bed. You pressed your left hand to your brow. "Oh Nicole..."
"Aren't you happy for me?" Her tone sounded surprised by your reaction.
Rolling to your side, you scolded her. "Happy? HAPPY? Why would I be happy? That," you pointed to her belly, "That right there is carelessness!"
Nicole's smile dissolved into a distressful expression. "W-w-what?"
You slapped your knee as you emphasized your words. "Careless. Irresponsible. Mindless. Impulsive. Reckless. STUPID!" The temper that you strove to subdue burst from within. "What have you done?!"
"Sometimes these things happen on accident, Jackie!" Nicole yelled. "I didn't plan it out!"
"EXACTLY!" you screamed. "Couldn't you exercise a little caution? Did you think about the kinda life that thing would be born into? Did that ever cross your mind?! DID IT?!"
Poor Nickie shuddered and her lips trembled. "Why are you being like this? I thought you'd congratulate me--"
"Yeah, congratulations!" you shouted, sarcastically. "You're bringing a burden into the world! A world overtaken by fucking walkers and bandits and downright evil!" Stamping your foot, you clamored, "That embryo was dead before it was even conceived! It's got no chance! You hear me? No fucking chance! GODDAMN IT!" Your rant spilled from your mouth in venomous volumes.
Nicole shrieked through her tears, "How could you be so heartless?! You're talking about my child!" She keeled over, placed her head in her hands, and cried. "You said you wouldn't freak out...you broke your promise..." Her whimpers were incessant, and her whole body quaked. "My baby...my baby..." She held the bump on her stomach in grief.
As your breathing slowed, your eyes softened. The red lens that darkened your vision disappeared. Fuck, look what you did to her, you reprimanded yourself. You knelt by the bedside. "Nicole?" Her bawling didn't cease. She sniffled loudly while she wept. You couldn't stand the sight of her. "Nicole...I'm so sorry." Lifting your hand, you attempted to rub her back.
But she flinched and fiercely slapped you across the face. "Don't touch me, you BITCH!" she cried through her teeth.
Damn, what a swing! She hit you harder than expected. The message was clear. In this moment, she hated your guts. You placed your hand on your stinging cheek. "Nickie, listen to me...please, I didn't mean to--"
"Get out!" she snarled. When you refused to move, she grabbed your glass from the nightstand and threw it at the wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces. "Get out! Get out! GET OUT!!!"
You jumped up and ducked as she pitched whatever she could at your head. Swiftly, you snatched Lucille and your bag and scampered out of the room. Flying objects thudded against the door as you made your exit. Clicking bolt shut, you cursed your temper. What the fuck, Jackie?! Couldn't you be a little more civil? With your head hanging in regret, you sulked down the hall with Lucille tight in your fist.
When you arrived at Negan's doorstep, you drew in a deep breath. Here it goes, you thought. Resting the bat against the wall, you raised your hand to knock. But the door opened before your knuckles could hit the wood. There stood Negan. His gaze trailed over your body. You had a speech planned out in your head, but your lips wouldn't budge. The sight of him, the smell of him, the smile in his eyes...he made your head spin like a carousel. He heaved a sigh of relief. "What took you so fucking long, doll?" That deep, velvety voice was melodic with solace.
You tripped over your words. "I, um, just wanted to...ah...give you--" Instead of verbalizing your intentions, you picked up Lucille and presented it to him. "Here."
His smile widened, but he didn't look at the weapon you returned. Slipping his arm around your waist, he prompted you into his office. "I'm more fucking excited to see you," he murmured in a cool tone. "Between coming back to this fucking place and running for the damn hills, I thought you'd take the latter." Every fiber of your being tingled in absolute delight. Shutting the door behind him, he took Lucile from your grasp, tickling your fingers while he did so. "Don't get me wrong. I'm fucking happy to have both of my ladies back." He laid the trophy on his desk. Remaining speechless, you sat down on the couch and prepared to be interrogated. You formulated answers to the questions you expected him to throw at you. But contrary to your notion, he relaxed next to you and played with your hair. "Why so fucking quiet, hon? This isn't a damn library." His fingers lightly explored your injury. "What the fuck is this?" he inquired.
You answered semi-honestly. "Some dick-head sliced me open with a sword." Desperately, you strove to sound casual. But your control was weakening. All you wanted to do was kiss this man, who was caressing your body in adoration.
Negan's bronze eyes transformed into shadowy orbs. "How did that fucking happen?" Fury rumbled within his powerful frame while lust boiled in yours. Your vision favored his lips. "Who was the fucking CUNT that fucked you up?! Say the word, and he's a fucking dead man. I swear, he's motherfucking--"
It was all so sudden. You couldn't hold in your desires any longer. Your body conquered your hesitant mind. Cutting off his vicious threats, you pulled him in for a passionate kiss. "This is all I want, right now," you whispered as you ran your fingers through his hair. He was startled, at first. Then, he leaned into your body...relishing the feel of your tongue tickling his own. He nipped your bottom lip and you moaned with greed. You craved more. His hands crept beneath your shirt, and his heat engulfed you. The bristles of his beard grazed your chin and teased your swollen lips. Your left hand traveled to his thigh; your nails drew close to his growing cock. He radiating with scrumptious arousal...so ready for you. You straddled him boldly and held him down with your left arm. Ravenously, you snaked your tongue into his tasty mouth while grinding on him. His throbbing erection tantalized your pussy through your jeans. Letting out a thunderous moan, he gripped your hips and rubbed his thick erection against your pulsing clit. You could feel him twitch through the fabric.
His eyes were no longer smoldering like they usually did; they were two roaring wildfires. As he rocked his hips against yours, he nibbled your ear and groaned, "I have a fucking feeling you've accepted my offer..." Licking your earlobe, he started to unbuckle his belt with one hand.
His offer? For a second, you couldn't recall this offer that he spoke of. You were too focused on imagining him sliding his huge cock into your tight, dripping slit. Shivering in pleasure, you asked, "The offer?" Then, just as his fingers were stroking your pussy through the denim, you remembered. Oh no... Your doubts returned to haunt you at the worst possible time. Placing your hand over his, you stopped his tempting ministrations. "Negan...I'm sorry, but we have to talk about...something."
A growl of disappointment simmered in his throat. His eyelids were still half-closed from the heat of the moment. "Why do you always fucking do this to me?" he sighed. In one swift move, he picked you up, removed you from his lap, and positioned you on he cushion adjacent to him. "Alright, you fucking tease. This better be some groundbreaking fucking shit."
You feared that you enraged him. The quick switch of your moods drove him crazy. But you had to discuss the proposal before you consummated anything. "So, before I left...you said you wanted to make our 'relationship' exclusive."
"That's fucking correct," he responded, adjusting his pants.
"What would you do with your current wives?" you asked, drumming your fingers on the coffee table.
"They can learn to fend for themselves. They're goddamn grown-ass women," he said, matter-of-factly.
Your eyes darted, contemplating your argument. "I disagree. They're too inexperienced. They need protection. All they've ever known here is luxury. You can't rip that away and expect them to stay afloat."
He let out a cold chuckle. "It's a sink or swim fucking world we live in. Survival of the fucking fittest. They're gonna have to come up the fucking learning curve at some point. I can't keep playing Nanny and holding their fucking hands."
Shaking your head, you stood your ground on the matter. "I can't do this. I can't let this happen."
Negan leaned in and turned your face towards his. You stared into his amber eyes; your gaze was steadfast. "Why not?" he asked in his gravelly timbre.
The moment you say it, you'll wish you didn't... But you ignored your brain's relentless warnings. "Negan..." you began and cleared your throat. The words were scrambled behind your teeth. Taking out your carton of cigarettes, you lit one with lightning speed.
"This already sounds fucking bad..." he murmured, lowly. "Don't make this fucking complicated, doll. I want things simple." His eyes were set on you in anticipation.
You blew out a puff of smoke. "It's Nickie..."
"What about her?" he urged.
Nicole's tear-streaked face appeared in your head. Her weeping still echoed in your eardrums. You took another drag, trying to calm yourself. "Negan, do you prefer to be called Dad, Daddy, or Papa?" you queried, hoping that he'd catch the hint.
His eyebrows climbed to his hairline. His eyes were frozen open. His breath hitched. You genuinely thought he'd faint; his cheeks were void of color. "Oh shit..." he exhaled, sharply. For such a vocal man, he was extremely quiet. No words were exchanged for two very long, arduous minutes. Abruptly, he glanced at your Camels. "Could you bum me a fucking square? Please?"
You tossed the box on his lap. "Go right ahead." He lit one and slouched in silence. His demeanor morphed from confident to completely fucking anxious. You both hid yourselves in a haze of smoke, stewing in utter worry.