Killer

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"Can the killer in me tame the fire in you?"

I was in and out of consciousness, being overly exhausted from the beating I took and attempting to recover. I was also insanely confused at the situation I was currently in and sleeping helped me to not think about it too much. I was nowhere near ready for the questions I would be bombarded with when I made it back to Alexandria, much less when Daryl hears about it. Even more so, it put me in an even tougher spot with Negan. He intrigued me. I wanted to know more about him. He's shown me sides of him that I'm more than positive no one else has seen. It makes me wonder what he sees in me to trust me with that.

God, what am I even saying? Negan...trusting me? A vital member of the group that murdered his people without reason? That just sounds batshit crazy. As a matter of fact, it was. Maybe he was still just trying to sweeten me up before asking me to be his wife again. Who knows. Maybe he'll take me hostage and use me as leverage against the communities. What better time to do that than when I'm weak, right?

Jesus, Belle, don't think like that. Just focus on the situation at hand. You're injured and you received medical attention. You're lucky you're not dead.

I managed to sit up in the bed I was more or less stuck in. After much prying around the room with my eyes, I came to the conclusion this was Negan's room. In front of the bed was a door. When Negan left me the other day, I caught a glimpse at some familiar bookshelves. The other side must be his office. To my right was a relatively large window for the factory-type building this place was. It held no secrets to the time of day. On the left was another door that I was determined to discover what was behind it. The rest of the room was like a normal bedroom. Random things popped around here and there. It was a gentle reminder that Negan was just another human being. 

Ignoring the pulsing pain in my ribs and face, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I took a few breaths to steady myself, being careful not to breathe in too deep since it added extra pain to my ribs. With a determined gaze, I pushed myself up to my feet.

I used many odds and ends around the room to hold myself up; tables, chairs, walls, bookshelves. I winced at the pain that continued to stab through my torso. I made my way across the room to that closed door, leaning heavily on the handle. With a small exhale, I opened the door slowly.

It was a bathroom. A rather tidy one at that. Simple black and white tiles decorated the floor. There was a long marble countertop with a sink in the middle, accompanied by a similar-length mirror on the wall above it. There was a tall, glass shower as well. Whoever owned this building before this must have spent a lot of time here that their bathroom was this nice.

For the first time in days, I looked at myself in the mirror. My face, though no longer very swollen, was still bruised and scabbed. Deep blues and purples extended all the way from my jaw to under my eye. Dried blood adorned the few cuts that decorated my bottom lip, matching with the few scratches across my temples and eyebrows from the crash.

Out of curiosity, I took a few moments to take my shirt off. It took many pauses and many calming breaths to do such a task. Once the bloodstained and ripped material was discarded, though, I couldn't help but frown.

They weren't kidding when they said my ribs were bruised. Nearly the entire right side of my torso looked like my face. Just staring at it seemed to make it throb. And, much like my face, scabs of once-opened wounds adorned my skin. God, I'll never hear the end of it from Rick after this.

"Thought I told you to stay in bed," Negan's booming voice interrupted my thoughts.

He startled me but I didn't jump. To be honest, I was in shock at the state of myself. I looked as broken as I felt, maybe even more. I just turned to tiredly meet his gaze. Normally, I'd cover up, being left in just my bra and pants in front of a man like Negan. In my state, what more did I have to lose?

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