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Ch. 3 - First-time Jitters

I step out of the bathtub after shutting off the shower head. The water drips from my long blonde hair, falling swiftly to the cream-colored tile. I wrap a towel around my body after slightly drying my now-damp hair. I open the bathroom door to reveal my new room once again. Scurrying to the door, I twist the lock before anybody can walk in on me without clothes on. I sift through the dresser drawers, finding a black short-sleeved shirt and grey cargo pants. I grab my undergarments from the bathroom and changed into clean clothes. The black shirt clings to my undernourished torso, it's obvious I didn't eat any of those shit sandwiches. The cargo pants fit loosely around my hips and had it not been for the string I pulled tight and tied, they likely would fall down every few minutes. I've never been this thin in my life, including the time I spent alone on the road running from camp to camp. Before I landed at the prison, that is.

Grabbing the towel once more, I wrap my hair tightly to finish drying. Just as I fastened the fabric, a knock boomed through the room. "Coming," I hurry to the door, unlocking and opening the wooden barrier. Negan stands in front of me, holding a tray of food in one hand and Lucille in the other, her broad end resting gently on the ground.

"You gonna invite me in?" He smirks menacingly. I shift my weight, standing parallel to the door. I motion with my hand, inviting Negan in. He sat the tray down on the bed before pulling the chair out like he had before he left. I close the door and make my way to the bed, lifting the tray before placing it atop my lap. "Thank you," I mumble. He offers a slight nod in return. I immediately dig in, elated by the actual meal before me.

"Your first run is in two hours," he motions to a clock above the doorway. I hadn't noticed that before. I hum a confirmation with a mouthful of fresh vegetables. "My men and I know how to get shit done when we go out, so I expect you to keep up and keep your mouth fucking shut unless I speak to you. Clear?"

"I'm not a fucking kid, Negan," I mutter, still chewing on my food. He maneuvers himself closer to me, still in the chair, just inches from the bed. I look up to find him staring intently, his face expressing anger. His arm rests across the back of the chair, and he brings his chin down to sit atop the leather-clad appendage. A smirk begins to grow on his lips. I swallow my food, put my utensils down, and tilt my head with narrowed eyes.

"I love a lady that speaks her mind," he marvels. "But you fucking listen to me," he scoots even closer, his breath almost warming my face. "If you ever fucking talk to me like that in front of anybody," he raises his head, looking down at me in a poor attempt to intimidate me, "I will not fucking hesitate to make Daryl your neighbor again. Or maybe even worse, I know where your goddamn camp is, Jade. And I can do whatever the fucking fuck I want to." He straightens his back. "But I don't mind it in private," he gives me a sly wink as he grins, showing his teeth, "it's pretty fuckin' hot." My eye-roll is a clear sign of my repulsion. I pick up my fork again and finish off my tray.

"You're a pig," I say.

"Oh, I know it, baby," he responds. He takes my tray once I finish, standing and replacing the chair before lifting Lucille. "Let's go finish this goddamn tour before our run." I stand, remove the towel and hang it in the bathroom. Negan stands by the door waiting to exit. He swings the door open as I approach him. I walk out and he follows behind, stepping around me to lead the way. The hallway is eerily empty. I wouldn't want to be alone in this hall at night.

He makes his way back to the stairwell we once ascended, I follow and begin climbing up with him again. We go up one floor to another long hallway. A set of double doors waits at the end and paintings decorate the hall, which doesn't help the unsettling feeling that the corridor gives off. One door appears to our right and Negan knocks before opening it.

"Hi ladies," Negan greets as he walks in. I follow out of sheer curiosity. Four women sit side by side on a dark leather couch, two of them holding a short glass with little brown liquid. I look to my left and spot a wooden bar top with a bottle of whiskey on the counter. They all look to the door, seeing Negan first. "Hi, Negan," they mumble together unenthused. Negan's egotistical body language tells me he's unaware of their disinterest in his presence. As they begin to converse again, I step out from behind him. Their necks snap back up to look at me, surprised almost that another person is behind Negan. He must usually come in to see them by himself. I offer a quick friendly smile, which they return. They are stunning. Two brunettes, one redhead, and a blonde. Each sporting a flattering black dress. "These are my wives," Negan brags.