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Ch. 11 - Obviously

I watched as gravel and grey clouds blew upward beneath the tires behind us. The mirror was covered in dust and in need of a cleaning. It had been days since my assassination attempt on Negan, but we were finally heading back to my camp, and his anger hadn't subsided. The drive was quiet, almost annoyingly quiet. But, I understood, I did try to kill the man. My heart was pounding in my chest, echoing through my body. I was worried about the life he would take today, because of me. 

"I don't want to do this," he spoke first, knuckles ghostly from his tight grip on the steering wheel.

I turned inward, facing him, my eyes running over his side profile. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were squinting tightly, brows furrowed. He was focusing his anger forward on the road ahead of us. 

"You don't have to," I spoke quietly, my eyes dropping to the console between us. Guilt was burning in my chest.

"Oh but I do, sweetheart," he lifted his eyebrows, his face suddenly relaxing. "You tried to slice my fucking throat open. You can't escape the punishment." 

I pushed my lips to the side, slightly rolling my top lip inward. "Is it too late to try to apologize?"

"I'd fucking say," he chuckled. 

His mood shifts came on so frequently, a regular rapid-fire of emotions on any given day. He could switch from suggestive to lighthearted, harsh to dulcet, preservative to dominating, in the blink of an eye. But they progressed so fluidly, so unexplainably, almost as if he were performing.

I turned forward when a grey and reddish-orange pannel appeared in my peripheral vision. Our speed decreased as we approached the front gate of Alexandria. My heart rate began to increase as the gate pulled backward, the trucks ahead of us piling in first. As we pulled through, the last of the brigade, I spotted Rosita standing by the gate. Her face was stern and unwavering, her animosity toward Negan was no secret. Negan pulled the truck to the remaining spot, throwing the gear into park. He reached over and pulled Lucille from between my legs, where she had been resting throughout the trip.

"You stay with me," his voice rasped. He opened his door once he turned the truck off, and stepped out. He did not bother to shut his door quietly, making his presence known. As the cabin shook side to side from his slam, I reached for my door handle and hopped down. My feet crashed against the gravel, a puff of dust appearing beneath the leather bottom of my boots. I mildly shut my door, hoping not to draw attention to myself. I trudged toward Negan, slowly following behind him as he greeted Rosita.

"Where is my friend, Rick?" He bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth, a wicked grin on display.

"He's on a run," she displayed no fear in her immediate response. "He should be back soon."

"We better fucking hope so," he leaned his weight back. He turned back to face me. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

He took off toward Rick's house, and I knew he meant for me to follow. So I did. I looked around at the houses we were passing, seeing sets of eyes in the windows, watching us walk through the small town. We neared the end of the street and approached Rick's front porch. Negan mounted the steps and I scrambled not too far behind, not wishing to piss him off further. When we got to the front door, he swung Lucille forward and struck the endcap against the wood. Light footsteps drew closer after a few seconds, the door swinging open when they came to a halt. Carl stood, his usual resting bitch face smeared from ear to ear.

"Well, hello there," Negan cocked his head to the side, an arrogant smile curling up. He stared Carl in his eye, grin unwavering. "Are you going to invite me in, boy?"

Carl stepped to the side, "Come in."

Negan ambled through, a swagger in his step. I followed suit, shuffling behind him and smiling softly at Carl. He gave me a gentle nod and shut the door behind us. I trailed behind Negan as he walked into the kitchen. Negan rested Lucille in the corner and began to rummage through the cabinets. I approached the island, leaning my palms against the cold, granite surface. Negan grabbed a box of spaghetti, a container of pasta sauce, and two pots. I rolled my eyes, this man and his spaghetti.