𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 -Negan x Reader

•2•

The sound of your foot tapping the tile floor echoes in the nearly empty room. You try to refrain from doing it but it feels as if you'll explode if you don't. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest.

What has Dean told him? Is this it? Am I going to die?

You can't help but look at the blood-stained bat wrapped in barbed wire sitting on the table in front of you. The more you look at it, the more your stomach turns. You feel as if you're gonna vomit.

"So something has been brought to my attention.", Negan's voice pulls you from your panic attack.

He's leaned against the long oak table about two feet from you. His tall muscular figure towering over you. Once your eyes meet his dark, intensive ones, you can't look away. It's like you're drawn into him. It's a feeling you can't explain.

"Does Dean drink a lot?", his voice breaking the brief silence.

He fucking knows. How does he know?

"Um, I wouldn't say a lot.", your voice shakes at first but you fight through it.

He's got a look in his eyes, something you can't quite make out. You try to break the eye contact but fail, you can't help but look at him.

"How long?" , his voice is blank, providing no indication of his thoughts.

"Well it used to be every once in a while when we could find it, but you have quite the-" ,you don't get to finish your pathetic attempt of beating around the bush.

"No don't bullshit me, you know what I'm talking about.", his voice now with sternness, but not overbearing.

Oh my God, oh my God.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean." , you give him blink as you shake your head in mock confusion.

He sighs and redirects his gaze to the floor.

"Damn okay, I didn't wanna come right out and say it: How long has he been hitting you?", he asks, once again interlocking his deep eyes with yours.

You freeze. Your heart sinks to the floor. You want nothing more than to just hit the door and run and not stop until you physically can't move. But you're glued to the chair. There's no running away from this.

Dwight. Fucking Dwight. God say something. He's already seeing right through me. I can't fuck this up.

"Dean hasn't laid a finger on me... but with all due respect, why would you care if he did? I'm sure you have better things to do than worry about some guy beating his girlfriend.", your voice doesn't shake this time.

Your fingers nervously fidget with your jacket sleeve, pinching at the soft fabric. You were usually a great liar, but being in his presence and him grilling you, staring you down, all hope to be a convincing liar flew out the window. Your leg bounces faster than before, as if it was possible. His eyes take note of that before meeting with yours again.

You finally break and lock your gaze to your hands, trying to do anything but get sucked back into the trance his eyes had you in or look at that monstrosity of a bat. Eye contact was a great way to instill false trust in the other person to make them believe what you're saying is true, but you could feel him sniffing it out. There's point in trying to be convincing and putting on the whole charade. All you can do is try to lie and not run out of this room. What other logical option do you have?