oh come on | twd

• A Far-Fetched Betrayal •

"Now, I'm not a pervert. In fact, far from it. The only reason you aren't back in that cell, is because I want to keep a closer eye on you. But don't think that you won't end up straight back in there if you misbehave, okay Lia?" Negan finished his rant, and I didn't answer.

He'd already explained the deal when it came to me living in his room. There'd be 24-hour guards outside the rooms and I was to ask either him or the guards for anything I needed. He made sure to emphasise anything I needed, which didn't make much sense as the only thing I needed was to go back home with Daryl and to never see his face again. I wasn't to leave the room without an escort, I was to simply obey. I hated the rules, in fact I'd much rather be in my cell, but the opportunities I had out here were far better than in there.

He left and I heard the door click shut. Looking around I realised there wasn't much I could do in here. There was a bookshelf, but I was never the best reader. I walked to it, running my hand along the spines of the books before pulling a random one out. Upon opening it, there were no pictures. Simply tiny words that I knew I'd never try reading. Instead, I walked to the sofa, laying on it. It was a lot comfier than the concrete floor, and it made me realise just how exhausted I truly was.

My limbs were aching, whether it be from all the fighting I had done or how roughly Negan's men tended to handle me, I didn't know. My face burned. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, but the constant burning had never ceased. I'd only ignored it. I doubted he would give me to the hospitality of it being cleaned. I wouldn't be surprised if it was infected after being cut by the filthy hands of David. I only hoped it didn't look as bad as it felt but Negan's words continued to ring in my head.

"Poor Carl will never want to look at her again."

I wasn't one for self-pity, but I couldn't help but wonder why it had happened to me. Had all my killing gave me bad karma? At the time, it had felt like the right choice. Survival. But had it really? Was I actually a bad person?

I didn't want to let myself fall asleep. I didn't know what would happen if I did. But I was exhausted.

———————

"Rise and shine, smiler," Negan's smiling face kindly woke me up, his face leaning down close to mine. "You normally sleep this long?" He asked, and I frowned.

Upon seeing my confusion he laughed. I looked down, seeing a blanket over me which hadn't been there before, meaning he'd been in and out already.

"It's been a day Amelia."

I sat up, trying not to look as alarmed as I was. He held a tray of what looked to be actual edible food. There was meat, which I would most definitely not be touching. After Terminus, I didn't trust anyone other than the group when it came to eating meat. The mashed potatoes looked okay, but you could see how visibly dry they were. There was also some peas, but they didn't smell quite right.

"Eat up. I have someone you need to meet later. I'll be back in an hour," he said, leaving me with the tray on the table.

Who was I meeting? The door shut and an idea struck me. I stared at the fork in front of me in contemplation. Fuck it. He'd said if I needed anything to ask. I waited 5 minutes; I couldn't have him loitering outside.

I grabbed the fork and stood up to walk towards the door.

"Hello??" I shouted, standing a few feet from the door.

I heard shuffling and then a muffled, "what?"

"How am I supposed to eat the meat without a knife?" I asked, and listened to the sounds outside the door.