𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 -Negan x Reader

•16•

Boredom got the better of you. Earlier, you had decided that you should tidy up but found that doing chores in a sling is not as easy as you thought it would be. You now find yourself staring into the sink after you convinced yourself that doing dishes was something you could accomplish with ease. It would have been, had it not been for the spoon. You can't peel your eyes away, no matter how much you try. It's the only thing left in the sink.

Bits of processed tomato sauce remain smeared on the stainless steel of the utensil. Images of Wayne with that same spoon in his mouth flash in front of you. Your blood runs cold as the rest of the events play in your head. It's as if you're reliving it. You can hear the metal of the buckle clinking as he tried to undo it, the ripping of your shirt, and the slurping noise he made as he sucked your saliva from his fingers.

Closing your eyes, you try to shake it off. You try to replace those images with happy ones. Failing, you think of things that would take your mind off of it.

I got that Jose Cuervo. No. That's what almost got me killed. I can't drink anymore. Terrible things happen with I drink. No matter how good it makes me feel, I can't.

You're not sure where your bag resides at this point. It's something you're grateful for because you know if you lay eyes on that bottle you'll probably drink it.

"You alright?", Negan's deep voice startles you.

You turn around and find him in the doorway of the kitchen, looking a lot better than earlier. He ditched the leather jacket and stands clad in dark jeans, boots, and a white T-shirt. You can see the edge of what looks to be a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. His face is longer pulled with exhaustion. His eyes are brighter and his face almost glows. He could've been a model had the world not gone to shit.

"Yeah, just trying to clean up a little bit, I got bored.", you tell him, leaving out the part where a spoon sent you into a state of disarray.

His eyes study you, hearing the twinge of distress in your voice.

"You're supposed to be resting.", he reminds you.

"I just can't sit and think, you know? I got to be doing something or I think I'll go crazy.", you explain almost helplessly flicking your gaze away briefly.

He pauses for a moment as if he's rolling something around in his head.

"What did you do for the past two weeks then?", he asks, seemingly genuine in his curiosity.

The feelings you had about him leaving you here alone roll right back through you. Anger, betrayal, hopelessness, and loneliness all hit you when you're reminded of the first week you were alone.

"I drank. That was the only thing that made me feel something other than, you know, what I was feeling.", you tell him, watching his face soften.

It's still so foreign to you to see him like this. Not being the hardened, ruthless, authoritarian leader, but he's still intimidating in every sense of the word. He still makes you nervous even when he's not being his usual self.

"I'm sorry. I never should've fucking left you here.", he says, remorse soaking each syllable.

"Why did you come back? Why after two weeks? Why leave me here for two weeks?", you ask the questions that have been poking at your brain since the moment he came back.

"I came back to apologize for leaving you here and for the way I did it."

You stir on this briefly, wanting nothing more than to interrogate him about this whole situation with you. You picked up on the fact that he dodged the last question.