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–
It's not like she wasn't expecting it. She knew the man had seen her face moments before she deemed him unconscious. He would go to Negan and tell him who he saw, what had happened. And she didn't regret it one bit.
Negan came barging through the door almost twenty minutes later. He didn't seem too angry, much to her surprise, but rather calm and strangely collected. He eyed the girl as a smirked played at the corners of his lips. Lucille was propped on his left shoulder. She wondered if he went anywhere without that bat.
"Fat Joey was unconscious outside of Daryl's room," he pursed his lips and pointed the barbed wire bat at her, "I think you have something to do with it."
She paused and crossed her legs, seeming to be thinking over her reply. "I do."
He tilted his head and laughed wickedly. "Well then? What the fuck is it this time?"
"I missed him, so I went to see him," she stood on her feet and crossed her arms, "It doesn't matter, though. He just told me to leave, didn't want to talk to me." She lied.
Negan raised his eyebrows and grinned, the lines of his smile upturning, "It does fucking matter. I'm glad to know he's finally fucking cooperating, but now you need to learn," he jerked the bat in her direction and shook his head, "the amount of things you've done. Do you know how fucking close I am–"
"I guess we're even, then," she smiled, cutting him off.
"Nope. It doesn't work like that sweetheart," he flicked his tongue across his bottom lip.
She twisted her jaw and stood silently, zoning out as he droned on about how she 'blatantly disrespected him'. Shifting her weight from one foot to another, she let out an exaggerated sigh.
"You know," he spun on his feet ran his finger across the layers of dust on the shelf, creating a clear and defined line where it trailed, "I was gonna bring you to Alexandria with me, but now you've fucked everything up for yourself." He threw his arms in the air, Lucille hanging barely by his fingers.
She hunched back as the smirk on her face faltered. The more she frowned, the more he smiled. He leaned against the shelf and licked his lips, eyeing her up and down, taking in her devastation.
"I can cooperate," she added, although she knew the damage had been done.
"Too fucking late for that, sweetheart. We'll talk about it when you learn your goddamn lesson."
He slammed the door in his exit.
–
Books and movies. Her two favorable ways to pass time. There was a small television in the corner of the room that bathed in layers upon layers of dust. It looked as if had been made in the nineteen-fifties, with it's antennas and minuscule, faded screen. Somehow she had gotten it to work, although it only played CDs. She found a few movies under her bed along with the various books she had been keeping there that Negan failed to take away. Frankenstein and Psycho.
