like real people do | c.g [#wattys2019]

B I T E

THERE IS A SPECIFIC sense of dread in me that only the Saviors seem to invoke. A particular type of heart wrench that makes my stomach drop whenever I'm near one of them. I think it's my special way to identify them. My system's way to warn me of an intruder's presence. I've felt sick to my stomach from the first time I heard the name Negan, and that feeling's never been as heightened as it is right now. Not even when they cornered us. Because even then, though I was surrounded by them on what was probably the worst day of my life, I had my family with me.

Now, I'm alone, encompassed by the people I hate the most. Something's telling me I'm not getting out of this one.

Instead of shooting me, the male Savior clocks me straight in the face. It's hard enough to knock me out. I'm not sure how long I'm unconscious for, but it's long enough for my surroundings to completely change. My body was apparently dragged back to one of the trucks, where I was restrained.

I hear voices. One of them is closer to me than all the others but it's disembodied. The only reason I know I'm in a moving vehicle is because I hear the faint sounds of the wheels and the engine. Opening my eyes takes a whole lot of conviction, but trying to keep them from fluttering shut once again is even harder.

My vision is slightly blurred when I try to look around, and it takes me a second to register that the closer voice I heard was my own- groaning as I woke, reacting to the pain radiating from my jaw. I take in the brightness of the light flooding in from the blinds at the front of the truck, and let my eyes finally adjust. As they focus, a voice- finally not my own- rings through.

"And she lives!" My confusion is replaced with the gut feeling from before, but the danger was already known, and there's nothing I can do to stop the threat now. My gaze rests on Simon. I recognize him quickly. His grayish thin hair and stupid goatee are burned into my mind, along with a different yet matching gray beard and a permanent smirk.

He moves, chuckling as if his presence wasn't the most unnerving thing I could think of. He slowly crouches in front of me, seemingly unbothered by the truck's swaying as we drive. Meanwhile, my body leans from side to side, making the rope restraining me dig into my wrists. Is the truck even swaying this much or is this just me?

"So. My guys found a runner. That's not really odd, people don't seem to be too fond of us for some reason. Normally we make an example out of you, shoot them dead. But my guy, Tony, he brought you to me. Now, that's odd. I mean, Tony isn't the brightest, but he knows better than to bring me every frightened little kid-" I don't know how or specifically why I cut him off. I can barely understand what I'm saying, everything still feeling slightly hazy, but my words escape my mouth.

"I'm not scared," I mutter out. I want to yell in his face. Scream and kick and yell, and beat the ever living shit of this man. This one, everyone else in the truck, their base, and Negan.

"You should be, kid." His voice has an edge to it but the faux non-threatening smile still makes itself known on his face. "Anyway, Tony brought me to you, and I was about to get on his case when I recognized you. Took a while, last time I saw you, you were crying a hell of a lot more. But Tony doesn't forget a pretty face, and I don't either. You're Carl's girl, aren't you?" He questions, raising his eyebrows as my glare hardens.