More Than This : Negan's Daughter C.G

03

Everyone in their group cried out the second they were able to process what was happening to the red head. I instantly felt like a monster, and I knew to them, I now was one. I was the daughter of one.

The thoughts run relentlessly through my head, accusing. I couldn't stop the feeling of helplessness that washed over me as I watched my father beat a mans head in with a baseball bat. The smell of fresh, metallic blood began to fill the air. This, to me, was worse than the rotted smell of the dead. This meant so much worse things.

My eyes traveled down the line of people slowly. They were shaking and crying. They were scared for their lives and their friends lives, terrified at the sight in front of them. The leader most of all.

My eyes stoped at the boy again, and despite wanting to look away and bury my face somewhere I could not hear or see or know what was happening here tonight, I looked at him.

He had tried his best to stay strong. He wanted to appear to us like he was not weak or afraid. But we all knew that he was. He even held up a certain amount of resolve now, but barely. With each squelching. Sickening crack from the bat, he flinched. Blood was thick in the air and he breathed through his mouth, a good method for trying to remain calm and not physically be sick.

I make the mistake of looking toward my father as he laughs. The man in the black leather jacket shifted to one side, exhausted from his efforts, but laughing. My stomach twisted. I tried to not think about what he had done. I wanted to ignore it even as the sight of him was layered in red. There was red everywhere.

I walk over to Dwight now, by the van that had brought the captured members of the group to us.

Dwight, unlike many of the Saviors, was not looking at the people the same way as my father. His expression was blank, maybe with a tinge of guilt. Dwight held his emotions together so well, that if I wasn't paying enough attention, I would miss it. My father often missed it, and he was under the impression Dwight was one of this best.

Dwight stared at one of the people in the group. A man closer to the end, the one with a nasty side injury and matted brown hair. Dwight felt responsible, but I did not know what he had done and I did not want to ask.

Dwight looks at me for a second, and then looks back out into the clearing.

"How you holding up, kid?" He asks me quietly. I felt sick and unsteady. I worry that I may actually throw up from the feeling.

"I can't watch this anymore." I find myself whispering back to him.

He looks at me for a second and nods his head slightly. "You need to go. You know what he'll do." he says back.

Negan wasn't truly abusive. I only was punished in the way of going without food for a day or two, having more tasks to do at the Sanctuary. It was reasonable for the world we lived in. He ever rarely laid a hand on me.

But we all saw what he did to others.

Dwight served as a reminder to everyone each time he showed his face. Everything we had at the Sancuary was a reminder of what happened to each of their groups. Of who my father killed.

The death of all these people and the the torture and torment of the others was horrible. But what made it worse is the way he mocked it, the way he smiled and laughed at their pain. He had not always been this way, and the change had happened rather quickly. When was he going to change toward me? When would be the day I got the iron, lost a limb, or was left starving in a closet? Ended up on the fence?

Dwight knew this as well. It was only a matter of time.

I nod and straighten up. I clench my eyes shut for a moment and take a breathe through my mouth. When I reach my fathers side, he's leaving over a brunette girl, with the bloodied and flesh covered bat in her face. A steady scream of tears runs down her cheeks, and aside from a quivering lip, her face is still. She stares past the bat, trying her hardest to ignore it. This must have been his girlfriend.