"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I don't think I got you're name."
"Because I didn't tell ya my name,"
When survival is no longer living its time to take back their world from the dead. Can they do it together or is being so similar to each other more toxic...
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A tour from one of the saviors wasn't a small task. two hours later the man, who's name I wasn't told, rounds the final building corner. The second level of the compound is housing. Several "apartments" and two large shower rooms for guys and girls are housed on this level.
"Negan asked me to give you a room right here. He wants to keep an eye on you, bold move making a deal with him to let you're group go. I hope you're smart enough to stay in line. The cost of breaking the rules is your face or your life. Good luck." And with that the larger man leaves Mateo and I at the door of our "apartment".
Mateo is quick to push the door open and head inside.
It's a small, single room. one large bed claims the wall. It's dusty crimson sheets compliment the shit stained concrete floors. A small dresser sits beside a window. The glass panels are dingy and impossible to see through. The thought of touching one makes me believe it will fall from its frame and shatter.
"There's no bathroom." Mateo states. He crosses the room, tossing open all four drawers of the dresser in repetition. "The drawers are empty. At least back at camp we had something."
I close the door, stripping off my sodden jacket. The cold air makes me regret removing it.
"I did this to save everyone. Would ya rather someone else have said sumthin to set him off? I ain't gonna die with my nephew watching a sum'bitch bludgeon me.
"I made a deal that cost ma own freedom because I gotta protect ya. I promised yer daddy! We have to be smart now. We need to draw a line in the sand and stay as far as fuck away from it until we gotta chance to hoof it. We're gonna do what he says, we're gonna bust our asses off in 'is system and when he got 'is guard down on us, we're gonna pull a Kansas City shuffle." I sigh. Admitting to having a plan to escape when anyone could be walking past isn't smart. That's what Mateo and I need to be, smart.
"Go have a shower. If ya get back before me lock the door. I'll knock." I leave it at that. It's to much to focus on right now.
The shower was nice, nicer. The water ain't some frozen creek water but it ain't 'the ritz-Carlton' either. The hot water lasts about ten minutes. At least it is long enough to wash the mud out of my hair and get clean. Down side is Negan took my rucksack. I have no clean clothes, neither does Mateo.
I walk back through the dark corridor in a towel carrying my wet clothes. I never encounter another person on my trek. This seems shocking. Does Negan not have someone patrolling the entire building at night?
Mateo and I share the large bed. We shared a tent with two sleeping bags back in our last camp too. I sit in the dark for a few hours, Mateo is asleep with his head on my shoulder.
In the dark my mind begins to consume thousands of dangerous thoughts. What would Negan do if Mateo and I escape? Would he kill us? Would he hunt us down or does it really matter to him? I write everything down as it comes to mind. Unloading my stresses into my pocket book that I've been keeping since the beginning. As the night carry's on the page becomes cluttered.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I launch from the bed, shoving Mateo to other side as I jump. He doesn't stir. I rip the bed sheet off the bed tucking it around myself like a dress. My clothes are sitting on the end of the bed, drying out. They're still caked in mud and blood, maybe I can convince Negan to give my stuff back. Doubtful.
"Well, if you're gonna answer the door like this. I'm going to come around more often!"
Defeat slumps my frame. I don't think I can deal with his personality right now. He's all freshly manicured, perfect hair, clean clothes. Why is his appearance so important to him?
"Whatcha doin' here Negan? It's cold, and ma clothes are still drying off after earlier." I shrug casually ignoring negans comment. It's not something I'm particularly ashamed of. I always thought I had a good form.
"Well, either go into early debt or suck it up. We got work to do." He hoots.
I tuck my hands into my armpits. "Alright. Let me actually put ma clothes on. I may be hot as hell but I don't feel like bein' followed 'round by a bunch of lost puppies all day." I retort closing the door in his face to get dressed.
Stepping out of our room quite literally a minute later in stiff muddy clothes. I cross my arms watching Negan chat with a larger Man I recognize as the man who ripped my hair out. I sneer at him when I see both my machetes tucked into his belt. The signature green threaded leather handles poke into the mans gut.
"Sweetheart," Negan snaps his fingers desperately grasping straws for something. "I'm sorry. I don't think I got you're name." He states giving up.
"Because I didn't tell ya my name," I retort. "It's DJ."
"No it's not." He retorts.
"Dakota Walsh Jeffreys. Everyone calls me 'DJ' or 'D'."
"Dakota Walsh jeffreys. That's a mouthful but I like it." A chill runs down my spine hearing my name roll off his tongue. He mouthes it a couple more times testing it out. "Well, Dakota Walsh Jeffreys, What are you good at? Cooking? Cleaning? Sex? Anything, everything. Give me anything that might actually make you useful here."
I shake my head. "Please stick with DJ." I toss my head back and forth for a moment. Drawing a long list of skills I possess, I feel like I'm at my first job interview all over again.
"Cooking, no. Cleaning, sure. Sex, only in your wildest dreams." I joke.
Negan gives me a seductive smirk that makes my ears warm.
"I can hunt, track. I can teach, fix cars, repair weapons. I grew up on a farm. Honestly I grew up doin' anythin' my mama let me do." I admit staring up at the concrete ceiling as I think.
"And That right there proves to me you are not a complete waste of my time. Let's get you out on the fence." Negan orders.
I clap my hands together. " perimeter? Watch tower? Patrol? Please tell me 'the fence' means sumthin cool." I nearly beg.
Negan grins grasping me by the shoulder. He walks me through the near silent compound. The occasional loud whine or clank is the only indication of other life in this building.
His hand slides from my shoulder and on to my mid back as we approach a door. Negan grabs the door handle and opens it wide before shoving me out the door with force.
I slip on to my knees, scrapping my hands and jeans open on the rough gravel. I bite my lip, rising to my feet to yell at Negan- but a skin walker moans, it's infected hands reaching for my face. I leap back in surprise, my hand instinctively traveling to my side for my machete but it isn't there.
I change my mind, the fence is not something I should have been excited about.
