I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches

Personal space

Blake had slept badly, tossing and turning all night.....unable to get David's words out of her head.

The names he had called her....there was obviously a reason for these. Maybe she was as useless as he suggested. And maybe she did look as shit as he accused her of looking.

Blake was blonde and tall, and as far as the male of the species went, she had never had any trouble finding guys. She had long legs and round hips and her breasts were average size.

She had of course, back in the 'real' world, always supplemented these things with tight jeans, high heels, push up bras.

She had loved make-up and was never seen out without at least two coats of mascara and some lip-gloss...but those days were now gone...

Perhaps she had let herself go slightly...perhaps she wasn't as pretty as she once was...perhaps David was right....the way Negan's wives went around with perfectly polished red-painted fingernails, short black dresses and high heels....they were of course more attractive than her...

But she had never realised just how bad she must look....if that was the kind of things what her own fiancé labelled her as being....

Blake had woken fairly early...just as the sun was coming up...

And being unable to drift off again she had dragged herself up and headed into the shower...spending about thirty minutes bathing under the cool water...cleaning every inch of her....cleansing herself of David's horrible words.

But every time she realised how much he hurt her...Blake felt guilty...so ashamed of herself for thinking these things.

He only criticised her because he loved her. Because he was trying to keep her safe.

That was the only reason...right?

Blake had hurried back to her room and gotten dressed in a fresh pair of indigo jeans, her brown boots and a pale blue blouse, which she tucked neatly into her pants.

She missed carrying a gun or knife and found, that as she slipped a large brown belt around her waist, it felt empty without the addition of a weapon.

She again pondered on Negan's wives....on whether any of them had needed to carry a gun....if all they did was lounge around painting their toenails and reading old magazines?

But she cursed herself.

These women were probably hurting as much as she was...as scared as she was...and whether they had ever carried a gun wasn't important...it was whether they now felt safe, that was.

It hadn't been long after that, that Blake, bored of her room had wandered the corridors, heading down towards the main dining area....hoping to once again catch a glimpse of David....try to reason with him....to apologise...

She had seen a couple of faces she recognised along the way down the winding hallways....a couple of them men who usually surrounded Negan, carrying guns...before she found herself once again in the large communal dining room.

Blake stared up at the far end of the room, expecting to see the usual large pots full of food...but today it was just a single female Saviour stood behind a table, dishing out small bags of crackers and pieces of watermelon to the small line of people.

Blake not really being fussed with eating...her stomach still doing backflips at the thought of her run in with David....instead turned, making to head back out into the small courtyard she had ventured into yesterday.

But before she could do so, she heard a sharp whistle from across the far side of the room...drawing her attention immediately.

She turned her heard towards the sound....her eyes falling on the tall and imposing figure of Negan...just standing there...Dwight at his side...staring over at her...his face fixed and unreadable.