Closer (Negan X OC)

Chapter 22

Ultimately, Negan lived up to the task of changing my mind on spaghetti. I found myself honestly enjoying the food, but maybe the company had something to do with that. I was comfortable eating with him and I could never forget the smile he gave me when I said that I actually liked the food. We had finished our meals, the duration of our eating time was mostly silent, probably because Negan wanted to me savor the spaghetti. Surprisingly, he picked up both our plates and silverware and took them to the sink and started washing the dishes, along with the pans we had used. I moved next to him, silently drying the pans and dishes and putting them away. Negan was the one who broke the silence, turning off the sink and leaning back against the counter, his attention focused on me.

"So...are you going to fill me in about the whole being adopted thing or am I gonna have to pry it out of that brother of yours?"

I sighed, knowing this was going to come up again. But I decided that I was going to be honest with him about everything. About me.

I nodded, my eyes meeting his. "Cameron's parents adopted me when I was five."

"Do you know anything about your real folks?"

I cringed, but continued. "Yes, but I'd rather not get into that right now, if you don't mind."

Negan clearly saw my discomfort at the mention of my parents and let it go, although I knew he wouldn't forget. He nodded. "They still around?" He asked, referencing the Gardners.

I shook my head. "They died about a year after they adopted me."

"Shit, I'm sorry," he started, but I silenced him with a look, telling him that it was okay.

"So it's just always been you and your brother then?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Cam, he's all I have."

"Not anymore," Negan muttered under his breath, but I still heard it. Hearing him say those words made my stomach flip. But I didn't acknowledge them, not yet.

"So what about you?" I asked him, wanting to know more about his background. I saw that same look from before as his eyes glazed over, his mind seemingly recalling something from the past. A part of me wanted to ask again, but the rational part of me didn't want to pressure him. He didn't answer my question and moved past me out of the kitchen and into the living room. He didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, but then his eyes found some pictures and he studied those. He grinned widely at a photo and when I walked over to join him, I blushed when I saw which one it was.
It was a photo of me and my brother, smiling widely at the camera, guitars in our hands. Our band had just had some major success and earned us a spot headlining a local rock tour. We were happy, for once in our lives, it seemed like things were going our way. I turned my thoughts away from the past and focused more closely on the photo itself, specifically my appearance, and was instantly mortified. I was dressed in a white tank, a red plaid skirt, and Doc Martens, my eyes lined heavily with liner, clearly the stereotypical look for female musicians in the mid 2000s. My outfit choice wasn't the only thing that bothered me...it was my hair. Cut short and choppy with blood red streaks mixing in with my natural black hair. I was blushing furiously when Negan turned to look at me, grinning widely.

"Now I got to know what that's all about," he said playfully while pointing to the picture. "Clearly, you've been hiding things from me, Carson."

"I'm not hiding anything. I just haven't told you about it yet."

He chuckled. "So tell me. Were you in a band or somethin'? You play guitar? And what on earth was going on with your hair?"

A small part of me, the part that was still hesitant to let him in, wanted to give brief answers to his questions. But I had already decided that I was ignoring that part of me and that I was going to tell Negan all the gory details. Badly dyed hair and all.