My Retribution (third instalment of Exception Series)

Fourteen

Three Months Later

Faster!

They needed to work fucking faster!

The rate of munition production was absolutely glacial. I'd almost broken Negan's wrist trying to pry his brass-belt buckle from its loops.

"Jesus, Rackel. If you're that horny, all you've gotta do is ask." My husband's gleeful flint faded as my focus shifted from his pants to disassembling the metal mechanism.

"We need more brass. No shell casings means no dead Alpha." My hands trembled as the brass buckle refused to seperate from the leather. "That bitch is going down!"

My husband's calloused digits separated my claws from his still-attached heirloom. "Jesus, Rackel! As much as I'd fucking love to walk around with my tripod situation, my father's belt probably won't make too much difference in the munitions halt, so maybe you need to fucking let go."

Tears blinded me yet again, as I let go of him. I knew how ridiculous I was being, a petulant child who didn't get her way; but the train was already moving.

Brine blotched my face and my husband's eyes glazed over. He was done.

"I've gotta camp to run, Rackel." He turned his back on me and shrugged on his jacket. "I can't." His boots established a syncopated beat on the concrete slab.

"I know," I whisper.

Rubber squeaks.

I looked up. Had he hesitated? Was he coming back to me?

*slam*

No. Of course not.

Jealousy burned through me, threatening to billow out of my spent throat. Dark, viscous liquid made its way up as copper invaded my senses. I knew full well that his route to the meeting room would have a pit stop at Glenda's. Bitch doesn't even try to hide it.

Stop.

Can't think about that now.

Time to check munitions.

"Wahhhhhhhhh!" Eric wailed, waking up his sister.

The twins wails threaded together, like steel nails down a chalkboard. The screeching made me sick.

It was so loud. I was so tired.

My fingers trembled, my body tensed.

I can't help them. Why can't I help them? Why can't I be a good mother? That's why your husband's fucked off. That's what you get for breaking his heart. Trollop like you deserves much worse.

You're the one that should be dead!

I can't. I can't.

Head spinning, lights dimming. My hands cupped my ears with my face down on the rug. The sandpaper texture scoured my already tender cheek. The taste of copper coated my tongue, my lungs struggled to find air between the porous fibres and the blood now trickling from my nose.

Maybe if I don't move, I'll just fade away.

It's better this way.

"Oh my God, Rackel."

I screwed my eyes shut, hoping to go. It's better this way, for everyone.

But a man shook me, rolling me over. The small amount of light burned my eyes as he repeated my name, over and over.

"Rackel! Sweetie, it's me!" Aaron's blur slowly came into focus. "What happened? DOCTOR! We need help in here!"

The poor man's head flicked back and fourth, a sudden mix of yelling and soft cooing.

The twins continued their squeals, little arms fling atop their baskets.

Stop. Please, just stop.

"Jesus, what happened?"

My head tilted towards the doorway. There stood my half-dressed husband with a scantily- clad Glenda.

Negan and my eyes locked. After a moment my eyes veered towards his bedfellow and I closed my eyes.

"Get the fuck out of here! I told you to get fucking dressed, didn't I?" Negan boomed.

I'm not, he'd said. I'm not fucking her.

I saw that coming. Oh, didn't we all.

Pictures of the chaotic room came to me in jagged fractures. Siddiq shone a light in my eyes. Jesus directed everyone around the room. Aaron scooped me up and headed out our door.

"I can walk," I slurred. Fat chance, fancy pants.

Aaron shook his head, enveloping me in his strong, safe arms. "Just rest, lady. Trust me."

"I do."

It was lucky Aaron found me. If any other man touched me my husband would go into a rage.

Always the way, isn't it?

"What happened?" Negan leaned over Aaron and I, smelling of the home wrecker with his white tee finally back on. "What the fuck happened?"

His digits touched my arm and I instinctually retracted into my friend's chest. Nonchalant Negan was easier to deal with rather than this. When he started to act like he cared, it opened up everything else. He became an angry, glass canon that broke everything in his path.

Everything from plates to bones had been shattered whilst trying to forget about his trauma. No more Daryl, no more broken wife, no more broken self. No civil unrest.

He wanted me to play house and pretend the last twelve months didn't happen. That we weren't in the middle of a war.

"It's not our fucking problem, Rackel. We're not going to risk our men every time Rick milks his jeans."

Aaron tried to walk past my husband, but he held Lucille to the corner of the doorframe. "I can take her from here."

My body started to quake, as I buried my bloodied nose into Aaron's jacket.

"I think you've got your hands full, Negan." My friend nestled me under his chin. "How about you fix that first."

Negan ground his teeth, knowing that the truth was pretty common knowledge. There was no point denying it anymore. I mean, what was he going to do? Beat up someone helping his wife?

I wish he'd picked anyone but her.

The infidelity was bad enough. But Glenda's grandstanding had made it somewhat of a joke throughout the community.

The first time he came home after we'd had a particularly bad blowout, his usually high-held frame sunk down with the gait of a house pet that had pissed in the house. As he walked passed me I smelt tacky, artificial flowers mixed with whiskey.

The fucker couldn't even look me in the eyes.

My husband moved out of the way. "Hurry up and get her to Carson!"