Sunny Days

Chapter 7

Sunny stretched languidly in her bed. She opened an eye and took at a look at her clock. She bolted upright. It was almost noon. Had she slept through her alarm? No. She hadn't set one. Last night, she had been too tired from her encounters with Negan to remember. She glanced over her shoulder to get a peek of him wondering if her momentary panic had woken him. The other side of the mattress, however, was empty and cold.

She left the comfort of her bed, goosebumps rising on her legs as her bare feet touched the cement floor, and quickly threw on some comfy clothes. She tip-toed through her bunker in search of some sign that he was still here. The bathroom was empty. No coffee brewing in the kitchen. She decided to check on the chickens. Maybe he was in the barn.

He wasn't. She went through the motions of her chores. Feeding and watering the chickens. Gathering any eggs. Watering the garden. Putting everything away where it went when she was done. She vaguely remembered seeing a bag and his bat as he dressed her last night in her room and ran to see if his things were still there.

They weren't. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the ground waiting for tears to flood her eyes, for her heart to shatter, but it didn't. She felt nothing but adrenaline pumping through her veins fueling anger.

How could I have been so stupid? Of course, he's high-tailed it out of here. Got what he wanted...or at least, most of what he wanted because, Lord knows I didn't make it that difficult for him. I freaking gave into my thunder-lust so easily. Too easily. I can't believe he just left. Of course, he left. He left without even saying goodbye. And he lied. He's a lying liar. He's the lying-est liar that ever lied. He didn't want me forever. He just wanted in my pants, and damnit, he mostly got there. Thank God, we didn't actually have sex. He probably wouldn't have even stayed the night. Did he even stay the night? Holy shit. I don't even know.

She stormed her way to the kitchen. Her movements created a cacophony of clatters and clangs as she set about making herself a late breakfast.

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I think any of the guys I meet would be interested in me for anything other than sex? Why would I convince myself that he was decent? I couldn't even find a nice guy before the world ended. I should have listened to myself. All the cussing, all the innuendos, of course, he's exactly what he seems to be. I knew it, and I ignored it. Those mother effin' dimples. What is wrong with me?

She cut some bread and popped it in the toaster. It was difficult to refrain from smashing the eggs in their shells but, somehow, she managed to gently crack them into the pan. She took great joy, however, in maliciously stabbing the yokes watching the yellow slowly seeping through the wounds.

I don't need him. I don't need his stupid company. I don't need his stupid fingers or tongue. I may like them, but I don't need them. I may want them, but I don't need them. I could learn to give myself crazy orgasms. Probably. It can't be that hard. You haven't managed it yet. Doesn't mean I can't. Doesn't mean you will. You aren't helping. We don't need Negan. We were just fine, and we can keep on being just fine. Fine isn't that great. Ugh....

She poured herself a large mug of coffee adding liberal amounts of powdered creamer and sugar. A fried egg topped her dry toast with a sprinkle salt and pepper on top. What she wouldn't give for an everything bagel and cream cheese. Or just some Nutella to drown her worries in. She stood at the counter and took a gulp.

"Mornin', doll face," a deep voice resonated behind her.

Hot liquid shot up her nose as she coughed and sputtered coffee. She grabbed a napkin and wiped her face then the counter trying to recover as Negan walked into the kitchen his hair slicked back and damp.