Up The Wolves | Negan

Chapter Twenty-One: Normal

"Come on kid. I'll show you around."

Negan pointed at Carl, who was glaring up at him. A grin spread across his face as he continued.

"You know you do the same damn stink-eye as your dad, except it's only half as good 'cause... Well, you know, you're... Missing an eye," he chuckled, leaning back, "Really? You're really not gonna take my hand? 'Cause, you're lucky you even still have a hand."

"Don't say anything," I looked beside me to see none other than the fake Negan, "You say something, and I'm just gonna shut you down. You know that," he added, watching the scene in front of us. I shook my head, attempting to shake the vision away as I watched the real Negan, who was turning around from looking in my direction.

"Same as your boy Daryl over here, now that I think about it," I turned to see Daryl standing at the fence, hands gripping the metal, "How's the job going, Daryl? Hot enough for you?" Negan asked, that malicious grin slapped on his face, "Yeah, it'd be tough with one arm," he continued to laugh, turning back to the boy below him. He held out his hand once again, and after a moment of consideration, Carl took it.

"Ah, smart kid," Negan spoke while helping him to his feet, "Now, come with me. Dwight-y-boy, why don't you grab Daryl and Lou, take them to the kitchen, do a little grub prep," he said to Dwight, catching a short glance at me before he turned to the rest of his men, "New plan, boys. Let's burn the dead, unload the truck later. Damn, I am not gonna have time to screw any of my wives today," he commented, and though I hated it, a pang seemed to hit my chest, "I mean, maybe one," he looked at me with a wink, and I forced a smile to my lips, trying to make it meet my eyes before I turned to Dwight.

"Food, now," I ordered, hoping that my actions were rubbing off on Negan in the way I wanted them too. As long as he believed that I was truly interested in him, I didn't care if anyone else felt any other way. Dwight took Daryl and I both to the kitchen, where I searched desperately for Oliver. I hadn't seen him my entire stay here and was beginning to worry.

I caught him steaming some vegetables, looking more than stressed out. I glanced at Dwight and Daryl, who were distracted making a plate, and snuck over to my cousin.

"Oliver," I whispered to him, causing him to jump and turn back to me.

"Lou?" he questioned, "Oh, no," he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as he turned back to the food at hand, "I heard people saying you may have been back. I just had hoped-"

"Oliver, I'm okay," I assured him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he continued to shake his head.

"You don't understand, Lou. When you left... When you left things got worse," he said, holding up his hand on the furthest side from me, revealing the loss of his pinkie finger. My eyes widened as I tried not to let out an audible gasp.

"He did that to you?" I asked and he nodded.

"I'm just grateful it wasn't the iron," he returned his hand to his work, "I'd love to chat, but Negan just announced vegetables for everyone's dinner tonight, so I really need to focus on this," he continued, not meeting my gaze.

"I'm sorry, Oliver. I really am," I said, just as a rough hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" I turned to find Dwight glaring down at me.

"I was seeing if I could get some fresh vegetables," I nodded towards the food Oliver was cooking, noticing he was attempting to hide his face, and no doubt identity, from the man beside us. Dwight peered down his nose at me and the food, before grumbling.

"Well, food's over this way," he said just before pulling me back over to where Daryl was standing with his plate full. We loaded up a plate for me filled to the brim with meat and vegetables before we were on our way. I recognized the path we were walking after a couple times of Dwight asking around it anyone saw where Negan went—his women den. I cringed at the thought of what Negan might be doing there with Carl. Still, I tried to ignore the thought.

That was until we approached the open doors of the familiar room and my eyes landed on the sight in front of me. There Negan was, tongue halfway down the throat of an unfamiliar wife, but by the sight of Dwight tensing up, I could guess that he, at the very least, knew her. There were a few more women here than there had been when I left, which disgusted me entirely, but the main few that I knew were still here. Amber, Frankie, Tanya. They all seemed uncomfortable, and Amber was crying in the corner of the room.

Negan caught eyes with us and turned to us, shining a bright smile. I couldn't contain my annoyance—my anger at the idea that he continued this imprisonment. Before he had a chance to greet us, I stepped up, grabbing his hand and putting my plate of food in it. I had figured we only got the plates for him and Carl anyhow, assuming Daryl was still getting animal food sandwiches.

"Enjoy your lunch," I growled, and fled the room before he could object, or Dwight could grab me. I did hear him say something on my way out, but not to me, it seemed directed at Dwight. I didn't care how the action came across to the rest of them, whether a resentful victim or a jealous wife, it was all the same anymore.

Maybe I hadn't really thought he could change, but the Negan before was not this. He was cold, and constantly angry, but he had a heart. I had seen it, even if only once or twice. I had yet to see a heart from the man here now. Even him saving me from drowning seemed like a ploy simply to keep me here to continue to torture me. Every day under this roof was just a reminder of my screw ups all those times I allowed him to live.

If I had just ended it, I thought, then Glenn and Abraham would still be here. My mind wandered to the two as I reached my new room, which was uncomfortably close to the den. They didn't deserve it. Neither one of them deserved to die.

"Rough day?" I heard as I slammed the door shut and turned to the illusion.

"What the hell do you want now?" I spat. I knew I should give up responding to the nuisance across my room, that it might even make it worse that I talk to it, but it was too obnoxious not to try to shut it up.

"Relax, baby," he said as I flopped onto the bed.

"Just go away. Please. I'm so sick of your face and your voice," I groaned, staring at the ceiling of the small room. Surprisingly, the visage did vanish, but it didn't stop me from addressing it, "Why can't you just be a normal guy?

"Why couldn't we just have been... Normal?"