CONQUEST • Negan

Daisy

I'm on my knees again, squinting against the harsh, intrusive beams of car head lights. That same familiar, frustrating rage greets me like an old friend I wished to never meet again. Not panic, not fear. It was never the appropriate feelings that approached me during these types of situations. No, it was only pure and consuming fury. The only thing that could either keep me, or force me to completely unravel at the seams.

Because yet again, I can do nothing but watch, standing, or rather kneeling on the sidelines like a mere spectator to this tragedy.

I've already seen how this plays out, how the events unfold. I already know the brutal ending. And each time, I've tried to do something— tried to help them, but I'm useless. I always was, and once again, they'll be dead soon. Just like every time before.

A part of me wants to close my eyes to the horror of it all, but its that. That stupid fucking grin, bracketed by dimples and framed with annoyingly straight, white teeth, that forces me to watch, because for some reason, I'm finding it so god damn difficult to look away. I couldn't hear what he was saying, his voice muffled as if I listening from under water but with my eyes trained on his mouth, I only had the urge to knock some of those pretty teeth out.

I knew the moment was coming, the big climax approaching, because now he was moving down the line, bat pointed at each of us, one-by-one. And when he stopped—

The dream shattered and I jolted awake, eyes bursting open only to be assaulted by a similarly offensive light to the one that was in my dreams. Only this light was more natural and sourced from the sun. I was blinded for a moment, sitting up to gain my bearings, and then, once I could see past how bright it was, I noticed that I was in a bed. This bed— which was unfortunately, unbelievably comfortable— was stationed inside a room which seemed to serve as a kitchen/living room/bedroom, and despite having lived in Alexandria for the last couple of months, it seemed pretty luxurious, by end-of-the-world standards.

There was obviously a tiny, niave part of me, whispering at the back my head, coaxing and urging me to lie back down, try to fall asleep again and enjoy the privilege of silence while it lasted. But this only was a glamorized prison cell, and I had to get out. I had a feeling that this would be my only chance.

Sliding out of the bed, careful not to make a sound incase a guard was beyond the door, keeping watch and waiting for me to give any signs of life, I tried to open the window first. I knew before I even tried it that it wasn't unlocked. That would've been way to sloppy for the saviours, even if they were all idiots.

So, I moved to the cupboards on the wall above the kitchen counter, and then the drawers, looking for something— a knife, maybe— to try to wedge into the latch on the window and pry it open. The drop beyond the window was long, but I would confront that problem when it came to it.

Finding a butter knife, I silently dashed to try and use it as a pry bar, but after a long minute of struggling, the metal warped and snapped in my hand.

"Shit." I cursed from the sound it let out as it shattered and then waited with baited breath to hear if there was any movement or conversation beyond the door.

Nothing.

I glanced around the room again and noticed, from behind a dresser, poked out the frame of a vent, barely hidden behind the piece furniture. I swiped a spoon from the same drawer I took the knife and then tried to push the dresser away fron the wall. The old wood creaked and I froze, listening for anything outside, then tried again. But as I did, as might've been expected, the legs scraped hard against the floorboards.

Someone definitely heard that.

Fuck- fuck.

I had a mere split second to decide if I should just shove the dresser and hurriedly unscrew the vent or try to smash the window. Both options were going to make noise. Both options were practically doomed. But I had to try.