Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 41 - Not Tomorrow Yet

Nelly

I pace the room, biting the nail on my thumb, the rhythmic back-and-forth motion doing little to calm my nerves. I know they're watching me—Rick, Michonne, and Daryl, all seated at the kitchen table, their eyes following my every step. They've never seen me like this. The pacing, the anxiety—it's foreign to them. Usually, I'm in control, unshakeable, but right now, I'm far from that. I asked them to meet because I need to talk. Need to. But where do I even begin? How do I explain this?

"Nelly," Michonne calls softly, her voice pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. She's giving me a look—concerned but gentle. "You're scaring us."

I stop pacing, my feet glued to the floor, though the nerves inside me still churn violently. My hands fidget, pulling at my fingers, my eyes locked on the ground.

"I'm from Washington," I manage, my voice shaky, barely above a whisper. I see Michonne's brows rise in surprise out of the corner of my eye, and Rick tilts his head, squinting at me as if trying to piece something together. My lip quivers. I take a deep breath, my eyes flicking to Daryl. He's looking at me, his expression steady, giving me a small nod of encouragement.

"I know Negan," I say finally, the words thick on my tongue, like poison I've been holding onto for too long. I keep my gaze down, too afraid to see their reactions. The weight of his name hangs heavy in the air.

Rick's voice is low, almost a growl. "Was he—was he the one who did this to you?" He nods toward the scars on my arms, and I feel my stomach turn.

I shake my head. "No," I mutter, my voice barely audible.

"Let her talk, man," Daryl interjects, his voice rough but protective. Rick leans back, nodding slightly, but the tension in the room doesn't ease.

"When the outbreak began, I was with... a few people." I pause, my chest tightening. I'm not sure how much I can say, how much I want to. My past is a tangled mess I've spent years trying to bury, but it claws its way to the surface now. "Negan was one of them... and a few others. We went through a couple of groups. Each one got overrun, but this group... they took us in. They were holed up in a school. They were nice at first, but then we found out they were something else entirely..."

"Negan! Help! Please!" I screamed, my voice raw with panic as two men dragged me down the dimly lit hallway. My feet kicked wildly against the concrete floor, my hands clawing at their arms, trying to find any grip to stop them. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a drum of terror.

"Nelly!!" Negan's voice came from somewhere behind the closing door.

The door shut with a heavy thud, and I felt my strength give way as I sagged in the men's grip, my body going limp. Tears blurred my vision, and a sob choked out of me as they dragged me further. This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

They threw me into an office, the door slamming shut behind us. The room was dark, the only light coming from the broken blinds casting thin slivers of sunlight on the cracked walls. The stench of mildew and sweat clung to the air, suffocating me. I stumbled, catching myself on a battered desk, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Then I saw him.

Victor. His bald head gleamed under the dim light, his eyes—cold and hungry—locked onto me with a sick smile that made my skin crawl. He stood up from the chair slowly, his movements deliberate, enjoying the fear that rippled through me.

"Please," I whimpered, stepping back, my hands shaking as I tried to find something—anything to protect myself. My back hit the wall, and I froze, panic tightening my chest. There was nowhere to go.