Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 48 - Sing Me a Song

Nelly

For a couple of days after Alexandria, I stay locked in my room. I eat when they tell me to, sure, but I don't leave, and I don't talk to Negan. I can't shake the looks on everyone's faces back there—the disappointment, the anger, the hopelessness. The fact that Maggie is dead, just like Denise, Abraham, and Glenn.

All of it is my fault.

And it makes me so angry.

Angry at Negan. Angry at myself. Angry at this place, at everyone here who blindly follows him. They're all going to pay, every single one of them.

For a couple of days after Alexandria, I stay locked in my room. I eat when they tell me to, sure, but I don't leave, and I don't talk to Negan. I can't shake the looks on everyone's faces back there—the disappointment, the anger, the hopelessness. The fact that Maggie is dead, just like Denise, Abraham, and Glenn.

All of it is my fault.

And it makes me so angry.

Angry at Negan. Angry at myself. Angry at this place, at everyone here who blindly follows him. They're all going to pay, every single one of them.

I push myself off the bed, driven by that fury, and start tearing through the room. Drawers, cabinets, every corner and crevice—I'm practically tearing the place apart looking for something, anything I can use. A weapon, a shard of glass, a sharp edge... just something quick. I find a cord from the TV, but it's too slow, too risky. I need something fast and brutal.

My gaze settles on the nightstand. The lamp catches my eye, and an idea sparks like a fuse. I yank off the lampshade, tossing it across the room, and grab the lamp itself. In one hard swing, I slam it against the floor. The glass shatters, spraying shards all over, and I kneel down, combing through them. My fingers close around a piece with a jagged, razor-sharp edge. I hold it up, feeling a surge of satisfaction. This will do.

A knock sounds at the door, pulling me back. Quickly, I press myself against the wall, clutching the shard tightly in my hand, and wait. The door swings open, and I see one of Negan's guards step in.

I launch forward, grabbing him from behind. My arm hooks around his neck, and I drive the shard deep into his throat. Blood sprays across my hand and down his neck, splattering the floor as he gurgles and falls limp. I release him, barely sparing a glance before I'm already moving toward the hallway.

But before I can make my next move, I hear the unmistakable click of a gun cocking. I freeze, tightening my grip on the shard and looking up to see Laura standing in the doorway, her gun aimed squarely at me, her eyes wide and fierce.

Without missing a beat, I grab the other guard—the one who stepped in after I took down his partner. He stumbles as I yank him back, pressing the blood-slick shard of glass to his neck, my other arm locking him against me as a shield. He's breathing hard, trembling in my grip, but I don't give him room to escape.

Laura's jaw tightens, her stance solid as she aims her gun at us. "Put it down," she says sharply, her voice carrying a warning I have no intention of heeding.

"Take me to Negan," I growl, pressing the shard harder to the guard's neck.

"That's not how this works," she warns, her eyes narrowing, finger hovering over the trigger.

"What are you going to do? Kill me?" I challenge, my voice low but unafraid. "What would Negan say? Killing his own sister because you couldn't handle her."

She glances at the man in my grip, her jaw clenched tight. She knows I've got her, and I can see her weighing her options, torn between obedience and caution. Slowly, she lets out a breath. "Fine. Let him go, and I'll take you to him."