Running From You I Negan x Maggie (ENGLISH VERSION)

Chapter 26: My best enemy is you

You're my enemy and my light

Darkest night,

The curse of you and I

Maybe if we could turn back time

We'll survive, the curse of you and I"

Negan woke up to the sensation of something warm and wet running down his face. It was a light but insistent touch, something that dragged him out of the darkness where he had been trapped. He blinked, the world around him spinning, but he managed to focus on the green eyes hovering above him. Her tears fell slowly, dampening his bruised skin. He tried to speak, but his throat felt like it was made of broken glass.

— Negan... — her voice called him, soft and filled with something he couldn't name. Fear. Guilt, perhaps. Or something crueler. He didn't answer. He couldn't.

Maggie felt the frustration and anger rising inside her like a wave. She hated this. Hated the way his name sounded in her voice, as if every syllable was a burden she carried against her will.

She ran her hands across his bloodied face, clumsily trying to wipe the blood away, only succeeding in smearing it further. He was breathing, but so faintly it was as if every breath was being forced out of him. His silence was deafening. Negan was noise, provocation. And seeing him like this — silent, broken — made her feel as though the ground had been ripped out from under her feet.

He was the weight on her chest. The anger Maggie couldn't let go of. The man who had destroyed her world and, now, someone she couldn't let die. How had this happened? When had this happened?

The sound of footsteps outside snapped Maggie out of her thoughts. She froze, her eyes fixed on the door. Someone was coming. Quickly, she dropped to the floor, sliding toward where Leah's pistol had fallen. Her hand reached for it, and in one swift motion, she aimed the weapon at the entrance. Her breathing was heavy, but her aim didn't waver.

She positioned herself in front of Negan's body, a human shield, and waited.

The door creaked open. Maggie tightened her grip on the trigger, ready to fire. Then, a familiar silhouette filled the doorway.
— Daryl? — she asked, her voice a mix of relief and distrust.

She lowered the gun, the relief cutting through her for only a moment before it was replaced by the crushing weight of reality. Her eyes returned to Negan, still unconscious, lying like a broken doll on the floor. Maggie didn't say anything, her hands trembling as she tried to figure out how to get him out of there.

Daryl walked toward her without a word. His gaze swept across the grotesque scene: Leah, or what was left of her, lying in a heap like smashed meat. Blood covered the floor and splattered the walls. When his eyes returned to Maggie, there was something in them that felt like judgment, even though he didn't say anything.

— Help him. — Her voice was firm but carried something only Daryl could recognize. Determination? Guilt? Not even she knew for sure.

He stood there, his eyes scanning Negan as if assessing whether he was worth the effort. Maggie gritted her teeth, her face hardening.
— Daryl, help him. — She repeated, her voice stronger this time, almost like an order.

Daryl snorted but slung his weapon over his back and crouched beside Negan. He examined Negan's face quickly: the split eyebrow, the bloody nose, the swollen eye, the cracked lips. He was a total wreck.

— He's a mess. — Daryl muttered, more to himself than to Maggie.

— Grab his arm. I'll take the other one. — Maggie crouched down and grabbed Negan's arm, trying to lift him.