Carl would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. He was. He felt it in his bones, beating in his heart, and rushing through his bloodstream. It burned underneath his skin in the most uncomfortable way. But it didn't matter. The truth didn't, in fact, the truth had not mattered since the world fell underneath this veil of disease and chaos. Lies and truths. Good and bad. Happy and sad. They all meant nothing. Just like his feelings. Just like this one pesky feeling that would not go away no matter how hard Carl tried.
Feelings is why Carl tried not to care. He loved Judith, his father, Michonne, along with everyone else in their little family. Carol and Daryl. Enid and Rosita. Everyone that has come and gone throughout the years, he has loved. And he has lost, god, Carl has lost. Lori. Shane. Hershel. Glenn. It hurt. Feelings hurt. But being numb was scary. Carl didn't like either, but if he had to choose he would rather care than be comparable to the monsters they hunt.
Maybe thats why Carl came back to the Sanctuary. Maybe its why he entertained the idea of Negan and him being something. To feel something. Something he never had before but always saw. Love. Worth. Need. People needed Carl, but not in the way he wanted. Negan admired him. He said he was scary and brave and badass. The words swam around Carls mind non-stop at this point. It had been ages since someone who didn't have to compliment him did it.
Either way, Carl didn't like this part. The negative. The pain. The anger. The rage. He has had enough of that in his life with his friends and family dying. With the fear he lived in each and every day. With all the horrid things he had been through. He didn't need more of it. But here he stood, leaning against the doorway as Negan spoke with each of his wives.
They rotated. One. Then the next. Then the next. Hug. Kiss. Smile. Bad joke. Laugh. Questions. Kiss. Over and over, one by one each girl walked up. Fear hid in their eyes as they stared up at the only thing separating them from life and death. Negan hugged them with one arm, Lucille in his free hand, knuckles white from gripping it so tight. Negan was animated, he switched back and forth in a terrifying way. He could tell you how he would rip you apart limb by limb with the biggest smile on his face.
Negan was powerful. You didn't need to hear him speak to know it. He walked as if he knew everyone's next move. Spoke as if he knew everyone would listen, and they did. His wives were timid when they hugged, except for one who hung in the back. Her black dress was strapless ans hugged her body tight. Her heels were easily five inches and long dark curls fell across her shoulders. Those details meant nothing, they meant nothing compared to her eyes. They were a dark brown, but the thoughts that hid behind them were darker. Long lashes and black eyeliner made them look more innocent, but looks weren't anything. Not anymore.
She was why Carl was angry. Jealous. He hated that word. It meant there were feelings in there. It meant fear and weakness. But most importantly, it meant control, one thing Carl never wanted Negan to have. She was dark, like Negan. She loved his power, thrived from it. She held him too tight for too long and it took all of Carls strength not to grab Lucille and beat her with it.
Darkness. Negan loved it. He was evil, in every sense of the word. He loved being evil and he loved bringing it out. Like his wife, he was attracted to it. Attracted to the darkness that lived inside of people and who let it out. Thats why this girl was different, dangerous. Negan liked her the most. It was obvious. He didn't pull away first when they kissed and he didn't cut her off as she spoke. He admired her with the same eyes, lips, and hands that he admired Carl with. It made him sick. She was competition and Carl has always hated games.
Carl pushed himself off of the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. His heart was racing, thankfully, Negan couldn't hear it. He looked the girl up and down, even debated on pulling off his bandages. He was scary, without any guns or knives, without any words. He could get her away from him in seconds with just one look. But he didn't.
