burning bridges /negan.

III.

III.
- foreigners god : hozier -
"her eyes looked sharp and steady
into the empty parts of me"

reluctantly, i grab onto one of the hand bars and lift my weight off of the gravel and into the passenger seat of a truck. the warm leather seat coughs out a cloud of dust as i collapse into it. my legs ache like i've never felt before and my jeans are ripped and bloody from my venture through the overgrown woods.

the blast of a bullet splits the muggy air and unsettles me. i watch, in the smudged wing mirror, the last walking dead man fall backwards into the pool of mangled bodies, his brains splattering behind him, and a neat hole left smoking in his forehead.

i allow myself to catch my breath. my short moment of peace is interrupted by the man. his gun is nowhere to be seen, instead, replaced by a baseball bat. he places the slugger down gently on the cushion next to mine before throwing himself into the drivers seat. i take a second glance, too scared to let my eyes rest properly on the wooden instrument previously. this time i see a weapon. a homemade torture device. the bat was dressed tightly in an alarming amount of barbed wire; remnants of dried blood painting the wood a rusty red.

"shit. how fucking rude i've been! doll, meet lucille. lucille meet -"

he stares at me. i stare back.

my mouth opens and closes as i try to form words. it's the end of the world and this man is strutting around swinging a bat? a bat with a name? he named a fucking bat lucille. i attempt to sync my mouth and mind as i spit out,

"billie." still staring blankly into his afire eyes with my lifeless ones. "my name's billie."

i don't want to be introduced to his bat. i don't recall even asking to meet her.

"billie! this is lucille. she is awesome."

turning my body to face the window, my fringe falls into my face and obscures my vision. he lets out a deep sigh behind me which implies his irritation with my lack of communication. it doesn't phase me though. i've come face to face with worse than he can do.

the truck jerks forwards as the engine splutters alive. i guess we're setting off. i don't know where we're going , and i don't really want to know.

the bat. lucille. rolls across the seat and comes to rest against my leg. i flinch as the rusty spikes prick my skin through the worn material of my pants.

i spin quickly to grab the bat and move it away. my hand shoots out towards lucille's handle but is met suddenly by rough leather. we sit; frozen for a moment while our hands touch. his gloved and mine grazed and cold. i trail my gaze upwards slowly before it comes to rest upon his. his eyes are tired. the bags underneath them prove it, but somehow they look so full of life. like a flare had been set off behind the pools of grey in his irises.

a sudden jerk indicates the truck has stalled. he snatches his palm from my wrist and wraps it around the ignition, starting the vehicle once more, and then placing them onto the steering wheel instead. i pull my focus onto the road ahead. the motorcycles are leading the way, almost guarding our vehicle as if we needed a police escort. i wonder how powerful this man really is.

i retreat back into facing the door; i pull my legs to my chest, rest my exhausted feet on the creme headboard and nestle my face into the corner of the window. endless miles of forest and fields pass by the glass windscreen, i watch out of the corner of my eyes until i feel them slowly trying to close.

i battle with my eyelids in a useless attempt to stop them from collapsing. the headlights illuminating the way begin to fade into darkness as i continue to watch the road disappear swiftly underneath us. an uncomfortable feeling passes over the deafening silence and i can feel him watching me. to confirm my assumption i slowly manoeuvre my neck, allowing me to view the man, rather than the road. his eyes are indeed on me and not even the burn of my eyes back on him breaks his stare.

my mind is too fatigued to calculate the situation, which is probably a hallucination anyway, considering the last time i slept must have been three or four days ago. i let my body relax until my eyelids do too, and soon enough the image of him with one hand on the wheel, one on lucille and eyes focused on me, disappears.