My Little Pup

Chapter 6

Every step that I make sends a piercing pain through my injured side. Negan and I neared the stairs that lead to his domain. I attempt to walk up the first stair but I imminently crumble to the floor in pain. The damage to my ribs aggravated from the effort needed to ascend the stairs. I clutch my side in agony at the bottom of the stairs.

"Jesus Christ, I don't have time for this shit. It'll take you a fucking century to drag your ass to the top."

Negan places Lucille through his belt loop and scoops me bridal-style into his arms, careful not to put any strain on my bruised shoulder and ribs. I began to flinch away from his touch until I sense his tenderness, he's actually trying not to harm me for a change.

"Easy there, doll," he gently coos.

My head rests against his chest as he climbs the stairs toward his apartment. Internally, I am protesting the entire exchange. Externally, I am too tired and broken to put up a fight.

My mind wanders as he climbs the stairs. I'm grateful that Negan had previously sent Simon and Dwight home. They would have, without a doubt, heard my pleads and screams outside, and I highly doubt that they would have intervened. Hell, they probably would've helped….

Negan carries me past the living room where our heated exchange began, down a short hallway, and enters a large bedroom.

A quick glance around the room revealed a four-poster king sized bed, a massive dresser, and a small siting area with two armchairs. He bumps his hip against a door, opening it to reveal a bathroom.

"Clean yourself up, you smell like piss and you look fucking shitty," Negan orders as he sets me on my feet, the previous tenderness now gone.

I'm momentarily left alone as he slips out of the bathroom and quickly returns carrying a towel and washcloth, tossing them in my direction. It's when I try to awkwardly block the linens coming at me, that he remembers that my arms are still bound by the zip ties.

He whips out a massive, serrated hunting knife from his back pocket, pressing the tip of the blade to my throat.

"I shouldn't have to warn you not to try any shit after my performance just now, but I wouldn't mind dragging your ass outside for an encore," he says, applying pressure to the blade.

I remain statue still, tears beginning to fall down my face at the thought of having to endure another second of torture outside with Negan and Lucille.

"Good fucking choice."

He reaches around and slides the blade between my wrist and the plastic, severing the zip ties in half. I immediately bring my wrists forward and rub them in an attempt to regain feeling in them. Rising to his feet, Negan re-sheaths the knife and begins to leave the room.

"Can I have my backpack, please? I have a change of clothes in my bag." I try my best to keep my voice level as I make my request, trying not to hint at what is actually hidden inside.

"Since you asked so fucking nicely –," he says as he steps out of the room, quickly returning with my bag. "You have ten minutes, not a fucking second more." He drops my bag on the tile floor and slams the door shut.

Scooping my bag off the floor, I limp towards the full-length mirror near the shower. I finally have the chance to get a good look at myself after the events that have transpired in the past twenty-four hours. Blue and purple bruises in the shape of Negan's hands have developed on my neck and there are many small scrapes on my cheeks from being thrown onto the gravel, dried blood litters my face from the deeper scratches.