My Little Pup

Chapter 14

This past week has been painfully awkward around Negan. He's been short with me, more than usual, since the massage incident. When he's around, most of the time, Negan would find any excuse to berate me.

"Are you fucking blind? You missed a spot on the floor!" That was when he found a spec of dirt on the freshly mopped floors. Let it be known that the dirt came from his own disgusting boots.

The berating comments kept coming and coming. Each one pushing me further towards the edge of my self-control. Boy, did he give me plenty of opportunities to practice my skill of thinking before acting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You'll scrub a damn hole in that plate, if you keep scrubbing it like that."

"Huh?" My mind refocuses as I look over my shoulder towards Dwight.

"You've been scrubbing that same plate for a few minutes. I think it's fucking clean now."

I had zoned out yet again. This has become a routine occurrence whenever Negan was due to meet with my father, such as today's case. My subconscious can't help but to develop worse-case scenarios for my viewing pleasure. So instead of seeing the soapy dish in my hands, I see the mental image of Lucille laying waste to my father.

Dwight isn't blind to my distracted state. This isn't the first time that he has had to get me back on task during one of my pained escapes from reality. He would normally just call out to get my attention, sending a concerned look my way.

Apparently, he's grown tired of it, or I just caught him in a pissed-off mood. He briskly walks over to me and yanks the dish out of my hands, slamming it onto the counter, nearly breaking it in the process.

"You keep staying inside of your head like that and you'll drive yourself fucking crazy. Guess what? Crying and sulking ain't gonna change shit. What's meant to go down today between Negan and your fucking father will happen no matter what. Get yourself together and get over it! It's pathetic."

His words are like a slap to the face. The bastard has no idea what he's talking about.

"Fuck you! You don't know shit." I hiss and storm off towards Negan's room, hands still dripping wet. Punish me if he wants, but I had to get as far away from him before I really said something that I would regret.

"You keep thinking that, kid." Dwight chuckles as I'm walking away.

Slamming the bedroom door shut, I pace the room in pure frustration.

Get myself together? Pathetic? The son of a bitch couldn't ever fathom the hell that I'm going through right now. I'm being held against my will and forced to be someone's 'pet' while my father is tasked with selling off nearly all his possessions to pay off a deranged, power hungry prick. Let's not forget that there is always the looming threat of death above our heads… And I'm supposed to just 'get over it?'

Yeah, I'll get over the fact that Negan has expressed that part of him hopes that my father can't pay up so that he could have an excuse to use Lucille on him. I'll get over that I'm constantly walking on eggshells around him, not knowing if I'll receive a verbal thrashing for a meaningless infraction of any kind. Or, that maybe one day, I'll look at him the wrong way and he'll suddenly decide that it's time for another one of his 'lessons' in respect, or whatever he wants to call it.