I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches

Adrift

Negan was perched on his couch as the evening began to set in, already on his third glass of whiskey, forearms resting against his knees, eyes on the floor.

He was hurting now, in more ways that one, flexing out his hand stiffly, letting out a sharp hiss of pain as he did so. Fuck, not even the whiskey could mask that now.

He had been an asshole. He knew that.

But that was no fucking reason for her to up and leave like that.

For her to just walk out on him, on the kid, as though she had never given a rats-ass about either of them. That wasn't the Blake he knew.

Peaches would have fought for them...for their relationship, kicked his damn ass.

But maybe the leader of the Saviours had taken things too far. Maybe he had crossed the line. Bringing up her damn ex like that.

It was a dick move on his part, but couldn't they have just fucking talked this through?

No, she had to just leave, with no other explanation.

Shit.

All of this was so out of the blue.

He had thought that things since the miscarriage were getting better. They had talked and, hell, Negan was slowly getting over it now, feeling that sense of loss start to dissipate as the days went on.

So why the hell had Blake reacted like she did?

Negan had been so angry at her, seeing her standing there with a bag in her hand about to leave. Shit. Perhaps he should have begged her to stay?

But either way, now it was too late. She was gone, and he didn't have a fucking clue where.

Negan swirled the brown liquor inside his glass, staring down into it before tossing it back into his mouth, where it burned as it slid down his throat.

Whiskey would help. For it HAD to help, right?

He slammed the glass back down onto the coffee table in front of him, just as there came a sudden knock on the door.

The dark-haired man was silent for a long moment, before wrinkling his nose in irritation, a deep frown-line settling itself between her brows.

"Come in," he finally barked, reaching for his bottle, unscrewing the cap and sloshing a little into the glass once more with an unsteady hand.

He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone now. But what he was in the mood for was to fight, to argue, to cut down anyone who was stood behind that door ready to annoy him.

But he looked up, as the door was pushed slowly open to see Frankie peer around the door with Mia balanced on her hip.

But Negan didn't even get a chance to say a word, his eyes flickering to the little girl, who looked glum and a little confused.

Fuck, she was too fucking young for any of this shit. What the hell was he gonna tell her? That the woman she now called her damn Mom had upped and left? How the fuck was any of this fucking fair?

"I-I tried to stop her, Negan," said Frankie sounding upset, shaking her head. " B-But she just-"

But Negan dropped his eyes, cutting across her with a click of his tongue.

"I know, Frank," he said gruffly, trying as best he could to hide his sorrow behind a hard voice. "She's fuckin' gone."

Frankie was silent for a very long moment, the only thing breaking the awful quietness that filled the room was Mia, babbling as she often did.