Break Me |✧Negan 🍯

Prized pony

Honey strutted to the communal bathrooms to take a long shower, daintily dabbing over her wounds again, limping pitiably on her gratuitously swollen ankle and scrubbing the accumulated sweat and grime from her body, when the temperate water ran clear she stepped out feeling refreshed, a light steam rising from her body, goosebumps flushing her skin with furious zeal as the draft from the open window and the freezing tiles made her dance like a Cossack.

She had generally avoided her reflection, but curiosity got the better of her and she walked over to the mirrors above the sinks, soaking in her naked frame.

And what a state she was, protruding ribs, a collarbone that could cut granite, her breasts had lost their fullness and her cheekbones were well past the stage of their natural nordic arch, the relentless stress had been almost too much to absorb, her hair was as frazzled as her nerves, shoulder blades as pronounced as a jungle cat's, heavy slightly purple bags under her eyes and skin as pale as winter's first snow, Brutal had done a number on her, and she couldnt help but imagine herself in a line up at a police station, holding up a number card after a night of barbaric crime.

But the world was a wicked, cruel, bestial place, brimming with man's inhumanity to man, savagely unabashed in its monstrosity, at least she looked the part of his New Order, and she felt like slapping herself for pitying her appearance when her people were struggling to collect goods he could pilfer.

She knew Negan wanted to talk, and for some reason, she didn't want him to see her like this, images of prized ponies and trophy wives flashing into her mind and she scolded herself for such a thought. But still, a niggling feeling urged her to try and make an effort, for some reason she still wanted his approval...she wanted him to know she still wasn't broken, the last thing she would do is amble into his office, the perfect picture of the result of his unremitting dominance, tattered and worn, no, it would make more of a statement if she waltzed in looking bright eyed and bushy tailed, it would take more than a schoolyard fight to revert her into a hollow husk.

Her mud-spattered face and birds nest of hair had never made her feel uncomfortable around Daryl, Rick or any of the men in Alexandria. She was surviving, not trying to win a Miss Universe pageant.

Glenn had once made a joke that Rick should borrow her hair to match his long, wild man beard, and it had niggled away at her, even though she laughed along and teased him back. But it had never prompted her to spend a little less time scavenging in the old gun stores and a little more in the beauty departments. Maggie had always looked so effortlessly pretty, that rich Americana girl next door look that had made Honey a little envious of her at the beginning...Michonne looked like a warrior from Themyscira, striking and statuesque. Rosita...well Rosita, a latina bombshell...Sasha was toned with plump lips and Tara had her hair and those eyebrows...But Honey was just

Honey...

Or so she thought.

She had often caught Spencer and Eugene looking at her from the corner of their sly eyes when they thought she was none the wiser...But nevertheless, she had never had any confidence in herself in that department, keeping her face clean solely for the next slick of walker blood to stick better.

But she wanted Negan to see the best of her, from her little show of force in the dog pit, to later this afternoon.

And how are you going to do that?! You don't even own a hairbrush!....No...But I know someone who does.

Telling herself this was all for her low self-esteem and shoving up her fingers to the mirror, she decided to pay Sherry a Visit.

Stockholm syndrome is a bitch.

~

Ten minutes later Honey tentatively knocked on the wives door, feeling like a nerdy schoolgirl approaching the preppy clique. She shifted her weight nervously while trying her best at confident composure.