Break Me |✧Negan 🍯

Follow The Flesh

You know those nights you toss and turn, too tired to sleep but too tired to get up?
Those muggy hours where your brain does aerobics while you desperately count sheep, and then the pink mass between your ears suddenly lets you doze off five minutes before your alarm but it's the deepest sleep you've ever been in?

yeah?
Sucks, don't it?

The morning light burnt my retinas as I snapped back to reality. Ope there goes gravity.

Carson quickly silenced the blue, battery powered clock that screamed on a thick stack of patient notes, mouthing me a sorry before he slouched away again to do something that seemed very important. Like chug morphine.

The pain was almost gone, lingering with just a dull throb from under the splints.

Christ, the Sanctuary was bustling.
A rush of men marched past the windows with pikes and crowbars,
gaggles of washer women and cleaners and characters stranger than fiction getting on with their routines, diesel and oatmeal on the air as spades clinked, doors barged, and a mousy little woman with glasses and school books rushed through the courtyard as if she was late.
Were there kids here? And who on earth was wearing high heels?

The clop caught my attention, a sound I hadn't heard in so long.
It was coming closer,
and closer,

and not from outside.

The double fire doors to this 'hospital' flapped like they did in westerns while I wondered if I was still high as fuck.

Big doe eyes, a tight little cocktail dress, dark hair in soft waves with a very polite face of make up, a fresh set of clothes hanging over her arm.

She nodded at Carson, who, with his arm discreetly out of my view, slipped her a packet of very tiny pills.

Who the fuck was this? The First Lady of King Kong castle?

After making sure she didn't rattle, stuffing her tablets down the front of her bra, the woman smiled at me sweetly, hands clasped together in front as she tipped her head to the side. "You must be Honey, right? I've been sent to collect you."

What the heck to think? Because I thought it all. None of it probably right as my jaw hit the damp and sweaty bedding.

"I told you my names not Harley, get it right, Arat! How'd you like it if I called you A rat? Huh, Scabbers?" I pouted at the Saviour who told me to fuck off quietly, her arms crossing tightly as she shot us both death daggers.

The First Lady laughed, tucking back her hair that looked like it had just been styled, a very breathy, sweet sound as she raised her brow,
she looked good, for a survivor in a factory lead by a mass murdering kitten kicker.

Her entire image was, considered.

"Who are you?" I swung my legs off the side, remembering not to be so rude as I stared at her tanned arms, and wondered how she got a dress like that to fit,
and at the heels which must have been very uncomfortable,
and the lack of tights on her legs,
and her red lipstick,
and on top of that, wondered how the fuck she found foundation that matched her skin tone.

She caught my gaze, waving to catch my attention, she was young, too. "I'm Sherry."

Well, Sherry seemed nice enough, and I couldn't help think why Baseball would send her my way. Maybe I could use her to get the hell out of Dodge. Hostage style. She was obviously someone important.