The ride to the Saviors compound was long and painful to endure. Maisie sat still, her bloodshot green eyes stared sullenly out the window, but she saw nothing. Negan's voice flitted in and out of her awareness, like an old radio with a bad signal.

She saw nothing but red. Everything was red; the gravel had been red with her friends blood, and she knew her cheek was still splattered with red. Her palms were dotted with red crescent moons from when she clenched her hands in tight fists.

Her best friend was gone, and he was never coming back. He wouldn't be there to make jokes with, or to make funny faces with, and he'd never be there to say the right thing or give her a hug when she needed it.

Glenn Rhee was dead.

Maisie felt a single tear fall from her left eye and run down her cheek; she quickly wiped it away before any of the Saviors saw, as the truck she was in stopped outside a large factory.

"Hey, blondie, what's your name?" a fat Savior asked, leering at her after she hopped out of the truck and found a place to stand at the back of the crowd.

"Beth," she said emotionlessly, her face expressionless. She'd heard Daryl mention the name but she didn't know who it belonged to.

"Cute. Need me to show you a few things?" the Savior asked.

Maisie gulped at the suggestive tone in his voice. Her eyes darted around nervously, looking everywhere to avoid looking at him, until he grabbed her face, cupping her chin in his palm and digging his thumb and fingers painfully into her cheeks. The action reignited the dull pain from when Negan had done the exact fucking thing.

Christ, she was tired of men grabbing at her and touching her.

"You look at me when I talk to you," the Savior spat, digging his fingers in harder.

"Y-you're hurting m-me," Maisie stuttered, her eyes wide.

"Did you not hear what she just said?" Negan demanded loudly, sneaking up behind him, his bat over his shoulder.

"You're hurting her, Marty."

The Savior's eyes widened when he realized his hand was still on her face. He removed it quickly, visibly shaking under Negan's glare.

"Now, tell me, what were you trying to do with her?"

"N-Nothing, really."

"Touch her again, and I will not hesitate to kill you."

With that said, he clapped the man on the shoulder and swaggered away.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's show you around," Negan called over his shoulder. When a female Savior shoved her forward, Maisie realized he was addressing her.

When he turned to see why she wasn't following him, his face contorted.

"Why is she bleeding? Why is she bleeding?!"

Maisie looked down and saw the stomach of her black shirt was shiny with blood. With her adrenaline from the night's events wearing off, she could feel the dull pain in her abdomen.

"I popped my stitches," Maisie muttered, shrugging her shoulders.

"Why do you care?" she snapped, glaring at him.

Negan smiled. "She's a feisty one! Dwighty boy, take her to see Dr. Carson," he instructed, walking away with his followers in tow.

Maisie recognized the name as the man who threatened to shoot Daryl with his crossbow, but she hadn't seen his face; the left side of his face was mangled and pink with scar tissue, most likely from a burn.

"Don't fucking touch me," she spat when he grabbed her arm.

Dwight stepped back with his arms up. "Calm down, bitch, I'm not gonna hurt ya," he told her, talking to her like he was scolding a child.

Her blood boiled. "Well, excuse me for not trusting you people, but I have a great fucking reason."

The sadness Maisie had felt was replaced by a fury that melted her broken heart and replaced it with a cold, icy one.

"Come on, I have instructions from Negan on what to do with you," Dwight growled, turning to walk away from her.

"What are you, his lap dog?"

The slap was powerful, forcing her head to the side. Her cheek stung, but she didn't care. They were alone outside, but there would be a mark on her face later.

"Well, smart guy, do you want to be the one to tell Negan what happened to my face?" Maisie simpered, crossing her arms. A look of fear flickered briefly across Dwight's face.

"Come on, you fucking brat, Negan's waiting," Dwight snapped, walking away from her.

〄

Dwight so kindly held open the door for her. When she stepped inside the doctor's office, she was surprised to see Negan chatting with the doctor.

"What happened to your face?"

"There was a bug," Maisie said vaguely, avoiding Dwight's eye as she crossed the room and hopped up on the exam table, the sanitary paper crinkling beneath her.

"What's your name, dear?" the doc asked, giving her a kind smile.

"Maisie," she responded, forgetting about the other name.

Carson disappeared behind her head and she felt the back of table adjusting. "Lean back, please." And she did. "Lift your shirt, please." And she did, raising the bloody hem above her belly button and pulling down the high waist of her jeans enough to expose the stitches.

"Those should've been taken out yesterday at the least," Carson remarked after he finished removing them.

"Yeah, well, something came up."

When a hand brushed her elbow, she jumped off the exam table and to the other side of the room.

"I told you not to touch me," Maisie snapped, her burning glare trained on Dwight's mangled face.

"Enough. Or I will kill you both."

"Why didn't you just kill me in the woods? Why did you bring me here? Where's Daryl?"

"Ask me no questions and I tell you no lies," Negan replied cryptically, before ignoring her request and draping an arm across her shoulders.

〄

A growing feeling of anxiety surrounded Maisie's heart as Negan lead her down a dim hallway. When they stopped outside a red door, she felt like her chest was gonna burst.

It turned out to be room. Plain and simple, just a room.

It was about the size of a large motel room, complete with a functioning kitchenette, a clothing rack with clothes ranging in different shades of black and gray, a sitting area, and a large bed. It was nice for it standards.

"What is this?"

"Your room," Negan replied, closing her inside. She was relieved when she didn't hear a lock click.

Maisie took shaky steps, looking around her room when a package on the bed caught her attention.

The package was wrapped crudely in brown paper and tied with a string. She tore it open carefully, revealing a knife and a sheath, only it wasn't the knife that was stripped from her that night. It was different. Fancy, with a long silver blade set in a pearl handle. It was a gift, but for what?

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