The Slow Grind of Time

Each breath I took seemed to grow harder, heavier. I sat on the cold, concrete floor, my knees drawn to my chest, trying to keep the tremble from my hands. It felt like I was in a tomb - a place of waiting. Except I couldn't be sure what for.

I could hear the sounds of the compound outside my cell - the murmurs of voices, the heavy thuds of boots on hard floors, the dull clatter of metal. The constant noise served as a cruel reminder that I wasn't alone in this nightmare. And yet, in a way, I was.

But I was almost glad to be the one here - glad it wasn't Daryl especially, but Rick, Glenn, any of them.

I knew the Saviors were going easy on me. I'd overheard Negan reminding his men 'how we treat women' before I was pulled from the truck.

I knew that if Daryl or any of the men had been brought here instead - It would be so much worse for them.

The door to the cell creaked open, and I barely looked up, knowing who it was. D, or Dwight as they called him here.

"Cold?" he asked, his voice sharp, mocking. "Hungry?"

I didn't respond. There was no point. He wanted me to talk. He wanted me to beg, to plead, to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. But I wouldn't give him that. Ever... The bastard had shot my husband for God's sake.

Him, Negan, all of them - they could go fuck themselves.

Dwight took a step closer, eyes scanning me like I was some sort of puzzle, like he was trying to decide how to push me, how to tear me apart. I met his gaze without flinching, my chest tight but my resolve firm. I would not give in. I would not show weakness.

"You think you're strong, don't you?" he asked, his voice low. "Like your little boyfriend, right? Tough as nails, always ready to fight. But here's the thing, sweetheart." He crouched down in front of me, his breath sour and close. "You're here for one reason, and one reason, only."

"He's my husband," I corrected him, my voice steady, though I could feel the weight of his words pressing against me. "And don't you dare talk about him. Ever."

Dwight's eyes flicked to my ring finger, finding it bare. I'd pulled my ring off in the truck, hidden it in my bra so they wouldn't take it.

I felt my pulse quicken, but I refused to let him see it. I refused to let him feel like he had any power over me.

Dwight laughed, a cruel snigger. "You'll see."

He stood and walked away, the door slamming shut behind him.

The silence returned, and with it came the weight of my thoughts. I thought of Daryl. I thought of him blaming himself for Hershel's death, thought of the pain in his eyes when we were torn apart, the silent yet frantic desperation I saw as they dragged me away.

I thought of him out there - worried sick - trying to find me. I knew he would. The last thing he'd ever do is give up on me. But as much as I longed for him, I didn't want him to come after me, not here.

I couldn't bear the thought of him walking into this hell for me, not knowing what was waiting for him. I would rather him be safe. He had already done more than enough for me.

I found a strange comfort in our group having no idea where the Saviors compound was. We hadn't even had chance to think about it - and that meant Daryl wouldn't find me, couldn't find me. I was glad of that.

If he ended up here too... I couldn't cope.

It was better this way, even if it hurt.

I shut my eyes, pushing the tears away, but they came anyway. Hot and bitter. I missed him. I missed everything about him.

I thought of him missing me, alone with his guilt, his grief. The thought of it made me feel sick. But Carol would have been there when he returned to Alexandria. She'd take care of him. She'd stop him from trying anything stupid... I hoped.

Time passed in heavy, oppressive silence, each second dragging on for eternity. My mind spun, looping in circles, searching for any escape, any way out.

I thought about it. Of fighting. Of somehow finding a way out of this hellhole. But the reality of it crushed me every time I let myself entertain the idea.

If I tried to escape, I would only endanger them - my group, Daryl. I couldn't let that happen.

The door opened again at some point, and I looked up. This time, there were two men I hadn't seen before. One was taller, more built, and carried himself with an air of authority. The other was shorter, his expression bemused. Neither spoke at first, but the taller one eyed me as though I were some kind of curiosity.

"Told ya." he eventually said to the shorter man. "He ain't doin' anything with her. Just keeping her here until the plan comes together."

I didn't acknowledge their presence. They wanted me to show interest, to ask what they meant. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands instead.

"We can make this easier for you," the shorter man said. "Tell us more about this boyfriend of yours. What makes him tick."

I stared at him, my mind racing. Why were they asking me about Daryl.

It dawned on me like a slap in the face.

Negan wanted Daryl, not me.

Did they think was the key to getting to him..?

No.

That didn't make sense.

If that's what Negan had wanted - Daryl - why didn't he just bring him here instead of me? I had to be wrong.

"You're wasting your time," I said, the words sharp and defiant. "I'm not telling you shit."

The man grinned, his expression predatory. "We'll see how long that lasts. You're gonna crack, sweetheart. They always do."

The door slammed shut behind them, and the room fell back into silence. My chest was tight with the effort of keeping the tears back, but I refused to let them fall in front of them. I refused to let them see me suffer.

The only thing that brought be comfort was knowing that me being here meant Daryl wasn't.

He deserved to be safe. He deserved to be far away from this nightmare.

It was better this way. Even if it tore me apart.

~

The hours , or days - I couldn't tell which - blurred together in a haze of monotony, each one indistinguishable from the next. Time was a cruel, unmeasured thing. There was no way to mark it; not even a routine of torment like I'd expected them to subject me to.

They left me alone, uninterested. It almost seemed like they'd forgotten I was here.

The cell had become my world - its walls, its chill, unyielding concrete, and it's constant stench.

I was kept in darkness, the only light the thin strip that snuck under the door.

Dwight had clearly been tasked with delivering my food, which he did at random intervals. Probably another way to disorient my sense of time. He always carried the same thing: a flimsy tray with a cheese sandwich.

Each time, without fail, he took a bite from the sandwich before handing it over.

It was a small thing, but it grated on my nerves every single time. His mouth, his saliva - the thought of it disgusted me. The first time he did it, I hadn't known how to react. The second time, I stared at the bite mark and felt my stomach turn. But by the third, I had a system.

I would pull the sandwich apart, peeling away the area around the bite like it was something toxic, something foreign that didn't belong. I had no idea why I bothered. It wasn't like I had any other options. But the thought of eating something touched by him... it felt like another violation, another small loss of control.

The sandwiches tasted like cardboard, the cheese as bland and tasteless as I felt. But I ate them anyway, not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I wasn't ready to starve. Not yet, anyway.

After eating, the next part of my routine took over. I would close my eyes for a moment, trying to block out the feeling of the walls closing in, but there was no escape from the reality of this place. The cell wasn't just a prison for my body; it had become a prison for my mind, too.

I had no dignity here. No escape. And so, when my body demanded it, I had no choice but to turn to the corner of the cell to urinate. I had learned quickly that there was no one to come rushing to stop me or offer me anything. I pulled my knees up, hunched over in the corner, and did what I had to.

The thought of being caught by someone, of Dwight or any of the others walking in on me, made my stomach clench in embarrassment, but I had no choice. There was no toilet, no alternative. Just the cold concrete beneath me. The scent hung in the air, and it was humiliating.

I hated this place. I hated how small and weak I felt. I hated that the simple, basic things that used to feel so mundane were now a luxury beyond reach.

Daylight. Fresh air. My husband's arms.

~

I could feel the shift in the air long before I heard the footsteps. The rhythm was different today - slower, deliberate. My instincts kicked in, my mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening.

I'd had a knot growing in my stomach for a while, a gut feeling. I didn't know what it meant... but I knew it wouldn't be good. Perhaps today was the day they'd start beating me, making me work. Or maybe they'd just kill me.

I could feel the change like a storm brewing.

The door creaked open, and Dwight stood there, a sick grin plastered across his face, his eyes gleaming with malice. He wasn't alone.

Negan was standing beside him, his posture tall, confident, and far too pleased with himself. The leader of the Saviors had never come to my cell before... He had his people, his lackeys, for that kind of thing.

His presence unnerved me even more.

He looked down at me with that same twisted smile that made my skin crawl.

"It's your lucky day, Princess," Negan said, his voice full of sick amusement. "You're free."

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Free? What the hell was he talking about?

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I don't believe you."

The smile never left Negan's face as he stepped into the room, his boots clicking on the concrete floor with each step. "I wouldn't expect you to," he said smoothly. "But you will."

The sound of Dwight's laughter echoed in the background, and I glanced at him, his smugness almost unbearable. I knew better than to trust either of them, but I was too confused, too exhausted to even try to make sense of it.

Negan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone. "You've been here long enough. You've been a treat. You really have. But now... now it's time for you to go."

I frowned, the suspicion rising in my chest. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

Negan tilted his head, still looking as pleased as ever. "Let's just say you've done your job. Goddamn employee of the month."

He stepped back and nodded at Dwight, who immediately opened the cell door wider, the sound of the metal scraping against the floor making my stomach drop.

I looked into the hallway beyond the cell. My body tensed, the instinct to fight or run kicking in. But before I could say another word, Negan spoke again, his voice colder now.

"There's something you just have to see."

He motioned for me to follow him, his eyes fixed on me, the power he held over me evident with every step I took. My feet were heavy, dragging with the weight of the situation as I walked, barely noticing Dwight following at my heels.

Where the fuck was he taking me?

We turned a corner, and then Negan stopped in front of a heavy metal door. He opened it with a sickening ease, revealing what lay inside.

Daryl.

No.

My heart stopped in my chest. I barely registered the surroundings - the cell, the walls, the concrete floor. All I could see was him.

He was slumped in the far corner, his face almost unrecognizable - swollen, bruised, bloodstained, and covered in filth. He was naked, shivering, and every part of him seemed to scream of agony.

There was a small, square, adhesive bandage on his chest, covering his gunshot wound - a matching one probably on his back, but I couldn't see it.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout at Negan, to beg him to stop this, but I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe.

"Daryl..." I whispered when I could finally force the words out. "Daryl, look at me."

He didn't move. His eyes were cast downward, focused on the ground as if he didn't want to acknowledge me. I couldn't see his face clearly enough to tell if he was even aware that I was there.

Negan's voice broke the silence, and the sick satisfaction in his tone made my skin crawl. "He knows better than to look at you. You see, if he looks at you, if he speaks to you, I'll have no choice but to kill you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing my face. I hoped I was asleep, stuck in a nightmare. I needed to wake up.

"You see, Princess." Negan sneered, his voice cruel now. "It was Daryl I wanted all along. He licked his lips. "I'm sure you're wondering why I didn't just bring him back in the first place - leave you there with your headless friends." His face beamed now but his eyed remained cold, callous. "But I wanted him to want to be here."

I felt the blood drain from my face, my legs shaking beneath me. "No... please," I begged, my voice desperate. "Please, I'll stay. I'll do whatever you want."

"Daryl... Look at me." I tried again.

But he didn't. He wouldn't.

I tried to lunge into the cell, needing to feel him, but more Saviors were ready. They grabbed my arms, their fingers like iron as they violently yanked me back. A strangled cry escaped my throat as I fought against them, but it was no use. Their hands were too strong, their grip unyielding.

"Stop!" I screamed, struggling against them. "Let me go to him!"

When he saw me struggling, trying to get to him, Daryl shifted slightly, his gaze flickering up just for a moment. He looked at me, just once, before his face twisted with the pain of it all.

He was trying to protect me. I could see it in his eyes, even in the depths of his suffering.

Negan hadn't missed that one second of eye contact.

"Daryl," he said, his voice harsh and mocking. "You just made a big mistake. You really don't know how to follow the rules, do you? You've got a lot to learn..."

He turned to the men. "Take her outside. No need to mess up my floors... Kill her."

"Wasn't the deal!" Daryl's voice roared before Negan had even finished his last word, raw with pain and fury.

He pushed himself up, not letting the agony of his beaten body hinder him. He lunged for Negan, then changed his mind as he landed, grabbing for me instead - intent on reaching me, on protecting me even in his broken state.

He moved like a wounded animal, desperate, but the Saviors were faster. Several of them grabbed him just as his fingers reached me, one around each arm, yanking him back down to the cold floor.

"No!" I screamed, trying to reach him again. But before I could, my arms were pulled tighter behind my back, my legs being knocked from under me.

I could see the fire in Daryl's eyes as he glared at Negan, who stood there smugly, arms folded, watching it all unfold with a twisted satisfaction.

Daryl thrashed, trying to fight back against the hands that held him. "We had a deal, ya fuckin' asshole!" he yelled, but his voice was hoarse, strangled. "Ya said-"

The words died in his throat as the Saviors struck him again, silencing him in a brutal, vicious way. I saw the blood trickling down his lip, staining his already wrecked face.

Daryl's eyes flashed with defiance again, and I saw the moment when he realized what had to happen next. But before he could do anything else, they hit him harder. His body went slack, and then... he was unconscious.

"No!" I cried, struggling to break free from the saviours holding me, to get to him, but their grip was too strong, and they were dragging me away from him now.

"Let go!" I screamed, fighting with every ounce of strength I had left. But it didn't matter. They were stronger than me, and there was two of them. I couldn't stop them. I was being hauled down a hallway. My mind was a storm of confusion, my body flailing.

They dragged me into the yard, the cold air biting at my skin, and threw me to the ground.

One of them raised a gun, the barrel gleaming as he aimed it at my chest. My heart pounded in my ears.

I grabbed the nearest man's leg, pulling him down and knocking him unconscious with a brutal swing of my knee. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't planning. I just moved.

The other man was too quick, raising his gun. But before he could shoot, I lunged, grabbing the barrel of the gun, twisting it from his hand. With a sickening crack, I slammed the butt of the weapon into his skull. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

My chest heaved with adrenaline as I stood there in the chaos, breathing hard, but my mind couldn't settle. I had to get back inside. I had to get back to Daryl.

The sound of gunfire erupted out of nowhere. A handful of Saviors were shooting at me. I felt the bullets whizzing by, the wind of them ruffling my hair.

The world slowed down. I wasn't making it back inside. I knew that I couldn't. There were too many guns trained on me. My only choice was to run, but I wasn't sure I could. I didn't know if I could live with leaving Daryl behind. Not here.

No.

I had to.

For him.

I couldn't get him out of there if I was dead. I had to flee, for now. He'd want me to.

I turned my head, scanning my surroundings. I was dizzy, disoriented, my body sore from being hunched on the floor for however long but the adrenaline coursing through my veins was enough to make my legs work.

I saw the wall - tall, imposing, but not impossible. Not for me.

With a grimace, I ran toward it, forcing my body to move. My muscles screamed in protest as I scaled the wall, my fingers digging into the rough surface, my bare feet slipping on the stone.

I couldn't think about how much it hurt. I couldn't stop. Not when Daryl was still inside. Not when everything had gone so wrong.

Just as my feet hit the ground on the other side, I saw them - Merle and Rick.

They had their guns drawn, eyes scanning for the source of the shots being fired, but they were waiting there... for me.

There were more of us now. Maybe we had a chance.

"Get in the damn car!" Merle barked, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the waiting vehicle.

"Wait!" I tried to fight him off, my mind still wrapped up in Daryl, still desperately trying to make sense of everything. "We need to go back for him! We can't-"

"Shut the hell up," Merle growled, dragging me. "Ya ain't got no choice. Get in before you get ya'self killed."

I struggled against him, but his grip was like iron, and despite my anger and desperation, I knew I was out of options.

The car door slammed shut, Merle still had a hold of me, Rick slamming the gearshift into drive. The tires screeched as we tore away from the compound, my heart pounding in my chest.

I looked back once, just once, my eyes searching through the smoke and the dust, hoping for a glimpse of Daryl, hoping for some miracle.

But all I saw was the chaos behind us.

Daryl was still there. Still behind enemy lines.

And I knew it now. Knew the second I saw Merle and Rick there - waiting.

Daryl had sacrificed himself - for me.

Rick was talking, saying something, but I couldn't hear a damn word over the sound of my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. The world outside the window blurred, but all I could see was Daryl - naked, unconscious - left behind in that hellhole.

I could still hear his voice, roaring in protest, his body thrashing against the hands that held him down.

I couldn't take it.

"Pull over," I demanded.

Rick didn't even glance at me, just kept his hands on the wheel, jaw tight.

"Rick." My voice shook, but it wasn't from fear. It was from rage. "Pull the fuck over."

Still, nothing.

I clenched my fists, striking the back of his seat. "I swear to God, if you don't stop this damn car-"

"Okay," he finally said, relenting.

I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like it was caving in.

I threw open the door before the car even fully stopped, barely managing to stumble out onto the dirt behind a rusted-out factory before my stomach lurched, bile spilling onto the ground.

I felt hands on my back, steadying me, but I shoved them off. "Don't touch me." My voice came out hoarse. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, breathing hard.

Rick and Merle had followed me out of the car. It was Rick who'd tried to stabilize me.

I turned on them, my chest heaving. "What the hell was that?" My voice cracked, but I didn't stop. "Why were you there? Why wouldn't you help me fight?"

Rick let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face, like he was bracing himself. "Because it wasn't our choice to make."

I didn't bother trying to hold back my frustrated tears. "What the hell does that mean?"

Rick hesitated. Then, quietly, like he already knew I wouldn't accept it, he said, "Daryl was gonna go to them whether we came or not."

"Why!?"

Rick looked defeated already. "He was hell-bent on trading himself for you." He sighed. "Negan gave him a choice."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

"So you just let him walk in there!?" My voice rose, thick with fury. I turned to Merle. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Are you stupid!?"

Merle's jaw clenched. He let out a slow breath through his nose before finally speaking. "Ain't done shit for him most of his life," he admitted, voice gruff. "Wasn't there when he thought he lost ya the first time." His throat worked. "It's the one time he's ever truly asked me for anything - to get ya, take ya far from here, keep ya safe."

I felt something in me crack.

Rick shifted, looking uncomfortable, his hands on his hips as he stared down at the dirt.

"Safe?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

Rick exhaled through his nose. "You need to go, Athena. Get away from the Saviors. It's what Daryl wants. You leave with Merle. Just until shit's settled."

I shook my head. "No."

Rick's gaze snapped back up to me.

"No way in hell am I leaving him in there," I said, my voice shaking, but firm. "I'm getting him out. And you're going to help me."

Thank you so much for your votes and comments. ❤️

If you're confused by anything in this chapter - Daryl's POV will be coming up next. I'm on a writing roll at the mo!