Part Six: Nicotine

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BURSTING THROUGH THE door to the dank stairwell, Harper covered her mouth with one hand and regained her composure. Wringing her hands, she took a deep, aching breath and closed her eyes, an acidic taste climbing up her throat. Concentrating on the sensation of the cool breeze on her skin, the dark-haired woman swallowed thickly and leaned against the railing for support, knuckles white from her grip. A few moments passed like that, the dark-haired Korean trying to quell the churning sensation in her gut.

Daryl was still in there, and she couldn't do anything to help him.

Surrounded by an endless cycle of bloodthirst and regret, the urge to make them pay - to feel pure, unadulterated pain - brought a frightening red across Harper's vision. But, as much as she tried, there was no suppressing the disgust she felt towards herself. It was as if she was constantly caught in limbo, these two warring halves unwilling to let her teeter too close to one side. There was the kind Harper, naive, who was stupid enough to let the group attack in the first place. Then there was this harder, bitter Harper, who barely said a word unless directly addressed. She didn't want to be either of them. She had to be better.

But she really had no choice.

Releasing a determined huff, Harper refused to let the guilt consume her, focusing on revenge. With Negan's death, Glenn and Abraham could have peace, and for Harper, there was retribution. Relishing in the way it would feel when she finally ended it, the woman stifled her typically empathetic nature.

The clicking of high heels on tile grabbed her attention. It was a sound Harper hadn't heard in a long time.

Tilting her head to meet the source of the noise, a woman with glossy brown hair frowned at her from above. The short back dress the other woman wore made it obvious that she was one of Negan's 'wives'. A line of smoke drifted from the cigarette between her lips. The sight reminded Harper of the naked man not far down the hall who used to perch himself on the watchtower and let his legs dangle high above the ground, watching earnestly as the day went by. It was as if she was standing in the blistering heat of the grassy courtyard she once called home, twin chainlink fences encircling her and her family. It left them isolated, but safe.

Harper couldn't remember the last time she felt truly safe.

Taking another drag from her cigarette, the woman peered down the stairwell for others. Satisfied with the level of privacy, she raised a brow.

"You're the one from Alexandria, aren't you?" The woman asked abruptly.

Pushing back from the railing, Harper stood in her own. It started to bother her that the Saviours had labelled her as an outsider and stuck to it.

"My name is Harper."

Nodding, the woman took another glance up the stairwell before making her way down the steps and stopping a few feet away. Huffing, the woman dropped her cigarette butt to the floor and crushed it with her heel. Pressing a fresh one between her lips and covering it her hands, she held the lighter to the end and let a small flame lick at the tobacco inside. Satisfied, she took another puff and slipped the lighter behind her bra.

"No pockets?" Harper joked.

The woman scoffed. "Nope. You'd think with most people dead and a whole lotta spare clothes that they'd manage to find something with pockets."

Harper nodded, a silence dragging out between them.

"How do you like the place?" The woman asked curtly.

Harper avoided the question, nodding. There was an anger in the other woman's demeanour that felt all too familiar, and a tugging in her gut gave Harper the impression that she was not a friend of the Saviours. It still did not ease her mistrust.

"At least you got named after something nice. I got lumbered with Sherry."

Harper nodded her head. "That is a bit cruel."

Dragging her hands through her long, tangled waves, Harper sighed and leant her back against the wall. Eyes wandering back the the cigarette now held between Sherry's fingers, Harper watched as the ash dropped of the end and onto the floor.

"You smoke?" Sherry asked, holding out a box of cigarettes.

Raising her hand to decline, Harper stopped herself.

"I don't. But, if you don't care, I'll take one..." She trailed off. "I owe someone."

Sherry shrugged, grabbing a cigarette and slipping it into Harper's jacket pocket.

"Take it. Its a luxury of being one of Negan's lucky girls." She said mockingly. "I can have pretty much whatever I'd like. If I run out of cigarettes, he'll get some more."

Harper swallowed thickly, the light-hearted atmosphere shifting.

"Fuck." She muttered, leaning her head back against the wall. Closing her eyes again, she felt the prickling of tears behind her lids. "Sherry, what are we doing?"

Looking to Harper, Sherry waited for the Korean to open her eyes before speaking.

"We're standing in a stairwell."

Harper shook her head, the tears gone before they could spill over. She wouldn't allow herself to say anything else on the matter in front of Sherry.

Sherry pursed her lips, taking a breath in through her nose.

"I can tell you what I'm doing. I'm staying alive," she stated plainly. When Harper's expression made no change, she continued, face brightening with an idea. "And you're waiting to deliver that cigarette, right?"

A beat passed, and Harper nodded. "Yeah."

"Good," Sherry said, nodding. "Good. Then that's what you're doing."

A door creaked from above, followed by flat footfalls. Pressing her palm against the pocket of her jacket, Harper checked to make sure the cigarette was still there. At the feel of the small cylinder, she ducked her head.

"Thanks for the cigarette Sherry."

Sherry gave a small shrug, her petite frame hunched over.

"Sure."

Walking back out the way she came as silently as possible, Harper steadied her breath and electric nerves. Hurrying down the hallways, she decided it was best to return to her room. Hands thrust inside of her pockets, she avoided making eye contact with the Saviours she passed, only lifting her gaze to ensure she was going the right way. Accidentally locking eyes with one of them, he set his jaw and gave her a firm look. Not breaking the eye contact, Harper kept walking, turning her body to face him as she left. Rolling her eyes, she spun around and rounded the corner, nearly clashing skulls with the person in front of her. Muttering an apology, she kept moving towards her room.

Once she was inside, she shut the door and sighed, the frenetic energy that fuelled her body dissipating into thin air. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she made her way to her bed and sank onto its covers. Crossing her arms over her stomach, she curled into the foetal position and glared at the wall, unblinking. She knew that if she closed her eyes she would see Glenn, and then Abraham. Maybe Daryl too.

A hollowness began to settle in Harper's stomach, and she was suddenly aware of the scentless room. The smell of rotting walkers and the Georgian forest frequently accompanied her time outdoors, and prior to that there was gasoline and the city and sewerage. She'd smelt burning flesh at the prison and bleach sometime after, and even the faintest traces of perfume on some of the women at Alexandria. But this room, it was completely devoid of smell. It was as if it had never been lived in, like the life had been completely sucked out of the space. It was empty.

All she felt was empty.

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