SILVER BULLET ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ xviii

TRIGGER WARNING
This chapter somewhat references self-harm and contains torture.

Colm approaches, in a manner that reminds Arthur of the cats that would roam around the barn near his countryside home before the outbreak. He can see that pleased, sadistic glint in Colm's eyes, with the same neutral expression the cats held when they dug their claws into their barely living prey.

"Hope you've been enjoying your stay so far." Colm says, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looks down at him. There's something going on in another room, Arthur can hear metallic clinks and the squeaky sound that small wheels make when moving. His stomach churns.

"Better than a five star hotel, actually."

Colm indulges the sarcastic answer, smiles far too sweetly for Arthur's liking.

"You manage to socialize with the other guests?"

"No, 'side from noticing you ain't feedin' some. I thought this place was all-inclusive."

"Infected don't get full service." A door which seems to lead to another room opens, and Arthur catches a glimpse of a table on wheels being pushed towards Colm. "But I been meanin' to talk about you, Arthur."

"Oh, trust me, Colm, I ain't—"

"I know why you ran away from Dutch."

Arthur frowns, stares at the man in front of him with both shock and confusion. Maybe Colm's men searched him for wounds, came across the bite on his leg, noticed it was infected, but suspiciously old? Or the guard that had been sleeping while he was talking to Lenny had been just pretending?

"No need to act all surprised, Morgan. My men told me you were with someone else in a car, and one of them reckoned it was a woman." He smiles sympathetically. "Now, look, I ain't gonna blame you. Love can turn us all a little crazy. Sure did to good ol' Dutch, and it was 'bout time you got a woman o' your own."

That's what Colm had figured?

Arthur feels the hairs on his arms and back of his neck raise. He balls his hands into fists. If he has, somehow, managed to grab a hold of (y/n), he will use her against him, no doubt. When the door behind him opens again, he expects it to be (y/n), but it's another O'Driscoll, holding two belts, which he lays on the metallic table before leaving wordlessy.

"Tell me what happened, Arthur." Colm sounds so sweet that it makes him feel physically sick. "Did good ol' Dutch not take a likin' to her? Was there a fight?"

Colm has leaned closer and closer to Arthur's face, he can now feel the man's breath on the bridge of his nose. Arthur sees an opportunity — literally right in front of his eyes — and takes it.

He rams his forehead straight into Colm's chin.

The man stumbles backwards, clutching his jaw. "You piece of fuckin' shit, Morgan," Colm growls, then returns beside Arthur's chair. "I tried bein' nice, hell, I was about to offer you to join me. But I think I now understand why Dutch didn't want you around no more, and why that woman fuckin' left you."

Arthur cocks a brow, says nothing.

"You can't seem to understand what the hell you are." Colm closes his eyes for a second, moves his lower jaw back and forth for a second, still holding his own chin with one hand. "But don't worry. I can fix that. Help you remember that you ain't nothin' but scum."

Colm grips the metallic table and draws it closer to himself and Arthur.

Scalpels. There are fucking scalpels on the table, along with two belts and some old rags.