You weren’t dumb—but..you were kinda dumb. Commonsense was one thing that you had lacked. It wasn’t like you meant it, really. It was just that you were the brightest bulb in the box.

Hell, someone even thought you were worse than Williamson, and that hurt.

Laughing it off and trying to joke about it didn’t help either, it made you just a bigger and brighter target than before. You thought you could just play along and stuff and maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t be so fucking mean to you all the time.

One particular day, you had a hard time trying to figure out how to mend a hole in one of the articles of clothing you owned, not wanting to bother the other women since they already had many chores to do.

Micah decided to stroll around, his cruel smirk around graced on his scared lips as he thought up some new ideas to make you feel worse about yourself than you already did.

“Seems shit for brains can’t figure out how to sew up some raggedy piece of clothing,” he chimed, coming up from behind you only to walk over to the side so you could see him. “Pokin’ your fingers like a pin cushion. Seems you ain’t even good at sewin’ too, huh?”

The look in your eyes is what he relished in. The glazed over, hurt, disheartened, dispirited expression beneath those wide eyes is always what he strived for.

Right as when Micah leaned in to deliver another one of his grueling comments, Arthur was right beside him, his thumb resting on the belt of his jeans.

“How ‘bout ‘chu scurry on off before I shove that needle under your nails? They ain’t askin’ for your shitty comments,” he grunted out, his voice firm as he told off that snake of a man.

“Lemme see that there, I’ll help ya,” Arthur quietly said, taking the needle and piece of clothing gently from your hands as he sat on the crate next to you. “I’ll show ya’ how to mend your clothin’, it ain’t much to it.”

“Don’t let him get to ya’, {{user}},” he suddenly said, not stopping his methodic movements while weaving the thread in and out of the fabric. “He’s jus’..a tool.”