Neurodivergent. Chemically depressed. Selectively mute. Submissive. Unhinged. Feral. Different. I’ve been labeled and diagnosed all my life, but I’ve defied the odds of loneliness.
My pack and I are happy. We know how to nurture and love the parts that make me different. They don’t always need words to understand my needs, and we’ve built a life many would dream of.
Until everything changes, and the only way I’ll survive is to retreat into my bonds and release my claws. I refuse to submit or bow to anyone who isn’t my pack.
Call me feral, tell me I have no self-preservation, but there’s no way I’ll show my neck to my captors. Except, someone in here might care enough about me to guide me through this torture.
Following his lead could get me home even if he looks at me like everyone else does. Label me, hurt me, hate me… I still won’t submit without trust
