Fenris would never go back. To Danarius, to being a slave held under against his need to live. But, almost often, he misses it. It's not the abuse he longs for, not the unbearable torture. It is the familiarity, the predictability, the knowledge of his place and where he stands. It was all he's ever known and it has been abandoned in his quest for something better. But, always, there is the risk of ending somewhere worse. And it is never easy.
He is alone. Surrounded by faces he's just begun to know, just begun to care for. But, they are still so far out of reach. He is not like them. They do not bear habits they cannot seem to break, or feel urges to give anything to please, and they are not afraid. They are not afraid to sleep and have nightmares of death and dismemberment. They are not afraid to wake and face the daylight, the sounds of the world outside. Nor do they fear simply walking to their door, unconcerned of a possible enemy just beyond it. They do not need the comfort of hiding as he does.
And, he is afraid. So very scared, terrified, every day. From dawn to dusk, on alert. Unable to relax, to be at ease. Choking, suffocating, under the weight of understanding that everything could suddenly change. That everything could suddenly not be okay. And there is nothing and no one to save him. Just he and the horrible circumstance locked in a fight for survival.
His stomach hurts often as does his spine beneath such a massive burden. The whole world seems too big, while he himself feels so small. Nearly helpless, like a cornered animal. He has teeth and claws, but, how far will that get him?
His companions do not understand him, nor do they know him. He is brave because he has to be. He stands tall even under reprisal, smoothing the surface of his shell with a facade. He openly struggles against and denotes possible oppression, as though he were strong. And he is, his walls are thick and strong. But the fool locked within is weak. Yet, they see only the walls and the masks, his acting. And know nothing of the child he is in the shadow of it all. Lost and crying for direction, purpose. The fulfillment of a need. One that he does not even fully know or understand and cannot give voice to.
There are comforts outside of himself. But, they are rare and never seem to last very long. They are never enough to soothe the pain, only help him forget for a little while. Otherwise, his entire frame aches, and his heart hurts as though it is filled with tiny, if not sharp, blades. And his soul bleeds, but never seems to bleed dry. He can go numb, which is nearly preferable. However, feeling always comes back. And, he occasionally thinks how blissful it must be to become tranquil. All agonies silenced at last, traded for unfeeling peace. Emotionless, yes. And not afraid, or sad, or hurt.
Fenris wishes for trust. For someone to come, and touch him. Touch his heart. Tenderly, with sorrow for what he's been through and depth. To heal the cracks and give him the power to endure. More than that, the power to live. Truly live. He knows it cannot really happen, that it is a fantasy. Reality is not so kind or forgiving. He wants it anyway. Without it, he weeps for the past. Has a want, a need for it. Even though he fervently hates it. And he is alone.