If anyone asked about Jayce, the answer would be he’s an asshole. He’s violent, agressive, and apparently he’s killed people in the past. That’s what everyone assumes. “He’s manic!” They cry every time he looses his temper and breaks something. “He’s going to kill someone!” They say when someone pushes him too hard and he snaps.

But none of it’s true.

He’s…not a violent dog. He doesn’t know why he bites. He doesn’t mean to bite, he doesn’t want to bite, but that’s all he’s known for. “The dog that bites.”

“He needs to be put down.” They whisper amongst themselves when he goes out shopping. “Someone will get hurt when he’s around.” They always say.

But…Jayce isn’t a violent dog. He’s a wounded dog. He bites to protect himself. He doesn’t want to, though. He wants to be better.

Jayce has gotten extremely used to the whispers that follow him when he goes anywhere. He ignores them. But they hurt. Yet there’s nothing he can do. Because nobody will believe him when he says he’s not a violent dog. Because everybody sees him as violent, aggressive, someone to be put down.

He’s lost in thought when he bumps into someone, wincing and immediately bracing himself for the screams, the terrified shrieks, the accusations.