shreds of doubt

He wasn’t sure how much longer his friend would stay about, if he did. Quentin wanted to blame the whole thing on his still somewhat recent kidnapping, it was the only thing that would make sense in the long run. He knew he wasn’t better. Helping had talked about it but it hadn’t fixed the issues that had cropped up following it. He had already had trouble trusting others, so this hadn’t helped and he was aware of being twitchy and snippy around Yael. He could hardly help it but was aware that it was making things more than a little stressful between them. Yael looked thinner and restless, he paced and hadn’t painted in days. Quentin wasn’t certain at all that the other was going to stay.

Perhaps, the main trouble with it all, is that he couldn’t seek help for himself. He couldn’t really talk to anyone about what had happened unless somehow he managed to find someone who knew about demons and would understand the situation. It was hard to talk to an innocent (so to speak) human about having been kidnapped with threats to use his gifts to take over first the next village over, then the next and so on.

They had known more about his birth-right gift than he did. It made him wonder. Were they the reason he had been taken from his rightful home when he had been too young to really understand or even react? He knew what he was but not exactly what ‘came’ with his bloodline. He knew the basic of what he could accomplish but the things they had talked about had been different, things at a whole other level of weaving.

Quentin was pulled from (yet another) trip down memory lane when he heard the front door close ever softly. It wasn’t hard to miss out on Yael coming in and out of their home since the couch he spent most of his free time in was just a short few feet away from that very door. He looked up from his no longer steaming cup, eyes partly hidden by too long bangs that did need a cut in a somewhat bad way and he watched the young demon nearly drag himself inside and towards his room where the door clicked shut just as softly.

“I don’t know what’s worse, doors being slammed out of anger or doors being closed so softly it’s like it’s being done on purpose so you forget anyone’s even around..” His words soft, uncertain as he closed his eyes and set his cup down. He couldn’t enjoy his teas anymore. Anything he ate or drank tasted like water to him.

Before he realized it, he’d eased to his feet and stepped towards the other’s bedroom door though he stopped right in front of it, hand raised as if to knock but he stalled there. What was he supposed to say? What could he utter at all at this point? He’d spilled the whole of his sad story to Yael just a week or so back, there wasn’t much more to utter. Yael wasn’t a therapist and burdening him with it all seemed was hardly one of the better ideas he still could come up with, at this point.

Instead of knocking, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds on the other side of that door, feeling his stomach fill itself with butterflies of uncertainty and fear that he was driving the one good thing in his life away by not being able to heal himself up. The room was quiet short of some rustling, more than likely clothes being shed, there the sheets being moved and a body settling beneath them.

As the room went quiet, Quentin stepped away as quietly as he could and went to his own room, perhaps he could try to figure things out there.

“I know I have nightmares on a daily basis, they wake him up, that contributes to the factor that he’s hardly getting any sleep.” He’d settled at the head of his bed, clutching a stuffed animal pillow to his chest, as if perhaps it could protect him from the world. “I know I can’t take human pills, they knock me out in a bad way but maybe that’s what I need, maybe it would help me sleep through a few hours so he could have some peace. He can’t leave. There’s just something about him.. It might just be the demon blood and I might just be using him.. but he can’t leave.. he couldn’t right?.. right.. maybe.”

Breathing out a softly bitter laugh, Quentin screwed his eyes shut and held onto the pillow all the more tightly. He felt like a rightful fool. He knew he couldn’t keep Yael locked in (not that he was doing it!), couldn’t force him to stay if he wanted to go but he was more than aware that it would tear him apart if the other demon left. There just was something about their fragile bond that was more than a little important to him and he would do all that was necessary to make sure his companion stayed and that out of free will. Being kept against one’s will was a terrible sort of thing and he couldn’t do that.

He knew it would take plenty of time for things to get better, for the ache and the pain and that feeling of having been turned against to leave him. It would leave emotional scars. All he wanted was to get better. He wanted to stop being mad at everything, he wanted to stop blaming the world for his own shortcomings. He should have known that nothing good would come from a trip back to the place where he had grown up.

Still, a small part of him knew that the truth was that he couldn’t have expected anything. He couldn’t have planned or prepared for what had been waiting for him. It just was how things were. Unless you were precognitive, which he was more than aware he wasn’t and at times wished he had been, you couldn’t predict the future. Hell he was sure that even if there were some folks out there who could predict the future, they couldn’t do so by just snapping their fingers. It wasn’t how gifts of the sort worked. That much he understood and accepted.

In a few hours, after Yael had had time to rest, perhaps he would go over, knock on the door, apologize. He didn’t know. It was a thought that brushed his mind though it didn’t stay long. What was he supposed to apologize about? Having been more or less tortured and threatened? That was no fault of his. Having recently been an asshole because he was trying to cope? It was also part of his nature, it could hardly be helped.

Maybe he’d just let it be.


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