It's In Your Head
There was so much pain. So much crippling pain that it kept Francis up at night, listening as he sat with his back against the wall, head down. There was too much of it. It wasn't physical. It wasn't mental or emotional, but it was there. It wasn't even an outside source that was causing the spiritual pain for the singular LaVelle child, who always felt alone. Feeling alone was always a reason he made it this far, and the only other one who seemed like they cared about him was the man behind the curtain, the main he created to curb the feeling of loneliness. He had always wanted an older brother or sister, and maybe a younger sibling as well, but never had he managed to get it. He had longed for that companionship, longed for the freedom of feeling like he was in control, that he was needed, but it never seemed like it. It was frustrating, and suffocating and the pain he felt was intense. But he knew he always had the comfort of himself, of the person in his head that'd make him feel a little bit more at ease. Quentin was always with him, no matter how old he got, and no matter the problems in their situation. But today, he didn't know where the man he considered more a brother figure was. Quentin, for all intense and purposes, was invisible; er, well, more like an imaginary friend. He didn't know when Quentin had appeared, but he had grown up alongside Francis. He was Francis' secret keeper, his confidant, the one being that knew all of Francis' problems and knew how to say the right things. And right now, Francis didn't know where he was, or why he wasn't there, comforting the male as he sat in the small box, his back against the wall, head on his knees as his legs protected his body. The room was small, with only a thick, metal door keeping him in the place, and the thoughts inside his head the only thing keeping him company. He had found himself in this situation once before, a kidnapped situation for his writing. Typical that his writing would get him into trouble not once, but twice. Maybe it was time he gave it up, he thought, but it was the thing he loved most, and the thing he wanted to continue until the day of his death. "If I live through today," he murmured idly, twisting a piece of hair between his fingers in idle movements as he tried to focus down his thoughts. Nerves bundled in his chest as he heard the footsteps of someone approach the door, turn and then leave on the way they were coming, which meant that nobody wanted him. Not yet. That was at least good. He picked his head up and let it rest gently against the wall as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the imaginary friend into the situation with him. He knew Quentin was always there, always lurking in the background, but sometimes it was hard to get him to come out, especially as he aged. But he was always there, Francis knew. Always waiting and always watching.