Nick hated to admit it to himself, but he was not coping with things as well as he probably ought to. In a way, it was starting to seem like working at the Montecito, in conjunction with the job for Brandon, always led to too many issues on his plate, though rarely, if ever, were they related to the work itself. He sighed, and moved from his bedroom to his studio, where he attempted to work on the song he’d been working on for Brandon, but found himself too preoccupied with recent events.
The information gathering at Elysium itself had gone well enough – even if Sayuri had evidently offered herself up as a snack in exchange for the information. That didn’t bother him, though – if she was comfortable with it, it wasn’t his place to butt in. No – the primary problem lay with learning that Kauffman had been messing with Alyssa’s mind. A secondary concerns was Kauffman using what sounded like Oneiromancy to get into Sayuri’s dreams – the purpose for this was unknown right now, but it was still concerning.
Finally, and of less importance, was hearing about his parent’s fight. That, at least, could theoretically be resolved quickest – he had to head there for dinner tomorrow night anyway. On the oneiromancy, he didn’t know what else could be done. They were all mind-shielded for a few days for now. How to get them protected permanently was another story entirely.
He couldn’t help but worry about Alyssa. He knew she had said that she wanted space, and he was trying to give her the time she needed to be alone. While he couldn’t imagine what was going through her head, he was sure she probably felt violated, and he wouldn’t have blamed her for an instance. He was terrified of what could happen to her if Kauffman found out she knew. So many what ifs hung in the air around the situation, that he couldn’t shake the thoughts from his head to sleep, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
It had only been six months since rehab, but he still held the urge to go for a drink when things got too much; too difficult. He was trying harder not to go to that now, but he also knew that there was a nice bottle of whiskey downstairs calling to him right about now. I should call Charles he told himself. Instead, he got up and headed for his bedroom door, giving pause before opening it to hear if anyone was up.
He couldn’t get blackout drunk like he wanted – he had work in the morning. Neither was it a good idea to take one of the pain pills he’d refilled last month and still had in order to knock himself out until morning. Still though… No he told himself.He let go of the doorknob and sat back on his bed, in order to text Charles.
Sorry if I’m interrupting anything. Not doing well, and need to talk. Learned some more info in regard to what we talked about earlier, and I’m…. tenuous, at best, I guess. Please get back to me.