Jett had gotten a room at the Montecito the other evening since it had been recommended to him, and he had paid for a week up front. It took a minute to dig out the key card from his wallet, but once retrieved he slid it into the door with no trouble, and entered the room. It was a nice place, better than where he typically stayed when traveling. He took a moment to familiarize himself with the room and it’s amenities before setting down some shopping he’d done.
There was a lot to contemplate, with what everyone had said to him over the last couple of nights. He still couldn’t help but wonder if Marcus’ words were a ploy, but at least he wasn’t angry with the Nick kid any longer. He spent time unpacking the shopping he’d brought up – changes of clothes, mostly. Based on suggestions given to him by Charles, Vince, and Brandon, he might be staying a while. Moreover, he might finally stop being blood bound – a prospect he was greatly looking forward to. There were prospects of getting embraces as well, and in a manner of speaking, he looked forward to it, in ways.
The doubter in him, that bit of self-loathing that he carried around and would creep up, whispered at him that, despite offers made, no one would do it, that Marcus would find a way to not allow it, canceling another avenue of him potentially being happy. He balled up a fist when the though processes started, digging his nails into the meat of his palm until the pain drove the thoughts away for now.
Monday – he had to make it to at least Monday. He’d made that promise to Charles, and tonight was Saturday. He could make it, somehow. Had to. Singing a song to himself, keeping the lyrics in mind to keep those self-deprecating thoughts away, he stripped down in order to take a hot shower. It was a symbolic thing, but it might wash away the stress and self-resentment, at least for a while. It worked, for a little while; he cleaned up and just relaxed for a time, until he brought his left hand up to wipe some water from his eyes. In front of his face were the scars, ugly and deformed, some a nasty red color. Reflexively he reached out with his other hand and violently rubbed at the scars, as though to make them go away, but he had only succeeded in flaking away some scabs, and prompting some new bleeding.
The next thing he knew, he was shutting the water off and toweling off. He wasn’t going to like this, not right now. He would get dressed, he would head out, and see Vegas, have some drinks. Maybe he should take Vince’s advice and talk to Nick and his friends – get an outside perspective. They’d be the only ones available during the day, apart from Petra, and she was already burned trying to recover, he felt. She had her own problems to deal with, and he didn’t know if it was wise to bother her anymore with his.
Would he go to anyone else? He didn’t know yet. He just knew that he was determined to not fall into the trap of self-pity right now if he could help it.