Laying Low

I've been laying low, staying in my motel room, and, you know what? It's really boring. Really fucking boring. You want to know what I've been doing?

I made a mental list of all of the ways I could kill that bastard who's fault it is that I have to lay low, drank, spent hours staring at the ceiling as I tried to sleep, considered taking up smoking - as in the real habit instead of the occasional indulgence - thought about how Harlow probably wants me dead, thought about that whole balance crap that goody-two-shoes was pitching the other night, thought about Owen, thought about ascending, thought about Owen some more, drank some more, and then I did a lot of sleeping.

And, now? Well, I'm kind of wondering what the fuck I'm still doing here, in Marquette. If Harlow wants to kill me, well, I should at least relocate until I've healed, right? I saw the way she looked and acted around Emmit the other night. She was a Mama Bear protecting her cub. Or a lioness, whichever is more hostile. I don't know. I'm not an animal person. The point is, she was ready to kill me and I've already got a demon out for my head. I don't need another. At full strength, well, that's different, but...injured?

Not to mention, Harlow has friends here. One, at least, and I've already seen that he doesn't completely suck at fighting. Okay, so I might have been a little impressed by him, but just a little. So, even if Balthasar didn't show up, it would still be likely to end up with me facing near-impossible odds of survival. Halo Boy might be peace-making one night and cheering on the fight the next. I can't know, not yet. He's not that easy to read. And if I happened to hurt Harlow, whether she deserved it or not? Well, then, I definitely wouldn't bet on him trying to keep me alive. I'd sooner bet the opposite.

Still, I remember what I heard about those doors, and the loops...I don't know. This matter requires some serious contemplation - without any alcohol.

Damn.