Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > Blue Hair And Paper Flowers
Seven: Jared
0 reviewsJared pays a visit to Shannon, who is staying in a mental health facility.
0Unrated
His head was spinning, racing, a mix of panic and rage.
A mental hospital was no place for his brother.
Shannon wasn’t a psychotic sociopath, or a paranoid schizophrenic with delusions of grandeur, Shannon was just sad, sad and lonely.
Shut up. He’s fucked, more fucked than you’ll ever be.
That familiar yet so wrong pang of jealousy crept up along his spine, perched on his shoulder, whispered in his ear.
But he had to fight it.
“He’s fine. He’s OK. He’s OK.”
Quit convincing yourself. He’s sick. He’s got everybody worried. You’re fat, nobody will care about you as much as they care about him.
“Leave me alone.” had escaped his mouth as a whimper. Talking recently had become the only way to chase that voice away, out of his brain.
Inside, he was weak, afraid.
Outside, he was a motherfucking rock star, a natural-born leader, a womanizer basking in the spotlight.
His phone vibrated against his leg and snapped him back into reality.
A text. Emma.
Rehearsal 400 PM
He shrugged. What was the fucking point in rehearsing if their drummer was too out of it to even eat?
Eat.
Food.
His mind conjured the image of hot and sour Chinese soup, and his stomach screamed in longing as his mind screamed in terror.
A headache was beginning to form, he could feel it booming and pounding behind his eyes.
Jesus.
Nothing seemed to work out these days.
He lighted a cigarette. Breathed in the smoke. Sweet smoke.
Almost better than dope.
And that was saying something.
He started to walk down the well-groomed gravel path that lead to the pearly white and perfect hospital doors, away from it, towards the parking lot.
Trying not to run.
The tears he had tried to keep back all morning as he visited his brother roared, desperate to come out.
He tried to choke them back, held them until he was safe inside his car.
He breathed, and it seemed as if he had never breathed before, as if he had been swimming a thousand laps.
Jared Leto, the rock star, the actor, the man whom always seemed so full of hope, cried and screamed and pounded the dashboard.
Never had he felt so alone.
A mental hospital was no place for his brother.
Shannon wasn’t a psychotic sociopath, or a paranoid schizophrenic with delusions of grandeur, Shannon was just sad, sad and lonely.
Shut up. He’s fucked, more fucked than you’ll ever be.
That familiar yet so wrong pang of jealousy crept up along his spine, perched on his shoulder, whispered in his ear.
But he had to fight it.
“He’s fine. He’s OK. He’s OK.”
Quit convincing yourself. He’s sick. He’s got everybody worried. You’re fat, nobody will care about you as much as they care about him.
“Leave me alone.” had escaped his mouth as a whimper. Talking recently had become the only way to chase that voice away, out of his brain.
Inside, he was weak, afraid.
Outside, he was a motherfucking rock star, a natural-born leader, a womanizer basking in the spotlight.
His phone vibrated against his leg and snapped him back into reality.
A text. Emma.
Rehearsal 400 PM
He shrugged. What was the fucking point in rehearsing if their drummer was too out of it to even eat?
Eat.
Food.
His mind conjured the image of hot and sour Chinese soup, and his stomach screamed in longing as his mind screamed in terror.
A headache was beginning to form, he could feel it booming and pounding behind his eyes.
Jesus.
Nothing seemed to work out these days.
He lighted a cigarette. Breathed in the smoke. Sweet smoke.
Almost better than dope.
And that was saying something.
He started to walk down the well-groomed gravel path that lead to the pearly white and perfect hospital doors, away from it, towards the parking lot.
Trying not to run.
The tears he had tried to keep back all morning as he visited his brother roared, desperate to come out.
He tried to choke them back, held them until he was safe inside his car.
He breathed, and it seemed as if he had never breathed before, as if he had been swimming a thousand laps.
Jared Leto, the rock star, the actor, the man whom always seemed so full of hope, cried and screamed and pounded the dashboard.
Never had he felt so alone.
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