Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > Just Playing Dead
He stood there longer than he thought he would have. His eyes full of tears as he stared at the letter. He kept telling himself that it couldn’t be the same person, that the guy couldn’t have come back from the grave to resurrect the torture he had put him through. But he knew better. He was smarter than that. He knew that darkness could come anytime to shroud the possibility of actually living. He knew nightmares always came back no matter how much you tried to lock the door on them. He had to deal with this. How? He wasn’t too sure. But he would have to face it with the strength that was slowly waning.
Quietly he left the room, going to get some bags and a few towels. Perhaps he should call the police but indiscretion wasn’t everyone’s policy. Enough money and his plea for privacy could be out the door. There would be no cops. They didn’t help before. He would figure it out for himself. Figure out who was so hellbent on ruining whatever life he had left. They didn’t care that he was already hanging on by a weak string. He was dying slowly and soon enough the emptiness would devour him.
Coming back he stood in front of the bed, feeling his stomach turn as he looked down at the dog. The smell was horrendous, so was the sight of all that blood. Harshly he swallowed and looked down at the knife plunged through the dog and shakily wrapped his hand around it. His eyes squeezed shut as he slowly pulled it out. He heard the slickness of the blood as he took it out, saw the way the blood stained his hands. He was getting sicker by the moment but he had to do this if he wanted to try to move on. Maybe this was an isolated incident and nothing recurring at all.
Dropping the knife to the ground he let out a long sigh. Staring at the bloody mess it made on the blue carpet of his bedroom. It was everywhere but he had to continue. Taking up the bags he set them open on top of the bed. He lifted the dead weight dog onto the plastic and quickly wrapped it up, throwing the knife in there as well. He tied the bags, slumping it over his shoulder and taking it out to the backyard. He left it sitting there on the dirt before returning to his bedroom.
He went to work, scrubbing the blood from the carpet. It was tedious, the amount of blood he had to remove was nearly ridiculous. It was like whoever had done this had let the dog sit there while it died making the carpet soak up all the blood. He scrubbed and scrubbed, his eyes blurring and barely able to get the stains out. Throwing the towel that was now covered in soap and blood down with a heavy sigh. This was pointless.
Standing up on weakened legs he went about removing the blood stained bedding and immediately washing them and then went to the sink to wash away the stains on his skin. He scrubbed at his hands, the water steaming up to the mirror in the bathroom. He used his nails, wanting to claw away the feeling. The blood, the fear that something was rising up from inside of him. He glanced up at himself in the fogged mirror. The tears quivering the blue of his eyes, his lips lightly trembling. He was the portrait of fear, emptiness. He was fading out slowly, dying.
Slipping out into the backyard he looked at the water in the pool. It glistened, the clear blue ripples in the small breeze that brushed past him. He’d only just moved here, the house was barely renovated when he had moved in. There wasn’t any cement in the back, the pool really the only thing out here. It was all dirt and it rose up like dust due to the wind. There was a splintered shovel nearby and he took ahold of it. He tried to push it in, the dirt was too hard. A frustrated groan escaped his lips and he threw it aside.
Pushing a shaky hand through his hair he tried to think of what to do. Couldn’t bury the dog back here with the dirt being this and he couldn’t exactly throw the bag into the dumpsters what with the smell. He would have to throw it somewhere else, let it rot away from his house. He didn’t have a choice unless he called the police and that was just something he couldn’t bring himself to do, not while he could claw onto some kind of normal living outside of this. When he had taken it to the authorities before they had made it more than just an extension of what his life was. The nightmare had become his life and he just wanted to breathe.
He went into the shower, scrubbing at his body with the same clawing force he had used on his hands. He felt the tears fall but he refused to fall into a weeping mess. He was trembling, the sight of that room replaying in his head over and over. This wasn’t the end, not at all. He was only living in the beginning of the nightmare someone had suddenly breathed life back into.
Once he was out he got dressed, pulling on a hood over his damp hair and putting on his mirrored sunglasses. Without checking his appearance he left the bathroom and the house, locking up securely and heading down to his car. His phone rang again but he ignored it. He knew who it was without even looking at the ID. It was Harlow. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her about what had happened. She would panic, especially after the letter she had gotten just the day before. She didn’t deserve the fear that came along with what he was going through. He couldn’t yet accept that she was apart of it.
Putting the bag into the truck he made to get into the driver’s seat when he saw Harlow’s car pull up behind his own. He let out a low curse. She must have called to see if he was in since she was already on her way.
Lowering his head and releasing a low breath he tried his best to prepare for what he was going to say to her. He looked up at her as she got out of the car and approached him. He tried to wear a smile but he could already feel that it was forced. How much more could she tell? She knew so much about him he feared she would be able to tell something was completely wrong just by looking into his eyes. What if she did? What if she questioned him about what was going on? Did he have the heart to tell her that nothing was wrong, that he was just having a ‘down day’ as his psychiatrist called it? He often had those kinds of days, it was normal. That could work, couldn’t it?
“Harlow, baby, hi.” Jared greeted her with a small smile as he met her halfway, immediately wrapping her in his arms tightly. He sighed when she rested against his chest, his eyes closing as he took in her scent. God, he’d missed her.
“You weren’t picking up your phone.” Harlow said, breaking the embrace to look up into his eyes. Her gaze was full of worry, distress.
Softly he hushed her and gave a bit of a smile. “I’m fine. Look I’m right here.” He outstretched his arms to as if he were trying to prove himself with a small laugh. It didn’t matter that his heart was racing inside of his chest, he had to keep this facade going if only for her.
She sighed a little, looking away for a moment. It was obvious that those nights she had suffered through the agony with him were playing through her head. She was afraid of losing him to the darkness again. Could he prevent it? He only prayed he could.
“Where were you?” She softly asked, her wide eyes returning to him.
He let out a small breath, taking her hand in his with a small shrug of nonchalance. He almost bit his tongue at the lie. But what could he do? He was trying to protect her, trying to let her know in the most silent ways that he was trying to keep her from the pain again.
“I over slept.” He said simply, a smile brightening the features of his face. “And now I’m taking you for lunch. How does that sound?”
“And the paparazzi?” She asked with lightly knitted brows.
“They don’t matter when I’m hungry.” He laughed a little, tugging her towards the car she had come in. All the while his eyes stayed on the trunk of his own car. The dog was in there, the evidence of his lie, his secret. He swallowed down harshly. Somethings had to stay in the dark.
Quietly he left the room, going to get some bags and a few towels. Perhaps he should call the police but indiscretion wasn’t everyone’s policy. Enough money and his plea for privacy could be out the door. There would be no cops. They didn’t help before. He would figure it out for himself. Figure out who was so hellbent on ruining whatever life he had left. They didn’t care that he was already hanging on by a weak string. He was dying slowly and soon enough the emptiness would devour him.
Coming back he stood in front of the bed, feeling his stomach turn as he looked down at the dog. The smell was horrendous, so was the sight of all that blood. Harshly he swallowed and looked down at the knife plunged through the dog and shakily wrapped his hand around it. His eyes squeezed shut as he slowly pulled it out. He heard the slickness of the blood as he took it out, saw the way the blood stained his hands. He was getting sicker by the moment but he had to do this if he wanted to try to move on. Maybe this was an isolated incident and nothing recurring at all.
Dropping the knife to the ground he let out a long sigh. Staring at the bloody mess it made on the blue carpet of his bedroom. It was everywhere but he had to continue. Taking up the bags he set them open on top of the bed. He lifted the dead weight dog onto the plastic and quickly wrapped it up, throwing the knife in there as well. He tied the bags, slumping it over his shoulder and taking it out to the backyard. He left it sitting there on the dirt before returning to his bedroom.
He went to work, scrubbing the blood from the carpet. It was tedious, the amount of blood he had to remove was nearly ridiculous. It was like whoever had done this had let the dog sit there while it died making the carpet soak up all the blood. He scrubbed and scrubbed, his eyes blurring and barely able to get the stains out. Throwing the towel that was now covered in soap and blood down with a heavy sigh. This was pointless.
Standing up on weakened legs he went about removing the blood stained bedding and immediately washing them and then went to the sink to wash away the stains on his skin. He scrubbed at his hands, the water steaming up to the mirror in the bathroom. He used his nails, wanting to claw away the feeling. The blood, the fear that something was rising up from inside of him. He glanced up at himself in the fogged mirror. The tears quivering the blue of his eyes, his lips lightly trembling. He was the portrait of fear, emptiness. He was fading out slowly, dying.
Slipping out into the backyard he looked at the water in the pool. It glistened, the clear blue ripples in the small breeze that brushed past him. He’d only just moved here, the house was barely renovated when he had moved in. There wasn’t any cement in the back, the pool really the only thing out here. It was all dirt and it rose up like dust due to the wind. There was a splintered shovel nearby and he took ahold of it. He tried to push it in, the dirt was too hard. A frustrated groan escaped his lips and he threw it aside.
Pushing a shaky hand through his hair he tried to think of what to do. Couldn’t bury the dog back here with the dirt being this and he couldn’t exactly throw the bag into the dumpsters what with the smell. He would have to throw it somewhere else, let it rot away from his house. He didn’t have a choice unless he called the police and that was just something he couldn’t bring himself to do, not while he could claw onto some kind of normal living outside of this. When he had taken it to the authorities before they had made it more than just an extension of what his life was. The nightmare had become his life and he just wanted to breathe.
He went into the shower, scrubbing at his body with the same clawing force he had used on his hands. He felt the tears fall but he refused to fall into a weeping mess. He was trembling, the sight of that room replaying in his head over and over. This wasn’t the end, not at all. He was only living in the beginning of the nightmare someone had suddenly breathed life back into.
Once he was out he got dressed, pulling on a hood over his damp hair and putting on his mirrored sunglasses. Without checking his appearance he left the bathroom and the house, locking up securely and heading down to his car. His phone rang again but he ignored it. He knew who it was without even looking at the ID. It was Harlow. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her about what had happened. She would panic, especially after the letter she had gotten just the day before. She didn’t deserve the fear that came along with what he was going through. He couldn’t yet accept that she was apart of it.
Putting the bag into the truck he made to get into the driver’s seat when he saw Harlow’s car pull up behind his own. He let out a low curse. She must have called to see if he was in since she was already on her way.
Lowering his head and releasing a low breath he tried his best to prepare for what he was going to say to her. He looked up at her as she got out of the car and approached him. He tried to wear a smile but he could already feel that it was forced. How much more could she tell? She knew so much about him he feared she would be able to tell something was completely wrong just by looking into his eyes. What if she did? What if she questioned him about what was going on? Did he have the heart to tell her that nothing was wrong, that he was just having a ‘down day’ as his psychiatrist called it? He often had those kinds of days, it was normal. That could work, couldn’t it?
“Harlow, baby, hi.” Jared greeted her with a small smile as he met her halfway, immediately wrapping her in his arms tightly. He sighed when she rested against his chest, his eyes closing as he took in her scent. God, he’d missed her.
“You weren’t picking up your phone.” Harlow said, breaking the embrace to look up into his eyes. Her gaze was full of worry, distress.
Softly he hushed her and gave a bit of a smile. “I’m fine. Look I’m right here.” He outstretched his arms to as if he were trying to prove himself with a small laugh. It didn’t matter that his heart was racing inside of his chest, he had to keep this facade going if only for her.
She sighed a little, looking away for a moment. It was obvious that those nights she had suffered through the agony with him were playing through her head. She was afraid of losing him to the darkness again. Could he prevent it? He only prayed he could.
“Where were you?” She softly asked, her wide eyes returning to him.
He let out a small breath, taking her hand in his with a small shrug of nonchalance. He almost bit his tongue at the lie. But what could he do? He was trying to protect her, trying to let her know in the most silent ways that he was trying to keep her from the pain again.
“I over slept.” He said simply, a smile brightening the features of his face. “And now I’m taking you for lunch. How does that sound?”
“And the paparazzi?” She asked with lightly knitted brows.
“They don’t matter when I’m hungry.” He laughed a little, tugging her towards the car she had come in. All the while his eyes stayed on the trunk of his own car. The dog was in there, the evidence of his lie, his secret. He swallowed down harshly. Somethings had to stay in the dark.
Sign up to rate and review this story