Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > Just Playing Dead
He just kept thinking of the letter long after she had gone to sleep. His eyes glazing over with tears before he quickly sucked them back again. He couldn’t go through this again, not when he had just found his peace. It couldn’t be real, this had to be some kind of a joke. He couldn’t remember this. Not now. Not when every broken piece was only now falling into place again. He’d seen too much, grabbed onto too much to let it all fall away because of some letter. IT had to be a joke. There was no other legible explanation. There was no reason why this would be happening again. It was a joke, only a joke.
After all his breakdown had been well documented by the press after he had publicly collapsed on stage after a letter of this very liking had been thrown up on stage to him. He had read it and after months and months of torment had finally broken beneath the heaviness of the harassing. The show had been stopped, he had been able to go back stage and see to taking care of himself but he had done none of that. He had gone out to where the meet and greet line had gathered together in a pressing manner despite the orders of the security to go home. He had gone out there screaming, demanding which one of them had been the one to send him those letters, to send him all the threats he had gotten. He had screamed, physically pushed people, until finally Shannon had come along with several members of security had taken him away.
The days following that meltdown had been the worst. He had heard that they had to release a statement concerning his mental state and although the fans were forgiving he couldn’t find himself wanting to go back out on tour. The rest of the dates were canceled, his lack of stability the main cause. He was allowed to go home, treat himself to rest. It was just exhaustion they told him, it had to be all in his head. No one was that insane to threaten him for so long, were they? And if it was all real then it was simply a crazed fan who would grow bored after awhile. All he had to do was ignore it. Ignore it and it goes away.
He had tried to ignore it. So viciously had he tried. But ignoring something that won’t let up was something he couldn’t find himself doing. The calls came everyday, the threats, the voicemails, the cars driving past his house. No matter how many times he changed his number, no matter where he ran off to hide to he never got a moments peace. It had become the way that he had to live. Like a scared and sniffling child just waiting for the boogeyman to jump out of the closet. He had once been fearless but somehow that had been stolen from him.
Nothing had ever been the same since then. Of course he had met Harlow who had helped him to get out of the shadows of his pain but still the healing had been long. The process had been painful. Letting go of his fears had been a struggle. Seeing a therapist to resume the natural order of a mans life had been tedious. But he had tried it once everything stopped, once he suddenly just disappeared. He had questioned the ceasing of course but he hadn’t cared much about the whys. He had simply cared of the freedom he could finally breathe in.
And here he was so close to the resolve. So close to being cured of the constant pain he could barely let go of. Where was his peace now? Where was the healing that he had worked so hard on? Ghosts didn’t exist, they didn’t bump in the night. So why was this bastard coming back from the darkness he had disappeared to? It wasn’t fair. He came back easier than Jared had managed to heal. He had only stopped needing to lick his wounds, the medication was working. Why the hell did this have to happen? And now of all days.
Looking over at Harlow he sighed and pulled himself out from underneath her. She shifted a little but didn’t stir. She was always a deep sleeper. He watched her a moment, his heart calming at the mere sight of her. She was so beautiful, the exact peace he had been praying for but suddenly it all felt like some kind of charade. Feeling the pain suck away at the life he had built, seeing the ghosts rise up around him had done that. Everything felt false now and the only thing he wished was that he would be able to rise from the ashes he had previously drowned in.
Pulling on his shirt and pants he tugged on his boots and grabbed his coat. He quietly left the bedroom, making sure he didn’t wake her before he slipped out. Finding the letter she had shown him on the table in the living room he carefully lifted it into his hands. The same writing, the same wording. All of it was the same, no differences and just then he felt his entire world begin to crash down around him. This was the end he feared, the single end he would ever know.
Quietly he left the house and got into his car. Driving away down the still busy streets of Los Angeles, he simply stared out the window. The inky sky gave him the silver vision of the sterling moon and the glistening view of a million stars. A quiet and sweet wind caressed through the open window, drying the tears that had fallen from his lashes. His eyes looked everywhere because he knew he wasn’t alone. He could feel eyes on him and the suffocation nearly killed him. Could he really continue this way?
He stopped outside of his house, shakily pulling the keys from his pocket as he walked to the door. He fumbled with the three locks, unlocking the padlock finally and then slipped inside. It was quiet except for the cool hum of the air conditioner which made it cold. His teeth began to chatter and his eyes half lidded. He was always so tired these days, the crash from the pills did that he assumed. Still he moved forward, throwing off his coat and making his way down into the storage room. He pulled the chain to drown the room in a dim white light.
He could hear his dog barking in the backyard, he was probably hungry, Jared had been gone a long time, he probably needed a walk too. He would take care of that he just needed to check something first.
Pulling the letter Harlow had shown him out from his pants pocket he walked over to a bin that he had shelved. He didn’t tell anyone about it, hadn’t told anyone that he had kept all of it. And why would he? They would only tell him to throw it all away. The healing process meant a purging and that meant escaping the life he was trying to run away from.
He hadn’t been able to rid himself of all of it. He had looked through the darkness and had survived. This was all evidence of his testimony of living through the nightmare that had plagued him. How many people suffered so tragically and had pulled through? None that Jared knew of. He was a lone survivor, someone who had broken through torturous boundaries to find himself still alive. Oh but was he alive? That was always the question he put to himself over and over again. Was he alive? And in the same way he had been before all of this?
Carefully he lifted the first thing he had wrapped in plastic. He opened the bag and pulled out the folded letter. He had given the police so much when he had reported the initial stalking but he couldn’t let go of these few items, his evidence, his personal report. Opening the letter he read over the scribbled letters. Such messy or hurried handwriting. Yet he could read it. After spending hours upon hours staring at the words he had better understand it. It was the letter from the stage.
‘Jared, light of my life, we will walk down the barren paths of this cruel world together. Hand in hand, you and I. Remember these words and we shall live as one. Your poetic soul intertwining with mine.’
He always wondered who it had been, always pondered the infinite question of who would write such beautifully twisted things. Why hadn’t they shown themselves? At least given him a clue.
Harshly he swallowed and continued reading.
‘I will lick your blood that I dream of shedding. That beautiful blood that flows through your veins. Let me end your life and we shall live forever. Darkness and death lacing through each other. Your death will be sweet, especially at my hands.’
The tears glazed again in his blue eyes, quivering the color until he blinked them away. His own personal hell tasted as bitter as it always did.
Reaching his hand forward he steadied himself as a wave of dizziness rushed through him. His teary eyes fluttered closed and he felt himself giving way to the drowsiness inside of him. “Damn pills.” he muttered as he slipped to the ground and rested his head back, his eyes closing as sleep fell upon him.
***
It was morning. He could tell by the way his body no longer ached with tiredness. He rubbed at his eyes as he slowly sat up. Checking his watch he saw that it was nearing the afternoon and checking his phone he saw he had missed several calls from Harlow as well as a couple from Shannon.
Groaning he rose up and wiped at the drool on his chin. This was the only way he slept these days, falling under the spell of passing out. It was the only way he could stay asleep.
Putting away all the stuff he also stored the newest letter that Harlow had gotten. Leaving the storage room he stopped when he saw a trail of blood leading towards the bedroom.
Blood?
His heart stopped as he followed the trail. His breathing hurried out and his head began to spin. One of his hands curled into a tight fist as fear echoed through him.
Once he saw it his mind registered it. His dog wasn’t barking anymore. No, it was laying stabbed through with a long knife on the top of his bed.
Jared’s fear spilled over into tears as he stumbled back from the gruesome sight. His heart was racing now as he felt for his phone.
There was a paper on the ground that he lifted up into his hands carefully. The writing was in blood, his dogs blood.
‘Tell Harlow her blood is going to taste real sweet.’
After all his breakdown had been well documented by the press after he had publicly collapsed on stage after a letter of this very liking had been thrown up on stage to him. He had read it and after months and months of torment had finally broken beneath the heaviness of the harassing. The show had been stopped, he had been able to go back stage and see to taking care of himself but he had done none of that. He had gone out to where the meet and greet line had gathered together in a pressing manner despite the orders of the security to go home. He had gone out there screaming, demanding which one of them had been the one to send him those letters, to send him all the threats he had gotten. He had screamed, physically pushed people, until finally Shannon had come along with several members of security had taken him away.
The days following that meltdown had been the worst. He had heard that they had to release a statement concerning his mental state and although the fans were forgiving he couldn’t find himself wanting to go back out on tour. The rest of the dates were canceled, his lack of stability the main cause. He was allowed to go home, treat himself to rest. It was just exhaustion they told him, it had to be all in his head. No one was that insane to threaten him for so long, were they? And if it was all real then it was simply a crazed fan who would grow bored after awhile. All he had to do was ignore it. Ignore it and it goes away.
He had tried to ignore it. So viciously had he tried. But ignoring something that won’t let up was something he couldn’t find himself doing. The calls came everyday, the threats, the voicemails, the cars driving past his house. No matter how many times he changed his number, no matter where he ran off to hide to he never got a moments peace. It had become the way that he had to live. Like a scared and sniffling child just waiting for the boogeyman to jump out of the closet. He had once been fearless but somehow that had been stolen from him.
Nothing had ever been the same since then. Of course he had met Harlow who had helped him to get out of the shadows of his pain but still the healing had been long. The process had been painful. Letting go of his fears had been a struggle. Seeing a therapist to resume the natural order of a mans life had been tedious. But he had tried it once everything stopped, once he suddenly just disappeared. He had questioned the ceasing of course but he hadn’t cared much about the whys. He had simply cared of the freedom he could finally breathe in.
And here he was so close to the resolve. So close to being cured of the constant pain he could barely let go of. Where was his peace now? Where was the healing that he had worked so hard on? Ghosts didn’t exist, they didn’t bump in the night. So why was this bastard coming back from the darkness he had disappeared to? It wasn’t fair. He came back easier than Jared had managed to heal. He had only stopped needing to lick his wounds, the medication was working. Why the hell did this have to happen? And now of all days.
Looking over at Harlow he sighed and pulled himself out from underneath her. She shifted a little but didn’t stir. She was always a deep sleeper. He watched her a moment, his heart calming at the mere sight of her. She was so beautiful, the exact peace he had been praying for but suddenly it all felt like some kind of charade. Feeling the pain suck away at the life he had built, seeing the ghosts rise up around him had done that. Everything felt false now and the only thing he wished was that he would be able to rise from the ashes he had previously drowned in.
Pulling on his shirt and pants he tugged on his boots and grabbed his coat. He quietly left the bedroom, making sure he didn’t wake her before he slipped out. Finding the letter she had shown him on the table in the living room he carefully lifted it into his hands. The same writing, the same wording. All of it was the same, no differences and just then he felt his entire world begin to crash down around him. This was the end he feared, the single end he would ever know.
Quietly he left the house and got into his car. Driving away down the still busy streets of Los Angeles, he simply stared out the window. The inky sky gave him the silver vision of the sterling moon and the glistening view of a million stars. A quiet and sweet wind caressed through the open window, drying the tears that had fallen from his lashes. His eyes looked everywhere because he knew he wasn’t alone. He could feel eyes on him and the suffocation nearly killed him. Could he really continue this way?
He stopped outside of his house, shakily pulling the keys from his pocket as he walked to the door. He fumbled with the three locks, unlocking the padlock finally and then slipped inside. It was quiet except for the cool hum of the air conditioner which made it cold. His teeth began to chatter and his eyes half lidded. He was always so tired these days, the crash from the pills did that he assumed. Still he moved forward, throwing off his coat and making his way down into the storage room. He pulled the chain to drown the room in a dim white light.
He could hear his dog barking in the backyard, he was probably hungry, Jared had been gone a long time, he probably needed a walk too. He would take care of that he just needed to check something first.
Pulling the letter Harlow had shown him out from his pants pocket he walked over to a bin that he had shelved. He didn’t tell anyone about it, hadn’t told anyone that he had kept all of it. And why would he? They would only tell him to throw it all away. The healing process meant a purging and that meant escaping the life he was trying to run away from.
He hadn’t been able to rid himself of all of it. He had looked through the darkness and had survived. This was all evidence of his testimony of living through the nightmare that had plagued him. How many people suffered so tragically and had pulled through? None that Jared knew of. He was a lone survivor, someone who had broken through torturous boundaries to find himself still alive. Oh but was he alive? That was always the question he put to himself over and over again. Was he alive? And in the same way he had been before all of this?
Carefully he lifted the first thing he had wrapped in plastic. He opened the bag and pulled out the folded letter. He had given the police so much when he had reported the initial stalking but he couldn’t let go of these few items, his evidence, his personal report. Opening the letter he read over the scribbled letters. Such messy or hurried handwriting. Yet he could read it. After spending hours upon hours staring at the words he had better understand it. It was the letter from the stage.
‘Jared, light of my life, we will walk down the barren paths of this cruel world together. Hand in hand, you and I. Remember these words and we shall live as one. Your poetic soul intertwining with mine.’
He always wondered who it had been, always pondered the infinite question of who would write such beautifully twisted things. Why hadn’t they shown themselves? At least given him a clue.
Harshly he swallowed and continued reading.
‘I will lick your blood that I dream of shedding. That beautiful blood that flows through your veins. Let me end your life and we shall live forever. Darkness and death lacing through each other. Your death will be sweet, especially at my hands.’
The tears glazed again in his blue eyes, quivering the color until he blinked them away. His own personal hell tasted as bitter as it always did.
Reaching his hand forward he steadied himself as a wave of dizziness rushed through him. His teary eyes fluttered closed and he felt himself giving way to the drowsiness inside of him. “Damn pills.” he muttered as he slipped to the ground and rested his head back, his eyes closing as sleep fell upon him.
***
It was morning. He could tell by the way his body no longer ached with tiredness. He rubbed at his eyes as he slowly sat up. Checking his watch he saw that it was nearing the afternoon and checking his phone he saw he had missed several calls from Harlow as well as a couple from Shannon.
Groaning he rose up and wiped at the drool on his chin. This was the only way he slept these days, falling under the spell of passing out. It was the only way he could stay asleep.
Putting away all the stuff he also stored the newest letter that Harlow had gotten. Leaving the storage room he stopped when he saw a trail of blood leading towards the bedroom.
Blood?
His heart stopped as he followed the trail. His breathing hurried out and his head began to spin. One of his hands curled into a tight fist as fear echoed through him.
Once he saw it his mind registered it. His dog wasn’t barking anymore. No, it was laying stabbed through with a long knife on the top of his bed.
Jared’s fear spilled over into tears as he stumbled back from the gruesome sight. His heart was racing now as he felt for his phone.
There was a paper on the ground that he lifted up into his hands carefully. The writing was in blood, his dogs blood.
‘Tell Harlow her blood is going to taste real sweet.’
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