Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > Just Playing Dead
He searched the house for her frantically. Looking in each of the three rooms for her, the bathrooms, the back yard. She wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere. If he knew better he would allow himself to accept that maybe she hadn't been there and he had imagined the whole thing on his own, needing the solace of her arms after everything that had happened today to him. He couldn't though. He couldn't because it had been real. Her kiss, her touch, her arms going around him, those feeling eyes. She had been here, that hadn't been in his mind. It couldn't have been. She had been here and now she was gone, not a trace left behind.
With exasperation he rested his head back against the wall, letting out a long breath as he tried to get a hold on himself. After all the things that had happened since Harlow had gotten that letter again, after everything that had happened once he'd gotten out of the hospital. He needed to get a grip on the abyss he was slowly slipping into. He was the only one that could release himself from this torment, wasn't he? No one else understood the amount of agony he was suffering in. They didn't see the effects it had on him, on the scarred remains of his soul.
Opening his eyes he looked around the living room, at the ceiling beams, the vacant couch. It was empty. As empty as his own heart. He was at a loss, his mind unable to come up with any idea as to why this was happening. He knew he needed to see a doctor, knew he needed to bring all of this over to the police. He needed to figure out what was going on. Needed to find out who it was that was so intent on breaking him, destroying what life he had left.
Even after accusing Shannon he still felt no closer to finding out the truth. It was veiled, by something he couldn't tear away. His eyes were blinded and he was gone from a normal sense of mind. He was alone and forcing himself into isolation could do that to someone.All he wanted was to slip back into the normal routine of life that he had found in Harlow, in sinking back into music. But he couldn't do that, he couldn't even bring himself to write down a single word or a note of music. His old self was gone and in its place was this shadow of that man that would never strengthen or get peace.
Nothing was making sense and he couldn't make any of it make sense either. The darkness of the entire situation was so close to swallowing him, he was hanging by a thread, by the blistered nails of his fingers. He would slip soon, fall to his death to the ground beneath as if that was anyway for any man to die. He couldn't crawl back up though and someone taking notice of the terrors he was faced with had no idea how to help.
There had to be a way, a road to take to map his own life from here on. Was there really supposed to be someone else dictating the way he was gonna live? He had always had a tight grip on his own life, a firm hold on the way he would live. He wasn't going to give that up because of a few days of darkness. He had to take back control. He would figure out a way to do it. One way or another he would become again that person that had once lived. He was still in there somewhere. Or at least he hoped he was, beneath the weight of scars and fear, he was there.
Shakily he rose to his feet, pressing his hand to the wall behind him for support. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. The room was spinning, his head was on fire. Each time these black outs happened they got more and more worse. A stinging pain shot through his hand when he pressed against the wall and he hissed, pulling it back and looking at what damage had been taken.
His eyes widened at what he saw, disbelief strung through him. This couldn't be real. He would have felt the pain. Breathlessly he clutched at his hand, the warm blood slipping down his skin as lightheadedness poured through him. He could have screamed, could have reached out and added pressure to the sudden wound but his strength had already faltered and he had no means to get it back in place. The pain was blinding, his teeth bit down hard on his bottom lip as he tried to suppress the urge to cry out.
Getting blood everywhere he went in search of the house phone, searching through papers to find the spot where he had left it. The paranoia in his mind made him think that maybe whoever had come in here had taken out the phone lines, had left him alone and suddenly deformed. But no, he found it. The phone a heavy weight in his free hand even as it shook. His breath raggedly slipping from his mouth, his heart was pounding at a vicious pace. He could have mistaken this for dying as the blood loss shocked its effect through his veins. He was alive though, or was trying to be as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end.
/]
[/"...what do you mean?" "...the wound has been there for months. There was no actual bleeding." "...there isn't a way it could have reopened?" "No. Did you see any blood?" A heavy sigh. "No I didn't. Just him screaming, saying there had been blood, somewhere." Another sigh. "Mr. Leto, your brother is sick. I think it's time he be admitted." "I don't want that for him." "Neither do I but as his doctor I don't think the medication is working and I don't believe he's on his way to recovery." "You think it's stopped?" A hesitant breath this time. "No. I think it never began. In fact, I think it's worse."
Jared's eyes opened and he looked around the familiar sterile surroundings with a dark pulling inside of him. Those voices. Shannon, his doctor. A groan escaped his lips as he slowly tried to sit up. His balance was off but he managed despite the ache forming at the back of his head. He lifted his hand in front of his face where that wound had been and he sighed. It was heavily bandaged, he couldn't see the state of it. He couldn't even see his own state, he must've looked like a damned corpse. Beaten, bruised, afraid.
Stretching out beneath the blanket he propped himself up on the pillows behind him and let out a low breath. He still felt so sick, his head about to explode within itself, his hands were shaking but the pain in his hand was gone. They must have put something in it to numb it. Nothing was going to take away the scars though and the fear. The fear he had felt just before he had called Shannon when he had first seen the wound. The fear of waking up to Harlow being completely gone. Where the hell was she?
The room door opened and Shannon slipped inside. He held Jared's tired gaze with his own exhausted look. This whole thing was taking its toll on everybody around and Jared was just waiting for this all to be over. When would it be? He prayed soon. But there was a fear nestled inside, a nagging foreboding that told him none of this was going to be ending anytime soon, no matter how much he hoped it would.
"Hey, you feel any better? You really gave me a scare." Shannon said, sitting on the chair that was beside Jared's bed. He was trying hard to brush away the earlier confrontation he faced with his brother, the accusations being thrown in his face as if any of them had any ground to be there, as if Jared really believed any of it.
Jared nodded and sighed. "What happened to my hand?" He questioned, his eyes wide and inquisitive.
Shannon sighed, pushing his hands back through his hair and looked away. "You really don't remember?" He asked, finally turning his gaze back to Jared who shook his head in response. "Look, Jared, I have to tell you something." He didn't want to go through it all again, didn't want to have to speak all those words that had been said several months ago. He needed to let Jared know what the doctor had said, what would happen to him, what everyone thought would be best.
"Where's Harlow?" Jared asked suddenly, his voice thick with worry and panic.
Shannon's brows tensed as he considered his question. "She's not answering her phone."
"She's gone. He took her. He was in the house. She's gone."
Shannon shook his head, not believing a word he was hearing. This was either a very loud cry for help, paranoia, a breakdown or something far far worse. Stalkers didn't stop for months only to pick up back again. It didn't work that way. He'd had his own share of stalkers and things didn't happen the way Jared was saying it. His brother was sick, everyone believed it. And if Harlow was gone maybe she just had had enough.
"Jared, the doctor wants to take you in. He wants to admit you again for a little while, to help you rest."
Shannon knew it would happen. Jared lashing out, yells coming from his lips. This was what had happened last time. This was the same way things had played out before. Doctors shuffled in and medicine was put into Jared's veins.
He could feel himself slip into a calm, not that agonizing blackness from before. This was a sedative letting his body rest and he couldn't fight it. He couldn't fight it even as he saw a man standing in the doorway, his eyes a vicious glare and a smile painted on his thin lips. He was here, he was here. He tried to scream it but nothing would come out. He was here, the damn bastard was always here. But he was slipping and it felt so good to just rest for once. So damn good even if there was a fear filling him. All he felt was it slipping away.
With exasperation he rested his head back against the wall, letting out a long breath as he tried to get a hold on himself. After all the things that had happened since Harlow had gotten that letter again, after everything that had happened once he'd gotten out of the hospital. He needed to get a grip on the abyss he was slowly slipping into. He was the only one that could release himself from this torment, wasn't he? No one else understood the amount of agony he was suffering in. They didn't see the effects it had on him, on the scarred remains of his soul.
Opening his eyes he looked around the living room, at the ceiling beams, the vacant couch. It was empty. As empty as his own heart. He was at a loss, his mind unable to come up with any idea as to why this was happening. He knew he needed to see a doctor, knew he needed to bring all of this over to the police. He needed to figure out what was going on. Needed to find out who it was that was so intent on breaking him, destroying what life he had left.
Even after accusing Shannon he still felt no closer to finding out the truth. It was veiled, by something he couldn't tear away. His eyes were blinded and he was gone from a normal sense of mind. He was alone and forcing himself into isolation could do that to someone.All he wanted was to slip back into the normal routine of life that he had found in Harlow, in sinking back into music. But he couldn't do that, he couldn't even bring himself to write down a single word or a note of music. His old self was gone and in its place was this shadow of that man that would never strengthen or get peace.
Nothing was making sense and he couldn't make any of it make sense either. The darkness of the entire situation was so close to swallowing him, he was hanging by a thread, by the blistered nails of his fingers. He would slip soon, fall to his death to the ground beneath as if that was anyway for any man to die. He couldn't crawl back up though and someone taking notice of the terrors he was faced with had no idea how to help.
There had to be a way, a road to take to map his own life from here on. Was there really supposed to be someone else dictating the way he was gonna live? He had always had a tight grip on his own life, a firm hold on the way he would live. He wasn't going to give that up because of a few days of darkness. He had to take back control. He would figure out a way to do it. One way or another he would become again that person that had once lived. He was still in there somewhere. Or at least he hoped he was, beneath the weight of scars and fear, he was there.
Shakily he rose to his feet, pressing his hand to the wall behind him for support. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. The room was spinning, his head was on fire. Each time these black outs happened they got more and more worse. A stinging pain shot through his hand when he pressed against the wall and he hissed, pulling it back and looking at what damage had been taken.
His eyes widened at what he saw, disbelief strung through him. This couldn't be real. He would have felt the pain. Breathlessly he clutched at his hand, the warm blood slipping down his skin as lightheadedness poured through him. He could have screamed, could have reached out and added pressure to the sudden wound but his strength had already faltered and he had no means to get it back in place. The pain was blinding, his teeth bit down hard on his bottom lip as he tried to suppress the urge to cry out.
Getting blood everywhere he went in search of the house phone, searching through papers to find the spot where he had left it. The paranoia in his mind made him think that maybe whoever had come in here had taken out the phone lines, had left him alone and suddenly deformed. But no, he found it. The phone a heavy weight in his free hand even as it shook. His breath raggedly slipping from his mouth, his heart was pounding at a vicious pace. He could have mistaken this for dying as the blood loss shocked its effect through his veins. He was alive though, or was trying to be as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end.
/]
[/"...what do you mean?" "...the wound has been there for months. There was no actual bleeding." "...there isn't a way it could have reopened?" "No. Did you see any blood?" A heavy sigh. "No I didn't. Just him screaming, saying there had been blood, somewhere." Another sigh. "Mr. Leto, your brother is sick. I think it's time he be admitted." "I don't want that for him." "Neither do I but as his doctor I don't think the medication is working and I don't believe he's on his way to recovery." "You think it's stopped?" A hesitant breath this time. "No. I think it never began. In fact, I think it's worse."
Jared's eyes opened and he looked around the familiar sterile surroundings with a dark pulling inside of him. Those voices. Shannon, his doctor. A groan escaped his lips as he slowly tried to sit up. His balance was off but he managed despite the ache forming at the back of his head. He lifted his hand in front of his face where that wound had been and he sighed. It was heavily bandaged, he couldn't see the state of it. He couldn't even see his own state, he must've looked like a damned corpse. Beaten, bruised, afraid.
Stretching out beneath the blanket he propped himself up on the pillows behind him and let out a low breath. He still felt so sick, his head about to explode within itself, his hands were shaking but the pain in his hand was gone. They must have put something in it to numb it. Nothing was going to take away the scars though and the fear. The fear he had felt just before he had called Shannon when he had first seen the wound. The fear of waking up to Harlow being completely gone. Where the hell was she?
The room door opened and Shannon slipped inside. He held Jared's tired gaze with his own exhausted look. This whole thing was taking its toll on everybody around and Jared was just waiting for this all to be over. When would it be? He prayed soon. But there was a fear nestled inside, a nagging foreboding that told him none of this was going to be ending anytime soon, no matter how much he hoped it would.
"Hey, you feel any better? You really gave me a scare." Shannon said, sitting on the chair that was beside Jared's bed. He was trying hard to brush away the earlier confrontation he faced with his brother, the accusations being thrown in his face as if any of them had any ground to be there, as if Jared really believed any of it.
Jared nodded and sighed. "What happened to my hand?" He questioned, his eyes wide and inquisitive.
Shannon sighed, pushing his hands back through his hair and looked away. "You really don't remember?" He asked, finally turning his gaze back to Jared who shook his head in response. "Look, Jared, I have to tell you something." He didn't want to go through it all again, didn't want to have to speak all those words that had been said several months ago. He needed to let Jared know what the doctor had said, what would happen to him, what everyone thought would be best.
"Where's Harlow?" Jared asked suddenly, his voice thick with worry and panic.
Shannon's brows tensed as he considered his question. "She's not answering her phone."
"She's gone. He took her. He was in the house. She's gone."
Shannon shook his head, not believing a word he was hearing. This was either a very loud cry for help, paranoia, a breakdown or something far far worse. Stalkers didn't stop for months only to pick up back again. It didn't work that way. He'd had his own share of stalkers and things didn't happen the way Jared was saying it. His brother was sick, everyone believed it. And if Harlow was gone maybe she just had had enough.
"Jared, the doctor wants to take you in. He wants to admit you again for a little while, to help you rest."
Shannon knew it would happen. Jared lashing out, yells coming from his lips. This was what had happened last time. This was the same way things had played out before. Doctors shuffled in and medicine was put into Jared's veins.
He could feel himself slip into a calm, not that agonizing blackness from before. This was a sedative letting his body rest and he couldn't fight it. He couldn't fight it even as he saw a man standing in the doorway, his eyes a vicious glare and a smile painted on his thin lips. He was here, he was here. He tried to scream it but nothing would come out. He was here, the damn bastard was always here. But he was slipping and it felt so good to just rest for once. So damn good even if there was a fear filling him. All he felt was it slipping away.
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