Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > The Secret is Out
Jared sighed loudly and taking his fedora off, he raked his hand through his messy hair. Sitting there on the brown couch, he scanned the waiting room as he began to toy with the fedora in his hands.
The room was small, the walls painted in white, two large brown couches and a glass coffee table between them. There was a vase made of glass on the center of the small table with a bunch of flowers. Hanging from the wall in front of him, there were two paintings, nothing special or outstanding, just two simple landscapes. Way too common, he thought. The door to the office was right next to the couch Jared was, to his right. The door to the reception was across the room, in the far corner from Jared, to his left. There were no windows, but the room was lit by a bright light that hung from the ceiling.
He was alone.
A puffed of impatience escaped through Jared’s lips as he began to tap his right foot lightly on the laminate floor unconsciously. He thought this was a waste of time. He had been thinking that since the very moment Shannon had suggested it. It wouldn’t work, he had told his brother, because he wasn’t crazy. Shannon told him he didn’t think he was crazy, but he did need help urgently. He made him promise he would try this out and if it didn’t work out, then he would leave Jared alone. Jared thought about it for a second and, rolling his eyes in annoyance, he accepted. At least, when it didn’t work —and he was sure it wouldn’t—, Shannon would finally leave him the hell alone. So here he was, waiting for the doctor to come out and play with his mind, trying not to run out the door he had come in.
Impatient, he stood up and walked up to where the paintings were. He placed his hands —the fedora still in them— on his back and interlaced them together. He looked up at the paintings, examining every detail. He found himself getting lost in them. Every now and then he approached his face more and more to the frame to catch a glimpse of the smallest detail.
“Mr. Leto?” a soft female vice startled him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Mr. Jared Leto?” She insisted.
Putting his fedora back on, he turned and looked at her. The woman was a few inches shorter than him; her skin was pale, making contrast with her long, curly, dark hair. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her figure nicely; the skirt of it reached a few inches above her knees. On top of the dress, there was an open white robe; a golden badge on the right above her breast shone with her name on it. Black shoes matched her dress and black-rimmed glasses framed her face. She was beautiful; there was no denial in that. And Jared scolded himself for having noticed it.
“Mr. Leto?” she called, tilting her head to the side, worried, when he didn’t respond to her calls.
“Yes, that’s me.” He said, snapping out. A smile threatened to draw on his lips, but he restrained it.
“Come on in.” She invited him, stepping aside so he could get inside.
Sighing, he entered her office He scanned it, just like he had at the waiting room. It was larger, brighter. The wall-length window in front of the door was covered by thin, white curtains, allowing the sun to pour in through. The walls were white as well, making the room even brighter. To his left was her brown wooden desk. There was a pile of folders on the right of it and a vase made of glass, just exactly like the one in the waiting room, but this one had only one flower, one lonely red flower. Just like him. There were some papers strewn about, a pencil case, a small calendar and more stuff he didn’t care about. To the left of the desk there were diplomas and recognitions with her name printed on them in pretty fonts. They were framed and placed nicely on the white wall.
Shannon had told him she was good, but he never thought she was that good. It didn’t matter though; she wasn’t going to be able to help him anyway. No matter how good she was.
“Please, take a sit.” Her voice rang softly through his ears and he obliged, sitting down onto the chair in front of the desk.
“Well, Mr. Leto,” she began as she took a sit on her black chair. When she leaned in to grab it, he caught a glimpse of her cleavage; her black lace bra matching her whole outfit. He lowered his gaze immediately, ashamed, and gulped. “My name is Leah Dunham , and I am your psychologist.” He met her grey eyes, framed by long, dark lashes. Even with the glasses on her face, the beauty of her eyes could be seen through them. “I am here to help you, Mr. Leto.” A warm and friendly smile made its way to her full, pink lips, trying its best to wrench one from Jared.
“Call me Jared.” He said, restraining himself again to smile. “And I appreciate you trying to help me, I really do, but I don’t need help. I’m not crazy.”
“No one’s saying you are, Mr- Jared.” She rectified.
“Then why am I here, with you? You said you’re a psychologist.”
“That’s right, I am, but I don’t treat with people who have mental problems, or as you call them, «crazy people». Those are the psychiatrists. I, on the other hand, help people who have traumas, emotional problems, personal problems that can’t be told to any person, just like you. And that doesn’t mean that you or any of those people are crazy.” She stated with a soft voice. She seemed to be used to receiving this kind of comments, and she knew how to handle it well.
Jared stared at her beaming grey eyes. She was eager to help. He wasn’t willing to let her. There were things he wasn’t determined to share; they were way too private to let the stranger woman, although a professional, know of them. He was determined not to let any word slip out of his lips. If Shannon had gotten enough of Jared’s mutism, then she was going to break easily and instantly. And he would be able to end this whole useless charade.
The room was small, the walls painted in white, two large brown couches and a glass coffee table between them. There was a vase made of glass on the center of the small table with a bunch of flowers. Hanging from the wall in front of him, there were two paintings, nothing special or outstanding, just two simple landscapes. Way too common, he thought. The door to the office was right next to the couch Jared was, to his right. The door to the reception was across the room, in the far corner from Jared, to his left. There were no windows, but the room was lit by a bright light that hung from the ceiling.
He was alone.
A puffed of impatience escaped through Jared’s lips as he began to tap his right foot lightly on the laminate floor unconsciously. He thought this was a waste of time. He had been thinking that since the very moment Shannon had suggested it. It wouldn’t work, he had told his brother, because he wasn’t crazy. Shannon told him he didn’t think he was crazy, but he did need help urgently. He made him promise he would try this out and if it didn’t work out, then he would leave Jared alone. Jared thought about it for a second and, rolling his eyes in annoyance, he accepted. At least, when it didn’t work —and he was sure it wouldn’t—, Shannon would finally leave him the hell alone. So here he was, waiting for the doctor to come out and play with his mind, trying not to run out the door he had come in.
Impatient, he stood up and walked up to where the paintings were. He placed his hands —the fedora still in them— on his back and interlaced them together. He looked up at the paintings, examining every detail. He found himself getting lost in them. Every now and then he approached his face more and more to the frame to catch a glimpse of the smallest detail.
“Mr. Leto?” a soft female vice startled him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Mr. Jared Leto?” She insisted.
Putting his fedora back on, he turned and looked at her. The woman was a few inches shorter than him; her skin was pale, making contrast with her long, curly, dark hair. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her figure nicely; the skirt of it reached a few inches above her knees. On top of the dress, there was an open white robe; a golden badge on the right above her breast shone with her name on it. Black shoes matched her dress and black-rimmed glasses framed her face. She was beautiful; there was no denial in that. And Jared scolded himself for having noticed it.
“Mr. Leto?” she called, tilting her head to the side, worried, when he didn’t respond to her calls.
“Yes, that’s me.” He said, snapping out. A smile threatened to draw on his lips, but he restrained it.
“Come on in.” She invited him, stepping aside so he could get inside.
Sighing, he entered her office He scanned it, just like he had at the waiting room. It was larger, brighter. The wall-length window in front of the door was covered by thin, white curtains, allowing the sun to pour in through. The walls were white as well, making the room even brighter. To his left was her brown wooden desk. There was a pile of folders on the right of it and a vase made of glass, just exactly like the one in the waiting room, but this one had only one flower, one lonely red flower. Just like him. There were some papers strewn about, a pencil case, a small calendar and more stuff he didn’t care about. To the left of the desk there were diplomas and recognitions with her name printed on them in pretty fonts. They were framed and placed nicely on the white wall.
Shannon had told him she was good, but he never thought she was that good. It didn’t matter though; she wasn’t going to be able to help him anyway. No matter how good she was.
“Please, take a sit.” Her voice rang softly through his ears and he obliged, sitting down onto the chair in front of the desk.
“Well, Mr. Leto,” she began as she took a sit on her black chair. When she leaned in to grab it, he caught a glimpse of her cleavage; her black lace bra matching her whole outfit. He lowered his gaze immediately, ashamed, and gulped. “My name is Leah Dunham , and I am your psychologist.” He met her grey eyes, framed by long, dark lashes. Even with the glasses on her face, the beauty of her eyes could be seen through them. “I am here to help you, Mr. Leto.” A warm and friendly smile made its way to her full, pink lips, trying its best to wrench one from Jared.
“Call me Jared.” He said, restraining himself again to smile. “And I appreciate you trying to help me, I really do, but I don’t need help. I’m not crazy.”
“No one’s saying you are, Mr- Jared.” She rectified.
“Then why am I here, with you? You said you’re a psychologist.”
“That’s right, I am, but I don’t treat with people who have mental problems, or as you call them, «crazy people». Those are the psychiatrists. I, on the other hand, help people who have traumas, emotional problems, personal problems that can’t be told to any person, just like you. And that doesn’t mean that you or any of those people are crazy.” She stated with a soft voice. She seemed to be used to receiving this kind of comments, and she knew how to handle it well.
Jared stared at her beaming grey eyes. She was eager to help. He wasn’t willing to let her. There were things he wasn’t determined to share; they were way too private to let the stranger woman, although a professional, know of them. He was determined not to let any word slip out of his lips. If Shannon had gotten enough of Jared’s mutism, then she was going to break easily and instantly. And he would be able to end this whole useless charade.
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