Puppet.

I was literally ten steps into my dressing room when two foreign hands grabbed my jacket and slammed me into the wall. I nearly laughed from the delicious twangs of pain, but remembered this person could seriously injure me…I mean, this face pays the bills—no lie. It was Shannon, beet red and pissed to hell, but thank god it was only HIM. His fingers dug into my shoulders, as if to say, “I’m never letting you go!”…bummer. My confused and drugged eyes stared into his furious and sharp eyes, I knew where this was going.

“You promised you would stop it!” Shannon hissed, thrusting my shoulders against the wall.

“And I did, so what’s crawled up your ass?” I answered smoothly, wearing my trademark smile.

“No, you don’t get off this easy! I overheard Gerard Way talking to his brother about how ‘odd’ you were acting!” Shannon growled, eyes flitting at the open door—obviously no one was listening…duh.

“I’m an odd person; people are allowed to assume that! Come on, let’s get in our concert gear, play a kickass show, and then watch a scary movie later!” I coaxed, fingers slicing into my palm once more.

“NO, I’m sick of this shit, Jared! Look at what I found under your bed!” Shannon seethed, gesturing to my stash of calming medicine.

“Hm, my secret collection of tic-tacs? Oh god, you WANT me to have non-minty fresh breath—don’t you!?” I threw my head back a little and laughed.

“Stop!...No, you’re going to get this out of your system before we go on—which is right after My Chemical Romance. You…you left me no other option,” Shannon murmured, voice cracking with despair.

“Wait, what are you—?” I started, before feeling something solid connect with my head.

Dark. Pain. Mommy…? My eyes snapped open and flickered at the digital clock on my dressing room table. I’d been out for thirty minutes, thirty fucking minutes. FUCK, I had some serious withdrawal going on. Then I saw it, there was my stash just a few precious feet away from me…right there on the floor. I pulled my arm out to grab the beauty, but felt resistance on my wrists. Oh my god. My eyes widened and a noise crept out of my throat. My own brother had fucking handcuffed me to a pipe!? I lunged desperately for my precious stash, seriously just an inch or two away from my face.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! PLEASE, PLEASE, I’LL BE GOOD! JUST LET ME HAVE A TINY PIECE OF ONE? SHANNON! SHANNON! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!!” I screamed at the closed door, literally bawling my freaking eyes out. Wonder if eyes can swim? Shit. Shit. SHIT.

The cuffs scuffed tauntingly as I dragged them up and down the pipe, I mean, what ancient piece of crap building puts a pipe like this in a dressing room!? Sweat was free falling, I was shaking and I felt the agony return to me…that memory…always returns to me.

‘I’m on stage, the light beating down on me. I’m just Jared Leto, from that new band called 30 Seconds to Mars. Nobody knows who I am, but they like the music…they LOVE the music. I’m bone dead tired, my legs are wobbling, and I just want to go lay down. The rest of the band mirrors my feelings, but the crowd can’t be tamed—they want an encore. I lean in closer to the mike, breathing wheezing and ragged.

“Sorry guys, we’re fucking beat. Thanks for your support and your time, hope to see you guys again sometime!” I breathed into the microphone.

I was met with a chorus of pleading, angry, sorrowful cries from the crowd as the band and I made for the exit on the stage. The band manager, who is now EX-manager, put his hands out in front of us.

“Whoa now, the crowd wants an encore. Give it to them or we don’t get paid!” He ordered.

“Bull-shit, we did the allotted time; therefore, we get paid!” I wheezed, trying to push by him.

“GET. OUT. THERE. NOW,” He said again, firmer than before.

“Fine…” the other members of my band said, trudging back out. A crowd of cheers greeting them.

“Fuck no, we’re tired!” I snapped, shoving at the manager.

“Here, take this and go back out,” He purred, holding out some pink pills.

“I’m not—,” I started.

“All rock stars do it, and don’t forget…I can have your ass replaced. Now take the goddamn pills and GO!” He shouted, pushing them into my mouth. He held my nose…making sure I had no choice but to swallow.

Strong hands shoved me back out as I felt the pills begin their dirty work and it felt…really good…so good…so wrong…’

Some might say that memory’s weak, why does it bother you so much? WHY!? Because I lost my soul that night, that’s fucking WHY! I let out a bloodcurdling howl and pulled harder on the handcuffs, earning me some severely bruised wrists and…a broken handcuff? A weak laugh crept out of my throat; I guess my brother bought the cheap ass kind. I slide my free hand out of the cuff and left the other—still firmly in its grasp—ensnared in the loop. I crawled over to the box, there wasn’t too many small bottles left…but just enough to have one BIG bang. I unscrewed the lids and began dumping them into my mouth, dry swallowing them all. Once I was content and definitely out of pills, I got to my feet—wobbling as I opened the door and walked towards the stage area.

Let’s just say, when you mix a whole lot of pills…you see a whole lot of WEIRD shit. My head’s on fire, I can’t remember where I put my keys, and I forgot to punch in before going into the backstage area. I spied a lone water bottle and guzzled it, water cascading down my jaw line and shirt. I pat the rich black curtains that hung in odd places among the boxes of musical shit. I bet I could make a stuffed dog out of this…and name it Eggo—Ha-ha. A loud bang jolted me out of my random thoughts, my eyes sliding into focus as the person came into view…Gerard.

“Leto? Why do you have a hand cuff dangling off your right arm? Are you alright, you look sick or something?” Gerard asked, clearly concerned for my ‘well-being’.

“Jared,” I slurred, chucking the empty water bottle at him. He flinched…shockingly enough.

“What?” Gerard asked quizzically.

“My name is JARED Leto. That’s my name—not Leto. Get it right, fucktard,” I growled, my pill induced mind holding nothing back.

“Okay…Jared, well your brother’s looking for you—,” Gerard began softly, noticing I was heavily medicated.

“YOU TOLD HIM, DIDN’T YOU!?” I screeched, grabbing his black jacket and shoving him onto the stage—completely unaware people were watching me hit at MCR’s lead singer.

“No…I—,” Gerard spluttered, trying to grab at my flailing hands.

“I HATE YOU! LOOK WHAT THIS BUSINESS DID TO ME! THEY STOLE MY SOUL AND EXSPECT ME TO JUST BEND OVER OBEDIENTLY!?” I raged, my throat hoarse from screaming. It was then I noticed an eerie quiet had gone over the concert crowd. Tears streaming from my eyes, I glared back defiantly.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE!? ANOTHER FUCKED UP MUSICIAN!? WELL DRINK IT UP, TAKE IT IN…I DON’T CARE ANYMORE!!” I howled, my heart ripping out of my chest as I fell backwards onto the dirty stage. Overdose. Shit.

My vision was purpling and for a minute I felt completely happy—not the “I’m happy I’m dying” kind of happy, but the “hey, I’m glad I got that off my chest” kind of happy. Gerard appeared in front of my face, slapping it and giving me CPR…I heard the crowd screaming in horror and then—nothing.

--Three Days Later—

I pried my eyelids open, fully aware of tubes going in and out of my arms. I was in a hospital…and I felt like shit. My brother had his face smashed into my covers and Tomo was slouched in a chair, awkwardly sleeping. I twitched my fingers and was rewarded a bleary eye from my brother.

“I’m sorry…no…more…promise…for…real…this time,” I croaked out, my throat protesting the whole time.

“I know, it’ll be okay. We’ll all have each other to lean on this time,” Shannon said softly, clenching my hand protectively.

“How…many…saw…IT?” I rasped, fearing the answer.

“It was broadcasted live…so everyone knows, but we’ve already released a statement. Everything’s been taken care of…everything will be okay,” Shannon whispered, face breaking into a small smile.

I smiled lightly, yes…everything will be okay.