FIC: A Series of Firsts (2/?)
Title: A Series of Firsts: The Thirst.
Fandom: Real People.
Characters: Jared Leto, Shannon Leto (brief mention).
Prompt: Table 2; # 91 - Burst.
Word Count: 922.
Rating: R - brief violence.
Summary: Jared reflects on various firsts in his life.
Author's Notes: This is the second part of the series. The first can be found here.
His first kill came after a show, he couldn't remember where exactly, though images of it still haunted his dreams from time to time. Despite what they told him and their warnings against it he refused to bite someone, to drink blood in any way. By the third day he was a wreck, a shell of his former self. Anything he tried to eat came back up, no matter how much water he drank he still felt thirsty, just walking in a restaurant he could smell the raw meat in the kitchen and a voice inside his head would taunt him to seek it out for the blood so he would be satisfied. On top of that he could barely sleep no matter whether it was day or night. Each time he began to doze off his mind would start to wander and he would hear things, smell things. At first he thought they were simply traveling over a bumpy road but the sound was rhythmic, steady, reminding him of a drumbeat the more he focused on it. The scent drew him out of his bunk, some potent mix of sweetness and bitterness. A rustling noise broke through his concentration and he blinked a few times, eyes going wide when he realized he was standing before one of the others' bunks, the curtain pulled back by his hand and the press of his new fangs sharp against his lower lip. He had been so repulsed by himself that he shut himself in the tiny bathroom and gashed one wrist with his shaving razor. Tears of frustration welled up as the wound healed itself without a drop of blood being spilt.
The show almost seemed like a blessing. A way to soundly distract himself and simultaneously expel all the pent up twisted emotions that were swarming inside of him. All three of the guys were concerned about him, what with his not sleeping or eating, but he brushed it off, knowing even if he wanted to he couldn't share what was bothering him. That night when he stared at himself in the dressing room's mirror he almost didn't recognize the person looking back at him. Random colors were the pattern for him lately but the only thing suitable in his mind was black. Lots of black.
For two hours Jared felt more like himself than he had in days. He didn't even notice how he barely tasted the water as he drank it, couldn't hear the beating of dozens of hearts above the music. Even after he felt normal, smiling to himself when he noticed how relieved Shannon looked to see him behaving normally. At some point he ventured outside by himself, probably to go to the bus or talk to some of the fans still lingering, but as he reflexively shivered from the change in temperature the cooler air seemed to clear his head and cut through the aura of normalcy that had been protecting him. Suddenly that smell he had quick grown to hate was all around him, stomach muscles constricting painfully in hunger. Panic seized him and he fled, running through alleys, down empty streets. He ran until he couldn't catch his breath and his body ached, and then he ran a few blocks more before his body forced him to stop.
Sinking against a brick wall as he gasped for breath, he raked his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain that was tingling in seemingly every part of his body. He felt like he was dying, and he almost wanted to. Thought it had to be better than what was now required of him to survive. But just then the scent of blood and beat of a strong pulse cut through all thoughts and his head jerked up to watch a prostitute walk into the alley. The stronger the smell got the less his thoughts were his own, the closer she came the more he watched her as a predator would, assessing the exits and the best way to take his victim.
She never saw him come at her from behind, an arm locking around her waist and a hand over her mouth as his fangs pierced her flesh. Dull human teeth sank into his hand and he snarled like a rottweiler, throwing her against a wall with more force than was necessary, but at that point he wasn't even aware of his own strength, only the desire to feed. Bones snapped, cut the inside of his mouth as he latched onto her neck, hands holding her down. She died shortly after that, long before he finished feeding.
It was almost dawn when he neared the bus, waved off the questions of both concern and accusation. Where had he been the last six hours? What happened to his clothes? Had he been in a fight? Jared didn't say anything, didn't bother to change his clothes, just boarded the bus and collapsed in his bunk, barely pulling the curtain shut before he passed out. When he woke it was sometime around dusk and he felt refreshed, satisfied, relieved to have finally slept. Guilt kicked in later, along with disgust.
They said such emotions would fade over time, as the kills and bodies stacked up. He wasn't so sure he wanted them to. The guilt made him feel a little more human, a little more normal. They always laughed at that. Would touch his fangs and say that he would never be like them - humans - again.
Fandom: Real People.
Characters: Jared Leto, Shannon Leto (brief mention).
Prompt: Table 2; # 91 - Burst.
Word Count: 922.
Rating: R - brief violence.
Summary: Jared reflects on various firsts in his life.
Author's Notes: This is the second part of the series. The first can be found here.
His first kill came after a show, he couldn't remember where exactly, though images of it still haunted his dreams from time to time. Despite what they told him and their warnings against it he refused to bite someone, to drink blood in any way. By the third day he was a wreck, a shell of his former self. Anything he tried to eat came back up, no matter how much water he drank he still felt thirsty, just walking in a restaurant he could smell the raw meat in the kitchen and a voice inside his head would taunt him to seek it out for the blood so he would be satisfied. On top of that he could barely sleep no matter whether it was day or night. Each time he began to doze off his mind would start to wander and he would hear things, smell things. At first he thought they were simply traveling over a bumpy road but the sound was rhythmic, steady, reminding him of a drumbeat the more he focused on it. The scent drew him out of his bunk, some potent mix of sweetness and bitterness. A rustling noise broke through his concentration and he blinked a few times, eyes going wide when he realized he was standing before one of the others' bunks, the curtain pulled back by his hand and the press of his new fangs sharp against his lower lip. He had been so repulsed by himself that he shut himself in the tiny bathroom and gashed one wrist with his shaving razor. Tears of frustration welled up as the wound healed itself without a drop of blood being spilt.
The show almost seemed like a blessing. A way to soundly distract himself and simultaneously expel all the pent up twisted emotions that were swarming inside of him. All three of the guys were concerned about him, what with his not sleeping or eating, but he brushed it off, knowing even if he wanted to he couldn't share what was bothering him. That night when he stared at himself in the dressing room's mirror he almost didn't recognize the person looking back at him. Random colors were the pattern for him lately but the only thing suitable in his mind was black. Lots of black.
For two hours Jared felt more like himself than he had in days. He didn't even notice how he barely tasted the water as he drank it, couldn't hear the beating of dozens of hearts above the music. Even after he felt normal, smiling to himself when he noticed how relieved Shannon looked to see him behaving normally. At some point he ventured outside by himself, probably to go to the bus or talk to some of the fans still lingering, but as he reflexively shivered from the change in temperature the cooler air seemed to clear his head and cut through the aura of normalcy that had been protecting him. Suddenly that smell he had quick grown to hate was all around him, stomach muscles constricting painfully in hunger. Panic seized him and he fled, running through alleys, down empty streets. He ran until he couldn't catch his breath and his body ached, and then he ran a few blocks more before his body forced him to stop.
Sinking against a brick wall as he gasped for breath, he raked his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain that was tingling in seemingly every part of his body. He felt like he was dying, and he almost wanted to. Thought it had to be better than what was now required of him to survive. But just then the scent of blood and beat of a strong pulse cut through all thoughts and his head jerked up to watch a prostitute walk into the alley. The stronger the smell got the less his thoughts were his own, the closer she came the more he watched her as a predator would, assessing the exits and the best way to take his victim.
She never saw him come at her from behind, an arm locking around her waist and a hand over her mouth as his fangs pierced her flesh. Dull human teeth sank into his hand and he snarled like a rottweiler, throwing her against a wall with more force than was necessary, but at that point he wasn't even aware of his own strength, only the desire to feed. Bones snapped, cut the inside of his mouth as he latched onto her neck, hands holding her down. She died shortly after that, long before he finished feeding.
It was almost dawn when he neared the bus, waved off the questions of both concern and accusation. Where had he been the last six hours? What happened to his clothes? Had he been in a fight? Jared didn't say anything, didn't bother to change his clothes, just boarded the bus and collapsed in his bunk, barely pulling the curtain shut before he passed out. When he woke it was sometime around dusk and he felt refreshed, satisfied, relieved to have finally slept. Guilt kicked in later, along with disgust.
They said such emotions would fade over time, as the kills and bodies stacked up. He wasn't so sure he wanted them to. The guilt made him feel a little more human, a little more normal. They always laughed at that. Would touch his fangs and say that he would never be like them - humans - again.