Title: The Escape (look at that creativity...)
Author: Sally (Sorrell) of fanfiction.
Rating: PG, I suppose. PG13 depending on who you ask.
Disclaimer: Guess who doesn't own Sharpay or Ryan or HSM? Me!
If I can escape from this horrific, torturous thing called reality, I’m sure I can manage a jail-break.
My escape from the first is simple.
All I’ve got to do is find her, which is also unbelievably easy. She’s right across the hall.
I throw my backpack down to my bedroom floor, cursing its existence and the homework it contains.
A chill spirals down my neck. I do love when she says my name. I didn’t even have to ask this time.
I walk directly into her room.
Knocking on the door? Asking permission? She doesn’t love me for my polite qualities, but for the more demanding side of me.
Only with her, and only at home, do I allow myself to act like this.
Sharpay is sitting on her neatly made bed, studying me. Her lips are twisted into a tight, sly sort of pout. One of her eyebrows rises as well, adding to the effect.
“What, Ryan?” she purposely drags out my name. Her smile joins my own as I sit down beside her.
She removes my hat from my head with trembling fingers. It gets thrown across the room, slamming into the wall. It is the only sound present.
I lie down, and nudge my sister down with me.
Here, next to her, I’m actually worth something. My classes, my friends, my worries, they’re worth nothing. She is my only goal, and she’s been reached.
There is no need for me to tap into her mind; I’ve been inside of it my whole life.
“God, Ryan...” she whispers after a minute, “I love you.”
“Mm hmm.” I practically hum.
Gently, I place her head over my shoulder. Her knees fold in front of her, as she turns on her side. Her breath is warm against the softer side of my arm.
I can feel a devious smile twisting onto my face.
I’m her man, she’s told me before. Would anyone ever say anything like that to me of all people?
But does she care the way I dress? No.
Though I like to pretend she hates my clothing, because she tears it off of me frequently.
Has Sharpay, far superior, ever been so dependent on a person? No.
She doesn’t like to admit it. Not even when we’re alone. I need to pry it out of her mind, for my interpretation only...
Without even thinking, her lips crash into my own, throwing her scarlet lipstick over my cheek, neck, and as far down my chest as she can reach.
Do you see this ridiculous, backward world I like to live in? Or at least pretend that I can...
It’s much better than reality.
A hopeful, impatient whine from Sharpay confirms this, as she reaches for the collar of my shirt, while still engulfed in our deep kiss.
There... any thoughts, any thoughts at all? I attempted a new style on this one, and I'd adore some opinions :)
Thanks for reading, I do hope you enjoyed it!