Author's Note: This one is for Cass, who not only convinced me to write a Rypay, but read this and assured me it wasn't total crap before i posted it. It is part one of two, and its from Sharpay's PoV. Spoiler free. My second HSM fic- and probably my last. I have to get back to LWD. Derek and Casey need me :-P
Contains: Swearing and Twincest.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Sometimes all Sharpay Evans wanted to do was escape her life. She was always surrounded by things, beautiful, fabulous, shiny things that made her happy when she bought them, but that under the harsh lighting scheme in her bedroom, just made her more depressed. She was always surrounded by people, happy, sparkly, bubbly people, who never failed to shower her with compliments, but who she knew didn't really like her- didn't really know her, at all.
The only person who did really know her, her one source of comfort and moments of real happiness was Ryan. But alone in her room, thinking of Ryan just made her feel worse. Because Ryan had long ago stopped being just her brother, hell, maybe he never had been. They'd always been a unit-Ryan and Sharpay- for as long as she could remember. When they were kids, there had been whole weeks during the summer when Ryan had been the only other person she saw. There were servants of course, in charge of leaving out food and delivering the packages mother and daddy sent from their cruises, but the only person she saw, was Ryan. He was the only person to check on her and see if she was ok, the only person to talk to her, to entertain her, to make sure the bathroom light was left on so she wouldn't be scared. In those weeks, he was literally her entire world.
When they got older, he became her dance partner, her costar, and most important of all, her confidant. In junior high school she used to sleep in his bed after bad days. When the other girls had made fun of her braces, or her impossibly long hair, or the glittery pink and silver outfits that would later become her trademark, and she'd come home in tears, it was Ryan who told her she was beautiful. They'd lay in his bed, and he'd stroke her hair, and hold her, and tell her she was beautiful until she believed it, and drifted off to sleep.
She had to be there for him too. In eighth grade, his hats and shirts and affinity for the theater(and the fact that his best friend was his sister) started whispers of 'fag' around the halls. Suddenly, no one wanted him on their team in gym, or to sit by them at lunch. Then it was Sharpay's turn to do the comforting. No one else cared.
"Screw them Ryan," she'd whisper in the dark, resting a hand on his developing biceps, "we don't need anyone else, because we're better than everyone else. We have each other and that's enough." Eventually those words became their mantra, and they turned the whispers and rumors into titles. Perfecting them. More glitter, more attitude, over the top and on stage, always. When freshman year rolled around, they strutted down the East High halls, commanding attention, attracting fans, and winning leads in every play they tried out for. Always pretending they loved every minute, always pretending they didn't hear the whispers that still went around, always pretending they were on top of the world. Until they got home, and into his bed, always his bed, and they were themselves again, and the rest of the world fell away.
So maybe that first kiss, winter of Sophomore year, after a particularly long and charged dance practice, was inevitable. Maybe all those times they tried to stop, tried to turn away, only to end up back in each others arms by nightfall were to be expected. Maybe all those nights in his room, nights that recently had come to include less sleep and more cries and moans and writhing and arching and frantic hungry kisses, and hands everywhere and heat, so much heat, and most of all sin-maybe they couldn't be helped. Maybe if either of them had ever learned to trust or even have a real conversation with someone else, with ANYONE else, they wouldn't be where they are now. On their way to hell in a hand basket, a pink hand basket of course, but still. Maybe its not their fault at all.
But Sharpay knew that all the rationalizing in the world didn't make it ok. Nothing could ever make loving, kissing, touching, fucking, Ryan, her brother, her twin, ok. It was so many kinds of wrong she couldn't even begin to number them. She told herself over and over again that it had to stop, that no good could possibly come of this. It had no future, no happy ending. No one would ever understand them, she barely understood them. But stopping was impossible. The thought of trying to make it through a day or even a few hours with out Ryan always left her feeling sick and empty. She tried, she really did-but she couldn't do it.
She needed Ryan. She needed him to remain her other half, her dance partner, her costar, her co-conspirator, her confidant, her best friend and her lover, forever. She didn't think she was even capable of functioning with out him.It might have been selfish, but she just didn't know how to be by herself. SharpayandRyan, RyanandSharpay. Nothing else made sense to her, and she was sure nothing else ever would.
It was cruel-almost unthinkably cruel. It left Sharpay feeling trapped in her own life. She wanted the impossible, she wanted two things at once. She wanted to forget it all, and be a normal teenage girl, and she wanted to run into Ryan's arms and stay there forever. Most days the pull to Ryan was stronger. It couldn't end well, and it did have to end, she knew that, although she had no idea how. It was scandalous, it was cruel, it was impossible, it was wrong it was sinful-it was Sharpay's life, and her prison.