Rated M for language, implied twincest and character death. The quote in this is from the book Wasteland by Francesca Lia Block. Credit goes to her.

And Then I Won't Be

Let's make it up, Baby

'Cause I ain't gonna fight

If you're the death of me, Darling

I wanna die

"I Wanna Die" - Miranda Lambert

I was sweating and I was freezing. I was running and I was standing completely still. I was laughing, I was crying. I was screaming. My entire body shook. My eyes went blank and a million different colors shone before them.

"You're...you're joking. That's real fucking funny, Chad. You don't kid about stuff like that."

But I knew. Chad was not lying. I could feel it in every vein, every pore, every centimeter of my skin. I could feel it in my bone marrow.

"Sharpay, I'm so sorry."

His arms went around me. Was this supposed to be comfort? My arms never lifted. They stayed flaccid by my sides.

stop it hurts it hurts it hurts

"I'm sorry, too."

My feet were letting me go. I don't remember running, I just remember finding myself here. On top of these bleachers behind East High. My legs were to my chest, my mascara run down my face. My heart was racing and broken in a million pieces.

I could still feel you.

I could feel your arms around me. I could feel that night again. Your breath on me. Your eyes on me. Your fingers, your love. It was so right. So wrong.

"It's not true! You didn't steal anything from me! I wanted it all. I loved it. I loved you!"

My gaze looked to the students on the ground. How long had they been there? I had startled them all with my scream, that was for sure. I saw them look at each other, loud whispers making their way to my ears, becoming one jumbled mess.

its true- they were always too- we should have- we did know- now it doesn't-

I don't know if they thought I was going to jump, but they all twitched when I stood. Fools. I pushed the hair from my face and looked down at the crowd. My audience.

"Don't pretend like you care. You never did. And please, don't judge me. Or judge me. I don't fucking care anymore."

I was back in the hallways of the school before I could realize it. I had set one perfectly pedicured foot into the Principals office and they were already excusing me.

You have to still be there. I have to be there.

My pink car looked too bright against the backdrop of our house. Everything looked gray, sullen.

no no no no no

Our parents looked too preoccupied to care. Why didn't they care? They found you, for Gods sake! I felt like spitting at them as I ran, sprinted in my high heels up the stairs, down the hallway. I came to a dead stop as my fingers touched the door handle.

in out in out breath

It looked exactly as it always had, but it looked so so different. My tears ran black and blue down my face, matching the walls. Matching your body.

"How could you? How fucking could you! You're selfish, you know that? I hate you, I love you, I hate you!"

My voice wasn't my own as it bounced back to my ears. My body found the warmth of your bed as my fingers found their way to the drawer in your bedside table. I sobbed more when I saw where the gun had been.

no you couldn't have you wouldn't have

My body jumped from your bed, the sheets burning my skin. I ran from your door, I couldn't take it. My room looked so fake. Way too childish. I've grown way too much today.

why can't I hate you

On my bed laid a book. A thin paperback book with a somber cover. A light blue post-it note tucked near the back.

what are you trying to tell me

I picked up the light book, my fingers tracing the title: Wasteland. I opened to the post-it and saw your handwriting. In your perfect scribble,

"I'm sorry, Sharpay. Please forgive me. I love you. I loved you too much."

And then I read the page you had bookmarked for me, searching every word for an answer.

Did I wound you, mutilate. Take away your voice. Did I cut something from you. Leave you locked in silence?

This is what you do: you sing. Every part of you. Your locks of hair sing sing, your eyes, your hands, your smile. If I listen closely I can even hear your blood.

Was I the one that took that away?

Go down to the water where we used to swim. Stand under the sky at dawn when the sky is streaked with blood. Open your mouth and shout our secret to the waves. The ocean will be your voice. You won't have to carry anything alone. Little Sister, my Spring. April. Little nightingale. Stand at the edge of the water. Your voice will come back to you.

Maybe. If I am silent.

I held the book to my chest, soaking it with my tears.

"I wasn't sorry, Ryan. I love you, too."