I'm updating most of my 'little' stories before I go on break, so yaya! This fit it my schedule, hurrah!
Also, speaking of Yaya's, Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood? (Spelt it right, right?) Someone, go check the schedule, and tell me when and what channel it's playing on, I want to see the movie again, now.
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She reads, I've seen her.
She puts on glasses, curls up into an upright fetal position, lets her beautiful hair hang down loose with its endless tresses and reads as though she has not a care of the world.
Romance novels, usually, is her preference. Sometimes she reads mystery and suspense and I can't help but think she's trying to find the perfect crime with plans to make Gabriella the victim. I laugh at the absurdity of the thought directly after and find, unfortunately, the laugh comes uneasy.
The way she flips through the pages makes my heart ache, she's so gentle with each turn, with the paper that holds no feeling and would hold no remorse if she decided to rip it in two as opposed to when she carelessly cuts my heart in half, not another thought on it.
But here she is, gently caring for this inanimate object while I stand off to the corner, wishing I was that book, and there she is, her brows drawing together in consternation, her cheek bones clenching in hardness, frustration, and it's obvious she's just read something that doesn't quite make sense.
And I can't help but think, its love she just doesn't quite get.
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Sometimes she doesn't sleep. Not a wink.
Sure she gets tired, and sure she finds this inconvenient-after all, losing out on sleep decreases the beauty of her complexion. Along side that she runs the risks of receiving bags under her eyes, her usual prep and perk, her nasty attitude dwindles down somewhat from the lack of energy, and most times, it's the night before a big show or rehearsal.
And yet, there's nothing she can do to stop it.
I stay up with her those nights, but I don't think she notices. I have her in m arms and my breathing is steady, I've mastered it so that she's fooled easily in to thinking that my eyes are really closed and I'm really sound asleep instead of watching her intently, but Sharpay is no fool and I know she knows I'm awake.
I think she prefers it this way.
Me watching from afar, silently.
She slips on her rob and gets up from the bed as quiet as can be on these nights. She quickly looks over her shoulder and then proceeds to walk to the far end of my room. My desk lamp goes on and the novel she's come in with is picked up again and she rereads the line she last read before she mounts me and she looks over again.
Wondering if she's done everything right.
The female wanders into the male's room, she's desperate and they've just been in a fight, she almost lost her life but he saved her, she stubbornly denies that she needed his help because in this day and age there are no more true damsel in distress, just some chic with bad luck needing a guy to rescue her, and so they go to their separate rooms but the lust that drives them together overcomes them and-
And that's when Sharpay comes into my room.
She's a great actress, she really is. Reenacting is her favorite.
So, as she nods her head and smiles at herself, she smiles too at my seemingly sleeping form, letting me know I played my part right. After all, she left the book around more than enough times for me to read my role, and then she gets up to leave back to her room, door ever open and yet this time, I get up to follow.
After all, that's what the male lead in this play is supposed to do next.
And I'm merely a role in her grand scheme of things.
