What is with me, huh? I've been posting non-stop! I am a writing MACHINE! :D I'm very satisfied with the way this chapter turned out. I realize it's a little shorter than normal, but I really felt that the sections needed to stand alone in their own chapter.

Also: this may turn out to be longer than a fiveshot. (Have I said that before? I think so...). But anyway, I know where it's supposed to end, but it may take more than five chapters to get there. But that's alright, right? :D I know you guys will be happy about that. ;)

I hope you enjoy this.

-ssn

Oh, yeah, and one more thing: thank you so much for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! You guys are totally awesome! xD

X-Ray Vision

Part Four

Sharpay led Jimmie to the kitchen.

She opened the freezer to search for the frozen desert, but it served a dual purpose. To cool off her heated cheeks. Did she really just admit all that to him? She hadn't even discussed it with herself first: the words flew out before she had a chance to filter them. Sharpay felt humiliated.

As her eyes fell upon the carton of strawberry ice cream, she wished she could just kick that boy out of her house. She would have, but Sharpay knew he'd just keep coming back. And to tell the truth: she was sort of lonely. Her original plan was watching a cheesy Lifetime movie, but she figured having Jimmie here would prove to be more entertaining. As long as he kept his "Yoda" talk to a minimum, that was. It often got on her nerves.

"Having some trouble over there?"

Sharpay had forgotten she still had her head in the freezer. She immediately pulled it out. "No, everything's fine. See?" She shoved the tub in his hands.

Jimmie fumbled back, but quickly regained his composure. He smiled and sat the carton on the island counter, sliding into a bar stool. Sharpay turned and pulled down a bowl from the cabinet. She leaned against the counter and scooped out a portion for Jimmie.

"Hey, where's your bowl?" he asked. She gave him a look.

"You obviously don't know me well." Sharpay stuck her spoon straight into the carton.

"Oh," he looked away.

Sharpay shoved a gulp into her cheeks and waited for the action to begin. Jimmie merely ate his serving quietly. She rolled her eyes.

"What, you don't have—?"

"Let's play 20 questions."

"I should've known."

Jimmie chuckled. "I'll keep it tame, I promise."

"Because you're so wild normally."

"Wildly inquisitive."

Sharpay scoffed, eating another spoonful of ice cream. "Well, anymore of that crap and you'll be wildly in pain."

"Point taken." Jimmie cringed a little. Sharpay had to admit, it was funny to see him squirm. She reached out and tapped the counter space in front of him. He looked up.

"You go first," she said, swallowing the mouthful of frozen cream. "I'm still eating."

"Okay, um…," he paused to think, "what do you like to do?"

Sharpay stared at him. Was he kidding? What did she like to do? When he said tame, he meant it. She had to stop and actually consider the question. She wasn't quite sure what her hobbies were. Did she even have them anymore? A thought came to mind.

"Sleep. I like to sleep, Jimmie Zara. A lot."

"Well, that's certainly typical behavior," he tried to reach his spoon into her carton for another helping, but she shooed him away, "especially for someone that's depressed." He retreated, eying her in a knowing manner. Sharpay narrowed her own eyes.

"How do you know that?"

"Well," he gave a slight, but not amused laugh, "it takes one to know one."

Sharpay released her glare. Instead, she studied him, blankly. "Is that what you were trying to tell me last week, in my car?" She still held the carton in her hand, but she had stopped eating it.

"Um…," he replayed the scene in his mind, "no. I was trying to tell you I used to take your same anti-anxiety meds. I was trying to level with you."

Now, Sharpay sat the carton down on the counter before them. This was way more interesting than Lifetime.

"So, you take both an anti-depressant and an anti-anxiety?"

Jimmie shrugged, "Yeah."

"Wow, you're one messed up kid, aren't you?" Immediately after saying it, she felt regret. Jimmie looked at her incredulously.

"Don't you think that's the pot calling the kettle black? I know you take both too."

Sharpay had almost forgotten that. Now, awkwardness crawled up her spine. But she scoffed away his accusation, quickly. Jimmie let it drop—he would've felt just as resentful. The two sat in silence for what seemed like too long. Sharpay wanted to stick her head back in the freezer, but instead, she cleared her throat. She couldn't believe she was about to ask him this.

"What happened?" Her voice was quiet, but seemed to echo in the silence between them.

Jimmie shifted. "What do you mean? Like, why do I have an anxiety disorder and depression?"

She nodded, feeling small.

"I can … pretty much blame my parents." He smiled, dissolving the tension. Sharpay laughed lightly and leaned forward to rest on her elbows.

"I wish I could blame mine." She shook her head. "But, what'd they do?"

Jimmie heaved a sigh, "They got divorced three years ago." Sharpay sighed next: she hated this story already. "I was so stressed out by it—and I could've gotten away unscathed if they had just listened to me."

"I'm sorry, Jimmie," she said, sincerely. He seemed to be off in his own world; he pressed on without acknowledging her sentiments.

"I needed someone to talk to, but neither of them noticed. All they did was yell at each other—and then they would yell at me. At one point, I wished they were both just dead. After that, I couldn't get the bad thoughts to stop. So, I started cutting." Jimmie rolled up his sleeve and held out his wrist in front of Sharpay—but it was as if he was looking straight through her. Gently, she traced one of the scars with her fingertip. She had thought about doing it once, during a particularly dark month, just to get some relief. But she didn't. Seeing Jimmie's scars now, and on a boy so young, Sharpay decided she never would.

"At first it was just for attention—but then I couldn't stop. It was everyday. And the cuts started to get deeper. Mom finally noticed me, but," he stopped and shut his eyes tightly, he looked in pain, "they had to take me to the emergency room. I was bleeding to death." Sharpay's heart lurched. "I don't know how I survived. I didn't want to. I wanted to die. I had gotten so depressed, but no one knew." He stared at her for a few moments. Sharpay kept still. "Anyway," he averted his gaze, "I went to a psyche ward for a little bit. They gave me anti-anxiety and anti-depressants. And I don't get to stop taking them."

He pulled his sleeve back down and looked at Sharpay with a small, broken smile.

"And that's my story."

Sharpay was stunned. The blood rose in her cheeks. She was so wrong. So wrong about who he really was. She would have never given him the chance, but now it seemed maybe he really did understand her troubles. And after everything he told her, willingly—she wanted him to understand her.

Sharpay put her arms around Jimmie and hugged him closely. Suddenly, tears fell from his eyes. He cried against her shoulder. His wounds were still there—no matter how many years ago. And Sharpay knew, she knew exactly what that was like. It seemed that some nightmares never ended—they stalked her everywhere. They were untouchable. She held him closer.

"I know, Jimmie," she whispered in his ear. "I know."

-x-x-x-

Sharpay escorted Jimmie back to his car. She stood beside the door as he got in and buckled himself. She crossed her arms from the cool breeze.

"Hey, Jimmie?"

He looked up. His face was still red from crying.

"I'm sorry," she said. He smiled: he'd waited all night for this. "I'm sorry that I've been so rude to you. You're not so bad." She let a sly smile grace her features. Jimmie laughed.

"Thanks for listening, anyway."

She nodded. Jimmie waved and drove off. Sharpay walked back into the house. She leaned against the door, resting. What was this new feeling inside of her? She wasn't in bliss or ecstasy—nothing like the movies' portrayed. Her blood was warm, and comfortable. She felt … okay, for once. Her chest didn't ache from the pressure anymore. At least for tonight, she was unburdened.

Sharpay started up the stairs to bed. Suddenly, a voice called out to her.

"Sweetheart?" It was her mother. She stopped and looked down.

"Yeah?" she said tiredly.

"Who was that boy? He seemed nice."

Sharpay nodded, and laughed a little. "He's just a friend." The word was foreign in her mouth. "But yeah, he's nice."

Derby smiled. "You should bring him around more often." Sharpay pondered that. "Goodnight, honey." Derby left. Sharpay trudged up the rest of the stairs. She entered her room, crawled under the covers and sighed. When her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.