Pictures Of You.

By Katie

Pairing: Troypay

Rating: K+

A/N: Just a little idea I had. Nothing really original or anything, but it was just kind of begging me to write it. :p

Disclaimer: Oh, the things I could do if I owned Sharpay Evans...

-

Silence. That was what surrounded the Bolton household these days. Pure and utter silence and solitude that probably wouldn't ever end. Sharpay hated it; but there were no other people in the house. Just Sharpay. The pictures on the dresser reminded her that she hadn't always been alone. That there were other people. People who loved her more then words.

The possible scenarios played in her head over and over again. Why had he killed them? Why hadn't she been there with them, wiping away the teardrops that were slowly dripping down their cheeks, the tears that had accidentally found some way out of eyes stricken with fear and pain. Why hadn't she died with them? Why did she have to live with the pain every single day of her God forsaken life? Why?

She picked up the photo of her used-to-be family. Troy, her handsome, caring husband. His blue eyes pierced through the picture, and an icy hand clutched her heart. She couldn't breathe. The way his sandy brown hair flopped in front of his eyes. The way his perfectly carved face was staring back at her, blankly. She winced, looking at another person. Isolde, the lovely little girl that had been her daughter. Wispy blond curls framed her soft features, blue eyes peeking out from under long, black eyelashes. She looked so mature for being only 3-years-old. The tears that Sharpay had become so accustomed to were coming back. She willed them away.

And then, the little boy. The 9-month-old named Trevor. The boy who Sharpay had so hoped would become like his father. His eyes were a shade of unforgiving gray. They danced with life and happiness, but the color was so cold. So...lifeless. They were beautiful eyes, but it was a terrible shame that they had been wasted on such a happy little boy.

Just before he'd died, Troy and Sharpay had been discussing having another child.

She didn't always cry for her family. She cried for the sick, lonely lunatic that had so mercilessly shot away the most important people in her life. She cried for the check-out girls at the 7-11 who were brutally man-handled and gagged, shoved a broom closet to prevent them from calling 911. And she cried for the policeman that were forced to go to the scene of the crime. To see her husband, daughter, and son's blood in pools on the floor. To untie the ropes on the check-out girls' hands to reveal raw, red welts. To do to their jobs.

She would sit in her bedroom for hours on end and stare at the ceiling, listening to soundtracks from Broadway plays her and Troy had seen...over and over again. She would hug Isolde's teddy, and she would turn on the baby monitor, even though there was no baby to watch. She was hysterical with guilt, even though she may not have shown it.

The breakdowns she'd been having came less often, and in much shorter intervals. She kept a paper bag with her at all times, for fear she'd hyperventilate. Her tears were thick with sadness, guilt, anger, and bitterness. Her mind was clouded with thoughts of suicide and memories.

Her vivacious personality had turned gray. Her winning smile was merely a tiny grin. Her perfect family...was ruined.

She stared at the picture again, forcing herself to look into Troy's glimmering sapphire eyes. She whispered tenderly...

"All I have left...is pictures of you."

-

I tried something new. So sue me.