Standard disclaimer applies.

Authoress: Reiven.
Genre: Drama/Angst
Character(s): Focused on Troy, but most of the time through the eyes of the other characters.
Timeline: Post-Movie.
Classification: I've kept to the canon aspect of the relationships, but this story won't be centred around romance, so it doesn't really matter. I only make casual reference to the pairings anyway.
Summary: Troy succumbs to the pressure put on him by his father and peers and turns to performance enhancing drugs. But will the price he pays be too high just for the sake of pleasing others?

Note: I am not a doctor, nor do I have any history in the medical field. That being said, all and any medical jargon included is a result of my research, therefore it may or may not be accurate or correct.

Heart of the Game
Part I
By Reiven

'Get your head in the game.'

Troy skulked the deserted hallways, his body following wherever his feet led him. He'd been walking aimlessly around school grounds for the past half hour, eyes looking, but not seeing the abstract objects he passed on his way. His ears not hearing the sounds of laughter and chatter of the people lingering outside. His mind overwhelmed by thoughts, and yet, at the same time, unable to concentrate on anything in particular. The only thing that played over and over in his brain was the image of Chad's face as he stared up at him, eyes unblinking and hand attempting to stop the blood flowing from his busted lip.

He couldn't recall, for the life of him, just exactly what had took place those crucial seconds before he had dealt the crushing blow to his best friends' face. All he could remember was Chad making a derogatory remark about his inability to catch even the simplest of passes. It had just been another of his usual friend-mock-friend type of comment, but this time, Troy didn't know why he'd taken such offence to it.

The next thing he knew, there was a shuffling of feet and thundering stomps coming closer towards him as he felt himself being roughly pulled back by his forearm and looked up to see the enraged look on his father's face. His father-cum-coach asked him what the hell he was thinking, which was a reasonable question, except that Troy didn't know what he was thinking. His mind was muddled, and he had found himself in unknown territory. For once in his life, he'd felt an immense amount of irritation just at the sight of his team, and he didn't know why.

As if being startled out of the self imposed stupor, he suddenly found himself looking up into the imposing stage of the auditorium, the same place he and Gabriella had preformed the song that had landed them the main role in the Winter Musicale just last semester. It seemed like an eternity ago. After his fathers honest speech in the locker room prior to the game, Troy had expected the pressure to lessen on him as time went by, but as it were, it had only amounted immensely. His father had turned into a bigger drill sergeant than he had been in the past. He didn't know why. He'd expected life to get better, but instead, it had gotten worse.

His basketball schedule had now begun to take over his life. It had completely dominated his time set to spend with Gabriella and miscellaneous activities teenagers like him should be enjoying and the only time he had left was spent on studying and doing his homework. Other than that, it was all basketball, basketball and more basketball. He didn't know how he'd managed to get through it this far. Though, since lately he'd managed to divide his time to which it could accommodate him comfortably, he found an increase in his stamina and metabolism. Running felt just that much better as he felt that he could breathe easier, in turn, his basketball skills had doubled more than twice it's usual standard. And all he had to do was pop in one little pill.

Whatever further train of thoughts Troy had running through his head at that moment was abruptly derailed when he felt his stomach give a heave before he double over the side and vomited right between the aisles. It felt like hours and what seemed to be the entire content of his stomach now residing on the floor, did Troy manage to pull back, falling onto one of the seats and wiping the perspiration on his forehead with the back of his hand. His head had suddenly started to pound, and he found that he could not stand up without an overwhelming wave of dizziness washing over him. Thus, he decided to just remain where he was until the feeling passed. It was not as if he would be missed in the club anytime soon anyway, especially after what he did to Chad and what he'd said to his father before stomping out.

Squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of dizziness hit him; he was forced to lean back into the chair, eyes gazing up at the dark ceiling of the auditorium.

What did the team think when they saw Troy right-hooking his best friend and teammate? What were they whispering about when they heard all the things he'd called his father and coach and the way he'd turned his back to them? But the main worry that was going through his mind: did they know? Did they suspect that he, Troy Bolton, playmaker, school hero and worshipped by many, had fallen from grace so badly and with such a resounding thud that he'd gone so low as to turn to drugs to comfort him? But more importantly, did Troy care if they knew?

Sure, there was a probability of being kicked off the team if the school ever found out. There was a possibility of losing everyone that ever meant anything to him: his friends, his family, Gabriella. There was a chance of him losing the only thing he ever felt any passion for. Basketball. He'd lived for basketball from the day he was born. It was the first thing he learned how to do as a child. It was the first present he'd ever received from his father on his birthday. It was the only thing he'd know…until the day Gabriella showed up and brought this unknown life with her.

A life of singing, auditioning for musicals, of not caring what other people thought of him and especially, of him being the person he really was. Not the Troy the basketball guy or Troy the playmaker. But just being him; Troy Bolton.

Troy didn't know who he was anymore. He wasn't an athlete or singer. He was neither Coach Bolton's perfect basketball playing son nor revered captain of the Wildcats anymore. He was no friend to Chad, nor the perfect boyfriend to Gabriella. He wasn't Troy Bolton anymore, just a shadow's fragment of his former glory. Now it was the time the truth came out. Troy Bolton was gone, swallowed up by the obligation to achieve far beyond his capabilities, tossed aside for the dream of being someone whom he wasn't. He had been taken over by other people's expectations of him. He'd dug himself into the hole of degradation the moment he walked into the store looking for those drugs. He'd tied the noose around him neck the moment he felt the small pill slide down his esophagus, ending up in the content of his stomach. He'd felt himself die slowly from the inside, even as the adrenaline rushed through his body, feeling energy to his muscles, pumping air into his lung at incredible speed. He'd felt the existence of Troy Bolton slowly diminishing with every pill he took, ever gulp of water he used to wash it down with, with every basket he scored while under the effects of the drug. He may have had his head in the game, but his heart for it had died out long ago.

He was no longer Troy Bolton, just another casualty of the pressure he'd been forced to succumb to. He was nobody.

Troy leaned back in the stiff, foldable seat in the auditorium, hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small container, before screwing open the lid, taking out one of the pills and swallowing it. After moment contemplation, he took another, and another and another, until everything didn't fell quite as awful any more. He felt energetic as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. The guilt haunting him almost didn't feel like it mattered, nor did the sudden rapid increase of his heart rate or the sight of the objects spinning around him. All that mattered was at that moment, Troy felt like he could do anything.

To be continued…

Inspiration for this story is literally coming out through my nose. At the time I'm writing this, I'm three quarters through the fifth chapter and thinking up plot ideas for the subsequent chapters as I go along. But as far as I have gotten, I can safely say that I'm immensely pleased with the way it's turning out. And I'll be going to see Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest again tomorrow, so that's a big motivation to continue on.