P.S. Mmkay! So, I'm glad that everyone's responding to this story, thank you very much for the reviews. I've noticed some… er, exasperation toward Troy lately, with speculation mostly of how Arielle came to be. I won't give anything away, but hear me out: I'm trying very hard to have no antagonist in this story. Any character that you may deem 'bad' is really just… Not good. Not yet, at least. Anyway, as I always say, enjoy! And review? -love- Desireé
P.S. I love Snow Patrol. Really, they are amazing. :D
Chapter Seventeen, Truce
Get up, get out, get away from these liars
'Cause they don't get your soul or your fire
Take my hand; knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time
-'Open Your Eyes', Snow Patrol
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart said, quite famously, 'neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.' Lord Byron said that 'like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.' Plato had proclaimed that 'at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.'
Gabriella really wished Plato was still around to see her stutter at everything Troy Bolton said. "Turn around."
He did as he was told, flipping his body so that he faced the wall; he could hear the water slosh around the tub as Gabriella stood up and reached for a towel. "You can look now," she mumbled, wary as she dripped onto the floor. He glanced back at her and smiled slightly.
"So what have you being doing all this time?" he asked in a casual voice as she shook out her hair in the mirror, the water sprinkling him from a distance. By 'all this time', he meant 'while I had to take care of Harris and Ari as a very young, single parent'; she knew this.
"Nothing special," she said. "Nothing compared to your and Cassandra's accomplishments."
It was now that Troy remembered his wife. It was she who was patiently waiting for three people to return; it was she who was struggling to act as a stepmother to both children when she really only had no business doing so for one of them; it was she who had kept quiet all of Arielle's life, for the sake of Troy's wish not to inflict any more pain on their daughter than she would already have to suffer.
"I think I should make dinner," Gabriella suggested flatly, turning to stare at him, her arms crossed over her chest again. He watched her toes curl over the fringe of the carpet, her kneecaps move as she shifted weight from one foot to another. She was beautiful, in her own right of being alone for so long. In fact, she reminded Troy of machinery, delicate and valuable and practical. Somewhere in her heart, he knew there was an On-button that he so desperately wanted to press. Bring back to life what you have destroyed.
TYWY
Around nightfall, Troy realized he wouldn't be getting back home to New York—with his children, in the very least—right away. But there was a pressing matter weighing him down further every second: tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and he'd be damned if he would be forced to explain to Cassandra via text messaging why they weren't home yet.
The dining table consisted of three very silent people. Arielle had denied food when Gabriella brought a plate to the door; Harris had tried, too, when his father requested his help, but to no avail. Sometimes damage is irreparable, and that is the most unfortunate thing about people: they say things they think won't matter later on, things that will just dissipate after a while, but around the time the heavy wounds begin to show, hope for recovery is lost.
"Dad?" Harris finally looked up from his baked potato, which he had raked with his fork about fifty times. Little rows of gray formed, appearing like a field, harvesting his questions.
"Yeah?" Troy smashed an asparagus head with his spoon. It puddled to green mush, reminding him of the purée he had fed Harris and Arielle countless times when they were babies. The funniest little things could remind of the times that weren't funny at all.
The teenager across from him hesitated. "Tomorrow is the twenty-fourth," he said softly, choosing his words in a careful manner. "We aren't going home, are we?" There was a pause, when both adults looked at one another and then at the snowdrift outside. Harris bit his lower lip and looked at Gabriella. "Because I don't want to."
The full effect of separation, divorce, custody issues, hit Troy for the very first time. He felt like the neglected parent, the one who tried the hardest but failed the most often; until now, he had never considered the fact that maybe, one day, when he would deal with this topic, the child would not want him. The other parent would a desirable, and he would be left behind, blacklisted to a T. "Well, we don't have to talk about that right now," he sighed, avoiding the glance he got from Gabriella. "Not yet."
A door in the hallway opened and closed in the span of a few seconds, and then Arielle appeared, looking exhausted and confused and somewhat lethal. "I have questions," she said shortly. "I have a lot of questions."
"Ari, really, can't this—" Troy stopped when he heard himself. No, it can't wait, she'd say. I've waited for a long time, and now I'm entitled to some authenticity in this superficial world. Finally, he pushed his plate forward and nodded. "Sit down on the couch. We'll be right there. You, too, Harris." Harris nodded and quickly disappeared, his fork still rattling his plate as if reminding everyone how uncomfortable the meal had been and how much he had wanted to get of there.
In a moment of cease-fire, Gabriella looked at the man she had loved a long time ago, wondering if what she felt for him now could real be considered 'love'. Love is the desire to make your puzzle piece fit with someone else's. But she didn't really want that, not very much. It had only dawned upon her then that what she wanted most out of anything in the world was to be with her child, the one she had loved for so long without even knowing him.
TYWY
On a blueprint sheet, the scene would be set like so: the children sitting on the couch, and two chairs pulled up behind the coffee table so they faced the teenagers conveniently. Gabriella was crossing and uncrossing her legs; Troy was biting his thumbnails subconsciously. Harris nudged Arielle, who had been quietly staring at her feet propped up on the table for five minutes. She blinked and glanced up. "I want to know why you didn't tell me," she said.
This question was obviously coming, but Troy still didn't have much of an answer. Scratch that, he did. But it sounded selfish and, to his dismay, it was. "I didn't want you to have to deal with what we had set up for you," he murmured finally. Her stare was drilling a hole into his chest. He looked up to meet her gaze, which was so hurt and broken that there had been a strange urge within him to scream. Scream because talking doesn't work anymore. "I never thought that Gabriella would be a very important component to you, but when she was, Cassandra and I both decided it would be nicer to just let you think what you wanted to think."
Parents, though they never wanted to admit it, usually made more stupid mistakes than their offspring did. It was a game of trial and error; the children just happened to be pawns. In the mind of the adult, it was their job to protect their beloved from danger, from pain, from evil. But as Troy thought about it more and more, nothing he had done in the past proved his chivalry as a father or his nobility as a man. The dishonesty just proved one thing, and that was that he had let fear control him.
"Why did you leave?" Arielle slowly turned to Gabriella, who looked a little stunned. But then she remembered that terrible day late in the month of February, when Harris was only a year and a half old and she found she could no longer love Troy Bolton.
"Get the fuck away from me." She stood up, tears streaming down her face so much that her vision was blurred. She stumbled out of the kitchen, and he quickly followed.
"Hey, wait!" he said loudly, trying to keep up with her. "God damn it, Gabriella, would you slow down? I'm trying to fix things and all you're doing is making it worse! Way to seem mature."
She threw a glare over her shoulder as she walked down the hall, not sure if he had caught her murderous gaze; her contacts were now beginning to fail. "Don't try to educate me on the matter of maturity, because you know absolutely nothing about it," she snapped, shutting herself in their bedroom and slowly lowering herself onto the floor. Heavy, crestfallen cries swallowed her as she asked herself why the hell she was weeping over this.
Inside, she knew why. She wanted to go home. She wanted to have no responsibilities, and just have not a care in the world. But a boyfriend and a baby made that fairly difficult, as terrible a person she was to say that.
He knocked, waking her up from the homesick trance. "Come on, Brie, open up. We can talk about this. What do you want? What can I do? I'll do anything for you; you know that. Please—just unlock the door and tell me what's wrong."
Everything, she wanted to yell. Everything is wrong. But she was quiet, except for the occasional sniffle. She heard him slide down the wall, stoop down so he sat outside the door, waiting for her. "Brie," he mumbled, "if it's about me working, I'll take more time off, okay? I promise. I promise I'll just do whatever it is you need to be happy. We'll take a family vacation to Los Angeles, to see the crazy Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum and visit every zoo in the county. I'll do it all for you, okay?"
The commitment seemed sweet, sincere, everything she would want. But now it wasn't enough, and she couldn't change that. Gabriella finally stood up, slowly unlocked the door, and opened it to see Troy sitting there, smiling brightly as if she were coming out to greet him. "I'm leaving," she said in a bashful whisper. His eyes widened, and it looked as though the life had been drained from his face.
"What?" He looked hopeful; perhaps he had misheard her.
"I said I'm leaving. And Harris is coming with me."
She regretted, slightly, saying this because of the terrible look Troy got, as though someone had just slapped him with an addition of insult to injury. "No! Brie, you can't leave!" he shouted, standing up so he towered over her once again a good five inches. "That's insane, this is just a stupid fight we're having! We'll be able to fix it all, I know!"
She shook her head sadly, walking past him to enter Harris' bedroom. He slept soundly in the secured area, getting to be big enough to move on from infantile things such as a crib. Daddy's going to buy you a new bed soon, she had said that previous month. A bed for big boys. But now, he was just a little baby again, this magnificent figure she could hold in her fingers through the bars of the crib, admiring him before she interrupted his sleep. "Hey, wake up time. Mama's gonna take you somewhere, okay?"
Behind her, Gabriella could feel Troy's presence. He was quiet as he watched her pick up their son and open his dresser drawers. "Why are you doing this?" His voice inaudible, but the way he spoke made her understand.
"I'm doing it because I can't do anything else," she answered, feeling her throat constrict as though she no longer deserved to breathe. Soon a tote bag was packed for Harris, and she considered going to get her clothes from their bedroom.
"What did I do?" Troy interrogated, face beginning to distort with grief. "I want to correct what wrong I have done, Brie! Please, tell me, so I can fix this."
She looked at him, hiked a sleepy Harris up her hip again. "It's not anything that you can fix. I am staying with my mother in Albuquerque; at least until I can figure out what's happening."
Now he was begging. "Please, Gabriella, don't leave—" He put a hand on her shoulder and she moved faster, throwing some jeans and tees into another open bag. A feeling inside her pressured her to work harder, seem firmer. Troy's voice made her melt; she needed to get out of there.
"I'm taking my cell phone. I'll call you in a week, okay?" She stood up, the weight of a child and two packed bags causing her to struggle, meanwhile the hurt inside her forming into tears on her eyelashes.
She tried to walk around him but he stooped down she was blocked. "No, don't leave, I want to fix this, Gabriella. Can't you hear me?"
"Troy, stop it, I have to—"
"Just stop for one fucking second and listen, would you? I—" He grasped her arm.
"Let go of me!"
She jerked and the timing was off. Gravity overwhelmed Gabriella, and all things she held—Harris included—began to fall. She shrieked and collapsed to her knees, fumbling to catch her now whimpering child. "It's okay, it's okay," she said, sobbing with her head hanging over Harris so that her long hair acted like a curtain. "I'm sorry, honey, I'm sorry, don't be mad."
Beside them, Troy knelt so he tried to see his son, tried to see how much damage he had caused. He reached for Gabriella, wanting to hold her and let an apology flood from his fingertips and into her blood system, but she shook him off easily this time. "Don't," she said, panting so hard her sentence stopped for a moment, "ever do that again."
"Gabriella," he began.
"Troy," she replied, a longing in her voice that he thought was alien to him. He was now trembling; anything he had ever thought, or considered, or loved, or done, none of it mattered. To be honest, he wouldn't have minded if he blacked out then and there to never wake up again.
As he touched her back, Gabriella sat up straight and hugged Harris closer to her body. "Don't test me," she sneered, "because I'm tired of it. We're leaving. I just need some time on my own, and we both know you do, too." The exhaust, the hurt, and the anguish finally began to show through her features and while this was the first encounter he had had with them, something told Troy they had been there for a long time.
TYWY
Harris stared at his mother. "You took me with you," he said softly, and then looked at his father and Arielle. "But I ended up with them."
Troy bit his lower lip. "It doesn't really end there."
"No," Gabriella added quietly. She started to speak and then stopped, then over again. At a loss for words, she wasn't sure what to do. Troy picked it up.
"The next night Sharpay was having a celebration for her new fashion line at a club, and we had both been invited. But I went, and no one asked why 'the family' wasn't with me, so I was happy." He paused, fiddling with his thumbs. "Cassandra was there. She was one of the newer models, so we just met at the bar and hit it off from there."
"Hey there," he said giddily, hiccupping as he took a seat at the bar. His face was glowing, dead-set on the soft blonde next to him. She had killer eyes. So did Gabriella, but he had forgotten.
She didn't look up from her wine glass. "Hey yourself."
"So you play hard to get, then? I get it." He nodded, not rationalizing in his head that this was the beginning of the end. "You got a name, Buttercup?"
"You can call me Noel," she said, finally glancing at him with a smile. "And we get to know one another a little better, then you can call me Cassandra."
At that moment, Troy didn't remember he had a girlfriend (who was practically his wife) and a son and a life that didn't involve come-hither models. And this was his first mistake. "You got a name, too, hotshot?"
A pang of familiarity swelled inside him, remembering Gabriella's fond endearment for him, but he took a breath and grinned. "You can just call me Troy."
The children were silent, Harris feeling remorse and Arielle feeling nausea. She waited for a moment, trying to take in everything the adults were telling her, until she was painfully conscious of a terribly ugly fact. "She was seventeen when she had me?" she yelped, looking offended. "And you were twenty-one? That's—that's rape! I'm a bastard child, and an illegal one at that! My father is a rapist! Oh my—"
"Arielle," Harris said sternly, putting a hand over hers. She glared at him. "That is bullshit and you know it. Dad is not a rapist, you are not a bastard child, and I'm positive this is just as hard to tell for them—" he nodded at Gabriella and Troy "—as it is for us to hear."
Anger painted Arielle's face. She stood up, outraged. "What are you talking about? You can only be confident about that because you're the one who had it good in the beginning! You had a mom at one point, and you do again now, even if you didn't want to come here, even if you hinted Gabriella could be dead for all you cared. But you got exactly what you didn't want. And what the hell am I left with? Cassandra! An air headed slut—" Troy closed his eyes "—that can't keep her legs closed for any guy! Yes, that's right, I know she's not faithful, Dad. All the rumors in the magazines? Of course they're true! Why wouldn't they be?"
And for once, Gabriella felt sorry for Troy. She glanced at him sympathetically, pitying the way he looked shocked and rejected. Arielle wasn't finished there. "And he's stupid enough to just let her be a whore, insisting that because Gabriella ran out on us, we need a mother! Screw that! I am more self-sufficient than anyone because I've had to endure so much crap as a girl without a mother! A mother to brush her hair, a mother to take her shopping, a mother to love her!"
Gabriella stood up, looking cross. "That's enough," she remarked, her voice at the most even tone possible. She nodded at both Harris and Arielle. "Go to your bedroom, and sleep. I don't care how mad you are at us, or me, or your father, but this is my home and you are a guest and I am telling you to go to bed."
They obeyed her sinister instruction—Arielle begrudgingly while Harris graciously—and then Gabriella turned to sit on the coffee table, her knees bumping Troy's in an effort to comfort him. "Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"
He was red in the face, flushed and embarrassed; still, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little… dizzy. Nothing really is ever true until someone says it out loud, right?" He forced himself to laugh, in order to release the pain inside him, and she smiled sensitively.
"I guess that goes for most things," she responded. "Up until now I didn't think I was a terrible person to just run out like that. But having to say it out loud, having to explain what possessed us to be so childish and silly: it makes me feel sad and sorry."
Suddenly, he hugged her, and not like a weak hug that you gave to someone you secretly hated, the kind of hug where you practically drag the person into your lap and hold them so tight because you don't want to let go. Gabriella curled up against his chest, her arms around him as she tried to soak up the torture building inside this man that she remembered as just a boy. Troy rested his chin on her head, feeling his eyes burn with salty tears. In this moment, he was at a truce with himself. No more guilt, no more heartache, no more angst.
TYWY
Albuquerque looked different than he remembered. In fact, he felt like he was driving through an entirely different city, until he reached the Montez house and saw Theresa Montez's silhouette in the window. Parking, Troy battled his conscience: She left, so why should you pursue her? Because you love her, that's why.
Fear paralyzed him, making him a handicap as he got out of the rental car and just about hauled himself up the walkway. Ringing the doorbell, he waited for the world to end. Soon, light poured onto his face and Gabriella was standing there, surprised but smiling. A minute barely passed before she began to cry and fell into an embrace with him, her mother coming behind her, holding her grandchild. "I missed you," she whispered into his shirt.
"When did you realize this?" he asked with a charming kiss to her forehead.
"We didn't get to celebrate St. Patrick's Day together," she said matter-of-factly. Theresa handed Troy the baby, and Harris cooed in his arms. Gabriella beamed, eyes indistinct with tears. "Happy family all together again."