A/N: Thank you so much to runninequalslife, jb1236, rachrep, and JohnKrasinskiLover for their help and concern with this chapter. I was a bit stuck, to be honest.
Disclaimer: I do not own Disney or High School Musical or any of these characters except mine. Or Peter Pan. Or Martha Stewart.
"Oh, Gabriella!" was how Charity Wheaton elatedly greeted me at her front door, patting me a friendly hug as if I already knew her. She swiftly invited me in, insistently ushering me to make myself at home and sit at the marble kitchen counter, where she was brewing up a pot of raspberry tea that truly smelled delicious. I curiously peered at the substance searing in the tiny cauldron, commenting candidly, "That looks really good, Mrs. Wheaton." The divorced woman only shook her head and demanded I call her Charity. Without missing a beat, she then politely offered me some of the boiling beverage, but I was completely agape, still so astounded by her magnificent home that I could barely answer. I managed to yelp out a shy little word of agreement, my anxious eyes dodging all over the marvelous work of art restlessly.
The beautiful, quality house was just barely smaller than Preppy's. It was an enormous, antique Victorian with involved paint designs all over the storybook house, the roof of the mansion carved so intricately that the house accurately appeared more of a creative effort of art than a piece of architecture. The colossal residence seemed old, yet in flawless condition. There were framed canvases hung up everywhere, seeming to cover every inch of the brightly colored walls, hallmarked by Charity's scribble signature. The furniture was all brand new, yet seemed to match the character of the house perfectly, and the environment just seemed so blithely blissful and at ease. It was a comfortable setting, and the sun prolifically gleamed through the open windows and filled the room with a special glow.
"Thanks," I smiled genially to the former Mrs. Wheaton as she placed a steaming teacup of dark amber-colored liquid, a hint of red blended within the warm brown color. I blew at it a little before positioning my lips at the edge, tipping the cup just a bit as a few drops slipped in my mouth. My eyes engorged almost immediately. It tasted amazing. It was a natural, sweet flavor, and unlike anything I'd ever tasted before. "Wow!" I exclaimed as I retreated, my eyes widening even more. "That's really good. Where'd you learn to make this?"
"My mother," Charity smiled merrily. "She was always making this tea in the kitchen, bless her."
I flashed her an innocent smile. "Excuse me, I've got to use the...ladies room."
"Alright then, darling, it's just around the corner. If I'm not here, I'm getting something from the downstairs fridge."
"Okay." I scooted out of my seat and easily found the lavatory. Unsurprisingly, it was spotless. It looked like it had come straight out of a Martha Stewart magazine. When I finished my business, I hovered back into the kitchen to find it empty. I only had to wait a handful of minutes, thankfully.
"Sweetie?" A scintillating Charity returned striding nobly into the kitchen, an authentic smile embossed lively on her face. She was gleefully beaming, a radiant aura about her just making her glow like an energetic firefly. "What do you prefer? Sausages or bacon?"
I was utterly bemused. She was going to cook me breakfast? Talk about being a hospitable hostess. I was truly honored, but I couldn't accept the generous offer. "No thank you…Charity…" I blubbered powerlessly, unsure exactly how to let her down. I wasn't sure why it was so difficult. Maybe it was because she was so delightfully munificent and convivial, so animated and bubbly and forward. I was only disagreeing to a meal; not informing her my disliking opinion of her funky dress, which was revoltingly dreadful. I tried to ignore the neon splashes of Macintosh red and watermelon pink and Kelly green, splattered imaginatively all across her vibrant dress as if the garment had been her experimental painting smock. It had a hideous Peter Pan collar, with goldenrod-colored speckles stained all over the coarse material. I internally cringed.
"Oh, sorry! If you like neither, I can make ham!" she offered accommodatingly, hope tinged into her glittery, effervescent voice. Her massive, encompassed baby blue eyes, which were identical to Victoria's, sparkled magnificently as they creased amiably in the morning sunlight, the memorable vibe of honesty and kindness radiating off of her and spreading like wildfire. The glimmering sky-colored orbs seemed to smile kindheartedly in their own comforting way. Maybe that was why it was so hard to say no to her.
"No, Charity, I just—no thank you. I mean, thank you for the…charitable…offer, but I couldn't…" I trailed off vulnerably, feeling stings of heat sloth up to my flushed cheeks. I squirmed somewhat in my seat.
"Why? Have you already eaten? Sorry, I should've asked you first…" Charity bit her lip harshly, as if it were a substitute for smacking herself at the simple mistake.
"Um, no," I mentally grimaced for saying so, immediately realizing my dumb blunder. "I just feel bad that you're making food just for me…Really Charity I was just here to—just to…" I sighed, discouraged.
"Oh, don't be!" she chirped cheerfully in that stretched, high pitch of hers. Her expression was delighted as the merry smile never once ghosted from her face. "I'm not just feeding you. Elizabeth is probably hungry too."
Whoa.
It was like I could hear the deafening tires screeching perilously in the back of my jumbled head.
Elizabeth was here. That seemed to make all the sense. If I were a wild partier like Elizabeth, I, too, would seek welcome refuge at a soothing place like this. A safe place where she could get back up on her feet after a crazy, spontaneous night. A secure place where she could do whatever the hell she wanted, and not receive any sort of severe trouble for it. A harmless place were no soul would ever hear a word of what happened just mere hours formerly. It seemed like an ideal place to reboot. Especially when you have a tender, easygoing pushover for a mother like Charity. I felt like I could finally understand the complicated teenager perfectly, for just one split second.
And then it all vanished just as quickly.
Elizabeth came tumbling in numbly like a dazed zombie, still wholly asleep and a total mess. Her golden, red-accented hair was violently disheveled, strands sticking up statically on end in the most bizarre of places. The snakeskin slits she had in exchange for eyes seemed completely converged, and her ginger ale-hued freckles seemed to particularly pop out. She waded over slowly to a wooden chair, weakly dragging it out and crumbling feebly into the salvaging seat. She rubbed her firmly closed eyes with her balled fists exhaustedly, a weary yawn evading from between her slightly parted lips as she lolled her heavy head aimlessly on the back of the wooden chair.
"Good morning, Lizzie," Charity tweeted gaily as she pecked a motherly kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Sausages, bacon, or ham?" Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders sluggishly, and rubbed her shut eyes thoroughly again. "Yes, I know. You're still tired, sweetie," Charity sighed knowingly as she petted the sophomore's blonde head sympathetically. "So, Gabriella. It's all up to you. Sausages, bacon, or ham?" Charity questioned inquisitively.
"Um…" I started blankly. It didn't matter which one I chose as long as I chose one. "Bacon. Why not bacon." It was the first one that had festinated into my mind.
"Ooh, good choice," Charity winked towards me leniently, swiftly exiting the table and rummaging through the refrigerator and shelves as she began to prepare the food.
I still had to tell Charity why I was here.
"Uh, Charity?" I asked apprehensively. Charity did not pause her cooking. Her back was still facing me when she answered.
"Yes, sweetheart?" she squeaked in that elevated, peeping tone.
"Is Eric here?" I inquired finally, breathing out profoundly in a considerable flood of relief.
"Is that why you came?" Charity bowed down low to ransack enthusiastically through the bottom cabinets, just underneath the expansive porcelain sink.
"Yes."
"I'm afraid he's not here, darling," Charity sighed helplessly as she poked her brunette head into the cupboard and continued to forage heartily through the unaided muddle. "Are you looking for him?"
"Yes," I replied shortly. I glanced furtively at Elizabeth, who had shattered and fallen asleep across her arms on the table. Her yellow reddish mane veiled her soft-formed features, creating a sort of curtain around her face. I realized for the first time, that she was actually sort of, well…pretty. And not because she was blonde or fit or young. If she weren't such a slut, her blossoming beauty would have been more obvious, but there was just that demanding, evil spangle in her dark green eye that frightened everyone away. And finally, seeing her in this vulnerable and exposed state, I understood that she was just a lost, petrified girl, who had no control of her life and fucked simply because that was the only thing she actually had command of. I couldn't help but feel deep pity and empathy for the poor tenth grader. What did she have to live for in life?
I suddenly felt a rambunctious vibrating sensation on my thigh, and I pressed my palm to my convulsing cell, confirming my suspicions that it indeed was my phone. I stealthily extracted the device, only to find that Troy had just texted me. An exuberant grin immediately illuminated my drained face. I blushed cherry red at just the fact that he couldn't go an hour without communicating with me in some way. My insides warmed instantly and melted to pure gush as I opened the message. I've got a solution. That's what it read. I felt my heart flutter colorfully with hope. Maybe we could finally get out of this ridiculous wreck. I just wanted everything to be blissful and whole, like it used to be. I was willing to do anything to save our relationship, because I loved Troy and I couldn't bear to let him go. I wanted to fix this, and we could. What is it? I texted back rapidly, my fingers flying across the letter tabs of my iPhone. I slipped the slick electronic back into my pocket, the delicious fumes of Charity's gourmet pancakes invigorating my senses as she carefully carried over the platter piled with flattened discs.
"Here, girls," Charity smiled cordially, cautiously lowering the dish in the center of the table. Elizabeth seemed to have awoken from the alluring aromas of the marvelous, fluffy pancakes, stirring her pounding head and opening one eye groggily to study the breakfast before her. She approved with a vague nod of her tousled head, forking the top few and slopping the lot onto her ceramic plate carelessly. I didn't make a sound, politely helping myself to a pancake as Charity returned with a pottery jug of fresh maple syrup. Elizabeth snatched the flagon roughly from her mother's nimble hands and drowned her pancakes in the amber liquid, her blunted eyes sparking hungrily at the feast created. I frowned as I reached for the pitcher after her, neatly oozing just a dribble of syrup on my plate. Elizabeth ripped heatedly at the pancake with her pearly whites, practically swallowing the entire chunk of morsel whole. I pursed my lips as I cut my pancake with my knife and fork efficiently, impatiently yet silently waiting for Troy to respond to my message. I had this unbearable yearning to hear his smooth and sexy voice, to hear his words. My stomach flipped outrageously just thinking about him.
I knew I had to get going, but I also knew that I had to finish this meal I'd already begun. It would be very disgraceful and rude to leave in the middle of the wonderful breakfast Charity had obviously put the time into, and a terrible impression. I strained a tired sigh as I chewed on a slice of pancake, tapping my foot ever so lightly on the edge of the chair. I was getting worried that Troy wasn't replying. He usually was incredibly fast when it came to texting, and texting back. Clumps of minutes passed. After just over half of an hour, I texted him again anxiously. Are you okay? Talk to me. I slid the electronic back in my pocket, standing up and announcing that I'd better leave. Charity gave me a sad smile, and I couldn't help but consider that she was lonely living alone without her children. I felt sorry for leaving, but I was frantic to speak to Troy and then find Eric. The second I absented Charity's mansion, I dialed Troy's number.
"Troy?" I whispered tentatively into the mouthpiece. I heard perturbing muffles on the other end, making my heart begin to mallet madly in fearful anticipation. "Troy? Troy, it's Gabriella."
His voice was struck with immense panic and terror. "Gabi," he choked dependently, his manner signaling he was helpless. He hadn't called me by that special nickname in so long that I felt my knees wobble and weaken. I steadied a clammy hand against my car hood to balance myself properly. "Gabi, I need to see you," he croaked desperately, his deep tone so anxious and distraught that I felt my aching heart crack and sink to the bottom of the untamed ocean. I was so unbelievably worried, unnerving possibilities jetting through my mind at a distressing rate. I instantaneously wrenched open the door of my car, revved the vehicle to an immediate start, and sped my way out of there eccentrically, rumbling down the streets like a delusional monster. "Stay on," he whispered haggardly, his voice trembling dangerously. "Stay with me, baby." My stomach jolted at the devoted term of endearment, not minding the name one bit that time. It was honestly remarkably comforting to hear, the equivalent to him outstretching a soft hand to stroke my cheek.
"I'm right here," I murmured gingerly in return, my voice unknowingly soothing for him, slamming my tiny foot on the pedal aggressively. "I'm coming for you, baby." Troy didn't even smirk at the double pun, his gorgeous features gauntly serious on the other end. For a sheer minute, it felt like everything was back to normal, the way it used to be; at least our relationship. It had been that way the past day since I'd encountered him. There were just flashes of time when I could feel our old relationship screening through under the disarrayed jumble, and it made me feel so hopeful and safe to know we still kindled the blaze of our old relationship, still yawning inside us. Those influential, moving flashes from the past were what pushed me forward to repair our chaotic situation.
"No, go to your house. I'll meet you there," he gasped unevenly. I could tell he was running. This only got me more paranoid and alarmed. "I'll be in your room."
"Are you okay, love?" I asked concernedly, my heart thumping faster at his severely grave character. "Fuck, Troy, I'm worried about you," I whispered in a small, scared voice. I raced through a red light after scanning the area to make sure there were no hidden cops behind bushes.
"I'll be fine," he gulped forcibly, "for now." I could hear his heavy, irregular respiration through the phone. I could taste the uninvited bitterness drying his mouth. I could smell the sweat beading on his skin. I could feel him closing his sapphire eyes briefly as he swallowed powerlessly into the receiver, "Where are you?"
"Evergreen Road," I mumbled determinedly, my squinted eyes set permanently to the asphalt ahead as I sprinted down the vacant boulevard. "A block or so away."
"Good," he replied, relieved. "I'm in your room now."
The boosting thought alone caused me to crash my shoe against the pedal and race down the empty avenue, pulling up to Preppy's mansion frenziedly in a record winning time. I didn't waste a moment, flinging off my seatbelt hurriedly and darting out of the car. I hastily jogged up the steps of the house and up into my beautiful bedroom, my jaw dropping absolutely ajar at the disconcerting sight of my lover, a blurry mix of bright red strewn with his clothes. He was reclining on a drenched towel in a wicker chair near my white desk, his garments looking as if they were a victim of Jack Pollock's artistic experiments. Malicious bruises of all brutal colors littered his velvety skin, gashes bladed cruelly among wicked scars. "Troy," I managed to squeak faintly at the disturbing, shocking scene. My heart jerked nauseatingly in pain. I was going to vomit again. I could feel Charity's exquisite pancakes mounting up in my throat.
"Gabi," he just barely audibly whispered. I barreled over to him instantly, strangling behind a pathetic sob and blinking back boiling tears as I crumpled hopelessly at his feet. His rigid hands hovered over to my head and wove gently through my dark curls, pressing my drained face to his muscular legs in an effort to console himself. His flesh was filthy with coppery red liquid, seeping through his mesh shorts and sticking to my skin, though I couldn't care any less about myself.
"Troy," I garbled exasperatedly against his strong legs. "Troy, you have to tell me what happened." He took my tiny hand and sheathed it securely in his larger one, his thumb rubbing over the top of my knuckles tenderly. "Your dad…your dad, what happened?" My vocal chords seem to have snapped in half, and I kept quiet as I waited for his answer. Troy tried to remain calm, his other hand stroking my midnight hair softly. The way he tried so hard to remain relaxed horrified me. He was acting like it was nothing, and that action beside was not nothing. It was something that needed attention; something that needed fixing. I was going to be that person to help him. "Tell me. Summarize, at least. Please."
Troy sighed desolately, tangling his fingers in my brown tendrils expressionlessly once more. "My dad blew up. He hit me. He has a new girlfriend, who he met as prostitute and then who abandoned the job to live with him. I talked to her. She thought I was a screw-up. My dad came up to my room and bashed on me again for supposedly making a bad impression on Sage." I felt suffocated suddenly, like I was in outer space and I'd just taken off my helmet. I yanked away from his embrace abruptly, gaping for oxygen and needing the satisfaction that he was truly safe and healthy. I scurried to my bathroom, scampering back with a miniature trunk of first aid, a bucket of water, a few towels, and other miscellanies.
"Strip and lay down on the bed," I ordered quietly as I forested the bin gawkily for the currently desired supplies. Troy obeyed noiselessly, disposing his gory, tainted clothes in a sad-looking heap on my desk. He winced in pain as he carefully laid his blemished, tattered figure the length of the bed, staring up hollowly at the snow-colored ceiling as he waited for me to attend to him. Mutely, I advanced to his side, my eyes widening at the troubling prospect of his ripped, scarred body. I sucked in a shaky, unbalanced breath as I begun dabbing his open wounds with alcohol, my heart tearing itself to pieces when he flinched at the stinging contact.
"I'm sorry," he whispered lowly, out of the blue. His compelling sea eyes met mine, drawing out all the consciousness in my brain for just that brisk, wonderful instant. I proficiently wiped away the crimson fluid with a baby towel, rinsing the sticky blood from his skin.
"What for?" I soughed affectionately.
"For scaring you like this," he muttered regretfully, thwarted with himself. "I didn't mean to. I hate seeing you upset. It makes me upset. I was just scared that my dad would come after me. He was just so ashamed and angry; I didn't know what types of irrational things he would decide to do next. And even though he forbade me to see you, I just needed you, so badly and more than anything in the world. And so I ran. I ran here because I was counting on you. I believe in you, Gabriella." I felt my heart escalate in fluttering optimism at his inspiring words. My small hands trembled precariously as they floated up and down his chiseled chest, marked forever with depraved incisions. I could feel him quivering beneath my provoking touch, his tempting eyes flurrying momentarily as he permitted the distinctive sensations to brim through his body.
"It's okay," I forgave softly. "I'm just furious at your father for doing this to you." I sighed jadedly as my hands absentmindedly loomed up to his stiff neck, massaging the hard knots expertly. He shuddered instinctively, leaning in to my warm palms. He reached one hand up and slithered his thumb and index finger around my skinny wrist, closing his eyes in calm bliss. I wavered hazardously, gazing absorbedly into his infinite cobalt orbs, which seemed to jump out especially in the lavender-painted room with its unforgettable, passionate glow.
"I am too, but to be honest…" He paused attentively and then continued hesitantly. "I'm more angry about the fact that he has a slut for a girlfriend. That's about as low as you can go." He started to speak again before I even could. "And I know that I havehad sluts for girlfriends. But I was stupid, and I know that's wrong, and that was before I ever knew who you were. Gabriella, you make this females and relationships and love a whole other adventure. And my father…he can't see that. I had to tell him we were dating, or else I would've gotten into more trouble. So now…he prohibited that I see you, but I don't fucking care. I need to see you Gabriella. I live off of you. I don't care if my father is a lying hypocrite, or if my brother is always going to be the best, or if my mother dies of loneliness in California. You know why?"
"Me?" I guessed faintly, my voice feeling feathery and my general self feeling lightheaded.
"Yes," Troy whispered admiringly, staring eternally into my chocolate eyes and leaning in as if he could fall into their depths. "You make it all better. You make it seem like it's nothing. Like everything will be okay." His fond tone grew despondently grim. "Even though it wasn't, it isn't, and never will be."
"Yes it will," I croaked hopefully, doing my best to sound positive.
"I am old enough to know it never will." His nose twitched involuntarily and his azure eyes fluttered absentmindedly. "I am old enough not to buy bullshit." I was taken aback. My mouth dropped open slightly, and I averted my eyes to his chest instantaneously, my eyes lingering over his ripped skin. I didn't even have the heart to be harshly offended. "Sorry. I don't want to talk about it anymore," he swallowed feebly. "I can't talk about this anymore right now."
It was quiet. Silence chilled the air, and I kept my mouth firmly shut this time. I patched Troy up well within the hour, instructing him to stay in the house and not do any rigorous activities. Not like he would anyway, but just to make sure.
"Go get Eric, okay?" he whispered as I began to exit the rooms. "Make everything better. Doesn't have to be perfect; just better is good." He kissed my hand chastely and waved me goodbye. I sulked my way to the door, dragging my heavy feet behind me. My eyes felt like they would roll back in my skull any minute.
"Wait!" I hollered louder than I'd intended. I whipped around automatically. Troy's face read perplexity and astonishment. "What was the solution? The solution, you never told me it!"
"Later, okay? I promise," Troy nodded reassuringly, bidding me away to the door. "Just go find Eric. Come back here when you can, okay? And I'll explain everything to you." I nodded reluctantly, sighing tiredly as I trekked out the door and in my car.
I was too anxious. I wanted to know! I fucking needed to know at that second, or else my head was surely going to blow off. But I didn't have the time to think about Troy and I. Right now, it was all about Eric and patching up the problem. I was scared to lose our bond. Eric had helped me more than he'd known. He'd helped me fit in, and put the effort to make me feel more at ease in a foreign environment. He understood my family problems, and he respected my space and privacy. But mostly, he was a friend, and a good one at that. I would be burdened everlastingly if I didn't repair this now, and lose one of the most valuable friends I ever made.
The local bowling alley was a dark, shadowy sort of dwelling, though surprisingly, no variety of unpleasant. The misty, ambiguous atmosphere felt strangely thin but dense at the same time, and the polished, weathered floorboards squeaked in protest as Gabriella sauntered through entrance. Her deep, emblazoned eyes frantically skimmed the empty, eerie, and practically soundless site, searching for that familiar dark brown head and the warm, luminous turquoise orbs that followed. She sighed resignedly, gazing down the stretches of burnished though worn lanes before her, side by side and one directly after the other. She could just make out the failing lights in the back of the place, flickering a dim aquamarine and vibrant red. Her breath jammed in her throat as she steadily approached him, stationed in front of the final lane, staring blankly with dry eyes down the shiny path before him, reflecting his moping exterior in its clean wood.
"Eric," Gabriella managed to squeak out vaguely. Eric's head snapped up in the direction of hers, his dulled, green-blue eyes adjusting themselves to survey her tentative, petite form. She pulled her deer coat tighter around her in a sort of a lame effort to aid the rupture of the awkwardness hanging thickly in the air. Eric's fogged eyes finally locked with hers, and he released a captured sigh in a class of relief.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to find me here," Eric muttered distantly, blinking just once. His voice was gruff and low, dampened by his dismal behavior, which seemed so unusual and unlike him to clueless Gabriella.
"I just…" Gabriella began weakly, choking on her own slimy saliva. But suddenly, she seemed to gain some kind of defensive side. Her angelic face hardened as she spat, "I hope you're happy because Troy got beat up by his father." Gabriella's beautiful features were dark and stiff, her hands curled into angry fists. Eric took a hesitant step back at the sight of her irate face, flushed bright red. "I really, really do. Hope you are happy, I mean."
"I-I'm not," Eric stammered ineffectively in return, his eyes spinning as Gabriella suddenly seemed to leak of her furious steam. Her delicate face softened once again, her features twisting as she collapsed onto a bench helplessly. She unconstrained a haggard sigh, paying attention to her fingernails as so not to look at Eric's confused and disappointed face. "I'm sorry, alright?" Eric murmured as wiggled his fingers into the holes of one glistening neon-green bowling ball. "I didn't mean for that to happen. It was stupid, I know."
"But don't you know how ill-tempered Troy's father is? How angry he can get? How out of control? Fuck, you do know." Her voice quieted considerably as the realization catapulted itself at her. "Of course you know. Coach Bolton is…well, your coach." Blistering tears flooded her vision for the millionth time, but she refused for them to fall. She looked up from her intertwined fingers to meet Eric's absent gaze, and she could tell he was thinking intensely. "I don't know what you were thinking."
"Neither do I."
"Please. Don't tell anyone about Troy and I. We're—" She made an impulsive decision. "We're dating. He's my boyfriend. And you can't tell anyone—do you hear? You can't tell anyone. This is our little secret. I can trust you…right?"
Eric seemed significantly confused and apprehensive, but gave in. "Yes," he whispered crustily.
"Good then. This matter should be settled now."
Eric's face broke out into a jubilant grin. "Are you up for some games of bowling? You owe me."
Gabriella let a small smile charm her mouth as she stood and neared him. "Most definitely."