She'll make you live her crazy life but she'll take away your pain - like a bullet to your brain.

-RICKY MARTIN

Troy's Mind

I was going to kill Zeke.

Everything was going pretty smooth - my urges to do things with Gabriella seemed less protrusive. I was beginning to deal with everything 'downstairs' alright again. Figures I'd get stuck drinking something that had alcohol in it. Figures it'd be mixed in so well I wouldn't even notice. And figures now I'd find myself getting the best blow job of my life from Gabriella Montez.

The sad part was that I could have resisted, had I tried hard enough. I mean, my head seemed a bit fuzzy and walking seemed a bit difficult, but overall, I was alright. I could function well. I'm not sure how I ended up pressed against her in the middle of Zeke's living-room. I have no idea how I mustered up the confidence to do such a thing. I'm usually the mellow, slow-paced guy. I never make moves on girls . . . at least, not until I know for sure they're ready for them. Gabriella - that seemed like social suicide. I mean, the girl didn't care.

Me, I'm always the jackass that ends up caring.

We were in Zeke's bedroom and my hands were up her shirt, clasping onto her small breasts that seemed to be perfect in shape. I couldn't help it. I was supposed to have my fulfillment earlier, but I didn't. And now, I was really regretting that. I couldn't stand the simple touch of her. That seemed pretty bad. I have no idea why I'm so aroused by her all of a sudden.

I met her eyes and they were closed. She looked so satisfied that I almost froze up. And then her hands forcefully grabbed my own and began to yank them up her skirt. I couldn't help but become totally shocked. I mean, the idea, yeah, it was hot, but the pace of all of this . . . it was crazy.

And I felt like I was going to explode in my pants - like I was in some sort or prison. The room suddenly went up a few degrees and I could feel sweat practically scorching me to death. Weirdly vulnerable to her motions, I found my hand riding directly up her skirt. My eyes didn't close and that could have been pretty awkward, had she been looking directly at me. The bulge in my boxer briefs was uncomfortable and I found myself attempting to adjust myself while my finger found my way up her clit. She finally let go, as if understanding I could figure this out on my own and I didn't need her hand as my guide.

My breathing seemed neurotic, like I was hyperventilating or something. She probably thought I was losing myself. I kind of was, to be honest. I couldn't even control myself, yet alone my member. I felt like an animal. Seriously, I was becoming Zeke, and it was freaking me out.

I was so caught up that I found myself advancing towards her - the heat of our lips only centimeters away from each other. Her small lips let out subdued moans, the moans only turned me on more. This wasn't like me, really. And I was entirely sober now.

But there was something in the back of my mind, perching at me throughout all of this. It was the idea of how she probably didn't care - how she'd probably forget this come tomorrow - how she didn't take it seriously at all - how I was just some mindless game to her. I knew I was a play toy, practically, but for some reason, the obsession I had formed within the passed two days for her drowned my other thoughts out. It's like; I kept blocking it out - not wanting to ruin the pleasure. I mean, she was hot . . . really hot. It wasn't just physically - it was the things she did too, like that smirk, and the way she talked . . . she could shut any guys' mouth and give anyone a boner in the matter of seconds.

I was going to kiss her.

Yeah, that was my 'great, intelligent' plan. It's stupid to actually think about doing something and not just go for it, but that was me. I always had to plan something out before doing it. Otherwise, I'd just mess it up. Then again, I might just mess it up anyways.

But as I got closer and closer to sealing the space between us, I realized more and more of how she wasn't like me. I remembered how she was so bold and how she not only teased me, but she teased every other guy that I knew. I remembered how she would smirk at Chad and do the same type of things to him. I wasn't like some special guy here; I was just wasting my time. She wasn't into relationships or anything that I was into. She smoked cigarettes, she relied on alcohol to erase her worries, and she liked other guys.

The rejection and the annoyance practically overtook me. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't just be some thing she could mess with. I may have let my dad walk all over me, and I may have watched Chad make me look like a loser on the basketball court, but I refused to let Gabriella make me feel stupid.

I ignored the vigorous hard-on in my pants and with all the control I had left, I moved away from Gabriella. I quickly threw on my white v-neck t-shirt and dark hoodie. I headed towards the door, practically falling over in the process. I knew if I dwelled on the idea, I'd be stuck and I wouldn't be able to say no.

I looked back to her and she looked confused. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lips lazily departed. Her hair seemed to be a mess and her shirt was now vulgarly riding up to her belly button. And her skirt rid up higher than it did before, also.

It still seemed hard to breathe. I really should have just left then, but I wasn't that big of a jerk.

Our eyes just rested on each other for at least a minute.

She broke the silence, "Troy, what the fuck?" She sounded impatient.

I bit my bottom lip roughly, still standing by the door, unsure of how to respond, or what to say. I fought out the words, "I . . . should probably head out, I mean, I'm sure Zeke or someone could give you a ride."

"What the hell? Why? What's with you?" She suddenly snapped, her eyebrows furrowing at me with irritation. I couldn't explain this.

She powerlessly pushed her body up from the bed and I could tell she was beyond 'tipsy'. She was staggering from side to side. I could tell she was going to try and approach me. I was at the foot of the door when I heard her crash to the ground, a repulsive sound emitting from her voice.

I turned and found her head-down in the trashcan beside the bed, throwing up.

I became nauseated by the idea and almost wanted to throw up myself. I cringed.

I watched her as she rolled herself over from the trashcan, now sitting on the floor, her back against the bed frame, her face pale-white. Her eyes refused to meet mine and I could almost tell she was embarrassed. As her eyes trailed to the ground, I could see small tears forming in the corners of her eyes. I knew she was just being emotional from being drunk, but I couldn't help but feel some sympathy. That was in my nature and everything.

Damn, I should have just walked away five minutes ago.

I heard her break into an episode of muffled sobs and my heart seemed to move along with her crying. Yeah, I felt bad. I'm not so positive on why. It was like me to feel this way over something stupid. I had to be the good guy. I just couldn't leave her there - I couldn't abandon her and leave her to rot in her vomit. That wasn't me, that wasn't Troy Bolton.

I approached her cautiously and looked down to her, her eyes refusing to meet my own, "Are you alright?" That was a pretty stupid question. It was obvious she wasn't, but I had to keep up my usual 'horrible-at-talking' routine.

"I really fucked up tonight, didn't I, Troy?" Her eyes finally lifted from the floor, her mascara smeared and her lips quivering at me. But for some reason, her eyes still looked beautiful. And that freaked me out - a lot. "It's embarrassing, isn't it? I'm embarrassing. I'm sorry." She seemed hysterical over nothing as she averted her eyes from me again.

I bit my bottom lip, nervously, and kneeled down, our eyes at level. "Look, Gabriella, I'm just gonna take you home. You don't look so good." I didn't mean for that to come off rude or anything, I just almost became concerned about the girl. She looked pale, and sick. I could tell the alcohol was beginning to catch up to her as she tried to move to her feet.

Unsteadily, she wobbled to the side and practically collapsed. I caught her and she sighed in irritation as I helped her to her feet. I told her I didn't wanna have to babysit her tonight. But somehow, I found myself doing so.

She couldn't walk straight. I sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist to help her balance herself on me. Before we headed out of the room, she bolted for the trashcan again.

I opened the truck door for her and she stumbled into my junky trunk, with a lot of difficulty.

I headed to the other side and jumped in, starting it up, "If you feel sick, just roll down the window . . . alright?" I needed to get her back as soon as possible. I really didn't want her to throw up all over my truck, to be honest.

"I feel like shit." She muttered from beside me, her back slanted sluggishly. "I just wanted to have a good time - I wanted to not give a shit, you know. I mean, you East High kids are really dramatic . . . between Chad and Sharpay."

"Don't talk too much, it'll make it worse." I sounded like my dad, lecturing her and everything.

"Please. I've done this so many times before, Troy." She rolled her eyes from beside me. "I can't believe . . . what happened back there." She slurred, her eyes suddenly fascinated with the car's floor, "like . . . you and me, shit."

I bit my bottom lip, not really wanting to discuss it. I had finally gotten rid of that erection and I really didn't want to earn back any more discomfort. I didn't want to long for her anymore . . . it was like a game - like a ring of fire.

I could make out that smirk appearing across her lips from next to me. Her eyes were on me, amused, "You know, you're really fucking big." Her grin widened, as if she hadn't just been throwing up minutes ago.

I felt my face flush and I kept my eyes on the road, not wanting to meet hers.

I've never really been intrepid about what I had to offer, but her comment sort of made me feel better. She always had to say those kinds of things. I'm not sure why it seemed kind of embarrassing to me. I guess it was just the shock at how honest she was about the statement.

"Troy Bolton . . . are you blushing?" She seemed pleased by this idea, the smile never fading from her lips as she watched me, chuckling.

"Gabriella. . ." I muttered, running a hand through my hair and letting my eyes trail out my window, not wanting to face the awkward conversation.

"You're so fucking cute, Troy. I've never met a guy who blushes. It's cute." She seemed serious about this as she glanced at me with those big brown eyes.

I felt rather uncomfortable as she moved herself closer to me. My breathing abilities seemed to decrease again and my heart began to beat ridiculously fast. I felt like I was on some roller coaster. It was really embarrassing.

And then, she did something I didn't expect - she lied her head down on my shoulder, her eyes closing hesitantly. My eyes flickered to her. Yeah, she was definitely drunk, that was for sure. But at the same time, the girl was so beautiful. I hated that. I hated it so much. And I hated the fact that I was practically smiling at her. God, this wasn't a 'lovey-dovey' situation. Troy, get it together.

As I focused my eyes back to the road, I couldn't avoid the fact that she was there. She was so close, and I was even closer to her minutes ago in Zeke's bedroom. It didn't ease my mind. I became a complete lunatic about the idea again. My legs kind of shook and I could barely pay attention to the road. For some reason, she seemed to manipulate my entire body into not wanting to function right.

I continued chewing on my bottom lip, hoping she wouldn't pass out on me like this. The roads were dead at this time at night. It must have been about eleven at the latest. I knew my dad was going to kill me for being out so late. But for some bizarre reason, I wasn't worried about it. I just didn't care that much right now. I just needed to make sure Gabriella was going to be alright.

When we arrived in her driveway, I gradually moved away from her, gently lifting her off of me. She stirred and her eyes opened animatedly, as if she was just resting her eyes. Her lips curved into a humongous smile as she noticed me. She began to sweep her hands through my hair, her eyes widening at the touch of it.

I looked at her strangely and as I tried to break away from her grasp, she wouldn't let me go. She kept messing with my hair, then she latched her hands onto my face, just playing with it, like she never seen anything better.

"You're so beautiful." She mumbled, in her own little trance as she continued.

"Gabriella, stop that, give me your keys so we can get inside of your house." God, déjà vu, much?

"I can get in my own house; I don't need your help." She gave me a slight pout before staggering towards her house. It wasn't long before she tripped on her feet and crashed to the grass, yelping out, "Fuck!"

I sighed, lifting my head up to the sky in agitation before heading to help her.

"Look, give me your keys, alright? The faster we do this, the less trouble we'll be in." I told her, looking to her with impatience as she got up from the ground, revealing her panties as doing so. I felt myself stiffen and I groaned out loud.

"Will you fucking chillax? Geez." She grabbed a set of keys out of her purse and began to unlock her front door. Within a minute, it was unlocked.

I held her shoulders, guiding her towards the couch, and she didn't hesitate to fall onto it. She groaned as her face hit one of the pillows. "Ugh, I don't feel good."

I stood there for a second before heading into her kitchen, in search for some Aspirin and a rag I could wet down for her. I'm not sure why I was doing this. I mean, her parents were bound to come home soon, and she wouldn't remember this tomorrow. I heard her yell out in irritation from the other room.

I grabbed a few pills and a rag and headed back to the couch. Her eyes were closed, her nose scrunched up in aggravation. I couldn't say she didn't look cute when she did this. She did, and I mentally kicked myself for thinking that.

Her eyes fluttered open as I took a seat on the chair beside the couch. I handed her the rag and the pills, "It'll make you feel better."

"Aren't you gonna get in trouble for staying out too late, or something?" She asked, accepting the rag from me and punching it to her forehead.

"Yeah . . . but that was gonna happen eventually," I answered, scratching the back of my head, "we've gotta at least get you sober before your parents come home."

"Fuck my parents," She snarled, resentfully, moaning in pain, "They hate me."

"I doubt they hate you. . ."

"They hate me." Her eyes met mine and I felt a sudden impulse from them. I looked away, unable to deal with the strange nervousness I got from her eyes. "You know, I haven't always been like this." I looked back to her - her eyes were far away, distant, like she was thinking about something. "I used to be just like you, actually - fucking perfect and proper and shit. . ."

"I'm not perfect." My eyes met hers and she seemed taken back by the sudden aggravation that came over me from her statement.

She looked away for a second, silence filling the room. "I realized I'd never be good enough - that people in this world, you can go out of your way for them, still, they'll never be proud of you. It's never fucking enough." She hissed, the words coming from her mouth like fire. Her eyes moved back to me and the sadness taking her over almost killed me. "I'm just some mistake." A single tear seemed to fall from her eye and I could practically trace it as it hit the end of her neck. She bit her bottom lip and seemed to be holding back more tears.

". . . I get it." I looked elsewhere as the words slowly came out of my mouth. I felt her gaze turn to me, her eyes in a broken mess. I ran my hand through my hair, "My dad . . . that's the way it is with him." I bit my bottom lip.

"Your dad is proud of you though. He thinks you're a great kid. My parents don't even know me, Troy. Most people don't know me; they just think I'm some washed up slut, some worthless girl who fucks with people because she has emotional issues. It's kind of true. . ."

"Those people don't know you though. . ." I met her eyes. "You know, I . . . don't think you're that bad. . ." I massaged the back of my neck, feeling a sudden heat come to my face as I turned away from her.

"Well, little Troy kind of gave that away, didn't he?" I could see the smirk forming across her lips. I knew she was beginning to sober up, but I couldn't help but roll my eyes. She was going to hold that against me for the rest of my life now. Her eyes didn't stray from me. She hadn't lied down - she was just sitting up on the couch, the rag to her forehead. She extended a hand, resting it on my leg, the smirk disappearing, a more serious look on her face now, "Troy, I'm just fucking with you. You take everything so seriously. . ." A small, genuine smile appeared on her lips, "You can be a real sweetheart, you know."

And something really weird happened when I looked back at her. It was pretty stupid. . . I actually felt a sudden happiness from her comment. Our eyes locked and I felt frozen again. She had control of me again, pulling me on some kind of thread. I couldn't breathe, but I found myself smiling at her.

I knew there was no denying that I was crazy about the girl. Not only physically, but emotionally - there was more to her than that. It scared me half to death to be honest. Yeah, that's right, it scared me, petrified me.

And the thing was - whenever I started liking a girl, it didn't just stop there. No, it never stopped there. I was the guy that fell. I was the one who couldn't do goodbyes. I was the one who despite how many girls he's broken up with, can't erase a girl from his mind. And with Gabriella, it seemed stronger than any girl I've ever been around. So, yeah, I was scared to death.

And I mean scared to death.

END OF CHAPTER

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