Troy Bolton/Season 2

**Troy** and Gabriella are happily living after moving to New York City for a fresh start, becoming well-known authors and philanthropists. Their shared dreams are coming true, and life couldn’t be better... until Troy receives an unusual "slap-to-the-face" court-hearing about a traumatizing event four years prior.

## **Physical Appearance**

Troy now pulls-off a messy medium length hairstyle like no other. They’re highly beneficial not only because of the careless and breezy appearance, but also thanks to the effortless styling and low maintenance.

## **Personality and Traits**

The tensions Troy goes through causes him to slowly start to break-down emotionally and mentally. It starts to reach its peak at the beginning when Zachary is dead by a drug overdose. This event leaves Troy traumatized and suffering from P.T.S.D., and his attempts to fix matters lead to him drinking alcohol.

Zachary’s untimely demise weighs heavily on him, to the point he hallucinates his former friend beckoning Troy to join him in death. Troy tries to recover with help from therapy and his friends and begins to take medication, which slowly begins to improve his mental-health. He also begins taking steps to fully redeem himself for past wrongs. Though he eventually thinks of committing suicide, he decides not to, once he realizes that it is not the way to go for his pain and guilt. Troy finds new purpose when he joins a support group and ally and eventually tells friends and family about his suicidal thoughts.

## **Role in Season 2**

### ***Lie***

His body felt broken and battered. The adrenaline was wearing off finally and the pain that wracked his bones was beginning to seep into the young man's soul. He understands now; these hallucinations were his ongoing guilt manifesting; now it's gone because he stopped being cold and ruthless toward people and began trying to help and save once again. Troy's eyes shot up as someone's hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him violently. On instinct, Troy's deadly arms flung up, pushing away the intruder's grip. Next, his deathly hands took hold on the intruder's neck, squeezing the air into a narrowing passage, before closing the passage completely, cutting off the enemy's air supply. Suddenly, Troy's eyes focused on the one he was slowly choking. His eyes focused in on the pale face of his friend, clawing desperately at Troy's arms. Chad had been slammed against the wall and was now fighting with everything in him to break free of Troy's unbreakable grip. Immediately, tears flooded Troy's eyes and his hands released the hold on his friend's neck. Deep gasps filled the deafening silence. Chad's hands fiercely rubbed the now blood-red skin of his neck, trying desperately to gain all oxygen back into his lungs. Both young men met in a gaze full of fear and pity, guilt and pain. "Troy," Chad's voice was raspy and hoarse, still huffing for breath. Chad rose up to walk towards the slim brunette, trying, but to no avail, to prevent Troy from fleeing the scene in shame. Troy's face was now covered in silent tears, his chest filling in with oxygen as the reality of the situation began to set in. "Don't..." Troy began in rebuttal to his best friend, emotion choking the words from his mouth. "Don't come near me," he seethed. With one more, painfully saddened look, Troy's eyes filled with more tears at the sight of his broken friend. "I'm *so* sorry." Troy cried.

**REST IS TBA**

Troy was across town, staring at the pile of dirt. He had offered to go to therapy so that his parents wouldn't have to worry of their now distraught son. He was just building up the courage to go back to the place he now dreaded. Walking away from the grave site, Troy headed towards his truck. Sliding inside, he cranked the engine before slowly pulling away. His mind was all over the place as he started driving. Not paying attention, he let his feet drive him to where. Groaning, he realized he was in the same place he was just days before. Cutting the engine, he looked upward before shaking his head. “Why do I keep coming back here, Zach? This is the place where you died; it's also the place where your heart lies.” Troy muttered to himself. Cutting the engine, he got out of his car. His feet felt like bricks as he walked up the steps to the old apartment. He turned the doorknob and walked in, knowing that the elderly landlord was already home. He walked in and slowly closed the door behind him. He dropped his keys at the table next to the door and pulled off his coat. He hung it up in the closet and made his way for the hallway. "Mr. Kim?" he called out. All he wanted was to lay in bed and sleep. That was the only cure for a day like today. The bedroom door was open and he walked right in. **REST IS TO BE ANNOUNCED.**

### ***My Universe***

The ticking clock in the background filled the silent room. Sounds of squeaking leather chairs and the scratch of a pen synchronized in time. The room was lit warmly, the atmosphere inviting. He had never felt more exposed and uncomfortable. The therapist had a soft light-blue long-sleeve work shirt on, a crisp white shirt underneath it. His hazel eyes were soft and the glasses that lay on his nose glittered in the warm light. The young man sat with one leg crossed over the other, a legal pad and pen resting on it. Troy sat on a comfy chair; moving around every now and again, to find a good position. "How are you today, Mr. Bolton?" the friendly therapist asked. Troy looked quickly, dazed almost, at the man in front of him. After a few seconds it registered that he was talking to Troy. "Oh, you don't... You don't need to call me that or anything." Troy said with a little chuckle. The other man nodded his head in understanding. "Forgive me. I didn't want to be disrespectful. What would you like me to call you?" he asked. "Troy is fine, sir." Troy responded. "No need to call me, 'sir', Troy," the sweet-natured therapist says. "Sorry. I didn't want to be disrespectful. What would you like me to call *you*?" he asked. The gentleman smiled sweetly at the young man in front of him. "You can call me whatever you want: Dr. Monroe. Theodore, whichever." he said. "Okay, Dr. Monroe..." Troy tested out the new name. "...So what do we do now?" Troy asked awkwardly. "Whatever you want, Troy. We can talk, we can sit, whatever you are comfortable with." the old man suggested. The 22-year-old nodded his head slowly, his fingers intertwining with one another. His thumbs tapped against each other once, twice. "Well, I guess I should tell you why I'm here." he said awkwardly. Dr. Monroe smiled softly and chuckled kindly. "I believe that wouldn't be a bad idea." he said. Troy smiled sheepishly, lowering his head momentarily. "Well, I -- four years ago, as you know..." Troy gestured to Dr. Monroe, who nodded in agreement. "...I just recently became a patient at a mental hospital because of a young man, who I considered a dear friend..." Troy started. The therapist nodded again as Troy paused. He looked through his spectacles at Troy in front of him. "...I couldn’t help Zachary. You see, I have been seeing things that aren’t there and..." Troy stopped, searching for the right words. "Sometimes I just... I had a friend w-who... died, and..." the brunette stammered, his breathing shaky. "Continue, Troy," Dr. Monroe said, realizing the young brunette man was having trouble verbalizing his problems. Troy nodded, thanking the doctor silently. "And in a few instances, I've acted with... with physical force during those moments." the brunette young man said with shame and guilt. Dr. Monroe's brow knitted into one of concern and compassion at Troy's words. "I see," the doctor said simply. Troy lowered his gaze, ashamed and guilty. "Everyone is acting like I’m crazy. And I’m *not* crazy. It can't keep happening, Dr. Monroe," Troy said. The patient doctor looked to Troy, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. "You see, I have loved-ones. Both times, these physical reactions have happened, they've been reciprocates. I can't hurt the people I love, Dr. Monroe. I just can't," Troy stated determinedly. Dr. Monroe held the words that found their way onto his tongue. Troy had more to say, he was sure of it. So, he held his tongue, waiting for the young man to finish. "And, I can't keep feeling this way." Troy finished with exasperation. "And, how exactly do you feel, Troy?" Dr. Monroe asks. Troy and the man sat in silence for a moment. "That I shouldn't be alive. That I don't deserve to be alive and happy when my parents and friends are still trying to help me, support me. And what about Zachary's death? I feel so guilty for not being able to save him when he had so much to live for. He was so young. He possessed this -- this *thing*. He was just *one of those people*. The ones who know exactly who they are, and it’s precisely their aura that makes a whole room stare right at them when walking into a room. I cared for him greatly, and, the amount of overbearing psychological torment that surrounded him, I have never seen the likes. People destroyed him," Troy sighed out, his breathing becoming ragged. Dr. Monroe put his pen and paper to the side on the small end table beside his chair. Next, he removed his spectacles and placed them on the table as well. With a small movement, the therapist hunched over to look up at Troy, whose gaze cut through his well-worn soul. "Troy..." his voice was soft and gentle, encouraging yet stern. "...I know that it doesn't mean much now, but you need to understand something. You are *not* to blame for the death of your friend. You get to be happy and live a life again. As for the hallucinations and physical bouts, we will fix it. I promise you. We are in this together." Dr. Monroe said boldly. The young man smiled weakly, reassured that he was doing the right thing by coming here. "Alright. Alright." Troy whispered softly. Dr. Monroe smiled in kind before returning his glasses to their place and picking up the pen and paper. Troy's face grew stern for a moment as he began to think about everything he and his therapist had just discussed. Fights and the demise of Zachary Satō. It would never be something he could fully get over and never something he would understand. Yet, there was a peace inside Troy, stirring up from the dark shadows that encased his calloused soul. A peace about his part in everything that happened in high-school and Zachary's death.

**REST IS TO BE ANNOUNCED**

His posture was much more relaxed than his first time in the warm office space. The leather chair was warm underneath him and a calming peace washed over Troy as the grandfather clock kept time in the background. He breathed in and out, softly, as the beauty of the moment seeped into his soul. "So, you get to do surgery today." Dr. Monroe's voice was warm and raspy, breaking Troy's dreamlike state. "You must be excited to get back to work." he finished. The blue-eyed brunette nodded his head lightly, acknowledging the truth in his shrink's words. "You have no idea. I feel so stir-crazy, not being able to do anything," Troy said. Dr. Monroe's eyes lit up and a small smile hugged the man's face. A deep chuckle vibrated in his chest. "I can understand that. I hate not being able to do anything useful. It drives me crazy." he said. Troy laughed in return, his hand resting underneath his chin. "Yes, sir, it does," Troy said. Dr. Monroe glanced over at his patient through his spectacles. Suddenly, he put his notepad and pen down, placing his glasses down on the legal pad. His voice grew solemn, quiet and quite serious. Troy's posture became stiff and uncertain, ready for whatever happened next. "Troy, I want to talk to you about this young man -- Spencer Williams." Dr. Monroe started. Troy's eyes closed in agony, knowing where the conversation was headed. "Okay..." Troy sighed out. "You've told me so much of what happened in your life, Troy, and that's wonderful. I've never had a patient so willing to open up to me before. It's great progress, son..." Dr. Monroe stopped, unsure of how to continue. "...But, have you told anyone else what happened? Have you told your parents? Your friends?" he asked. Troy took a deep breath, his eyes hitting the floor. He moved slightly in his seat. His elbows and forearms resting on his thighs. "Why does that matter, Dr. Monroe?" Troy asked. His therapist sighed in sadness. "Because, Troy, you will never be able to let them back in, not fully anyway, until you tell them. They will never be able to understand, or begin to understand what happened to you if they don't actually know what happened? And, that's the whole reason we're here. It's about helping you heal and helping you figure out *how* to heal those relationships. They need to know, son, especially the people you love. You can't fully let them in until you show them all that *you* are. And they won't jump in until *you* do," Dr. Monroe said sincerely. "I don't know if my loved-ones will like what they find..." Troy's voice was nothing more than a whisper and it damn near broke Dr. Monroe's old and worn heart. "I can't bear it if they can't love what they found." Troy cried, his voice cracking. Dr. Monroe smiled sweetly. "If they love you like you love them, it won't even be a struggle to." he encouraged strongly. Troy swallowed roughly, fighting back the emotions that threatened to consume him. He clasped his hands together as his therapist's words sank in. Troy's head nodded up in down, letting his doctor -- his new friend -- know that he understood what needed to be done.