Hey everyone!

Ok, this is my very first story on here... & I'm a little nervous lol...

This particular story is something that I've written for my uni work (using different names LOL) but I had these characters in mind when I wrote it, so thought I should put it up :)

Any reviews/opinions are greatly appreciated... & I hope you enjoy it :)

Roni xox

disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot ... disney own the characters ;)

All That Matters

The door was slammed so hard, the glass panel that made up the majority of the centre section cracked, the splitting sound audible to anyone nearby.

Of course, there was no one in the vicinity; it was close to three in the morning, and the area was desolate – devoid of human life – all bar a single figure, who was running as fast as their legs would carry them, away from the building, away from the nightmare that had unfolded within those darkened walls over the previous five hours.

The figure stumbled alongside the dumpster, crashing to the ground and letting out a painful yelp as he landed heavily on his knees in the dirt; pieces of glass from broken bottles embedding deep within the skin, adding to the physical hurt that was already felt from various cuts and bruises covering his body.

Despite the pain, he threw a terrified glance over his shoulder as he scrambled to regain his footing, more of the glass shards piercing his hands, causing tiny rivulets of blood to spill over his skin, leaving marks on the dumpster and ground. With another burst of adrenaline, he was back on his feet and running again, blocking out the screaming pain that was emanating from the ravaged muscles in his calves and thighs.

He raced down the empty road, still struggling to recognise where he was in the dark – identification of his location hindered by his continual backward looks; the fear that his torturer was following almost tangible in the blackness of the night.

Before this fateful night, he'd always considered himself to be fit and strong... but right at that point, as he tripped over the curb of the pavement and once again found himself on his knees in the muck, he couldn't remember the last time he felt as weak as he did at that moment. Fighting against the desperation that was trying to flood his mind and force him to give up on his escape, he pushed himself back up and forced his legs to move, silently praying that there would be an end to this night soon.

As he fought on, he allowed his gaze to move up from the ground to try and see where he was running to, instead of continually looking back at where he was running from.

Relief was a physical feeling; one that filled his whole body with more hope than he'd felt all night, as he finally recognised a landmark in the dark. Pushing himself harder, he approached the familiar building, checking once more over his shoulder before he slowed down, resting his hand against the wall as he struggled to regain his breath; his mind racing with thoughts and ideas of where to go next.

The problem with stopping and breathing was, he found, that he was starting to feel the pain of all of his injuries. With the danger no longer immediately present, the adrenaline rush that he had been racing on started to fade, leaving him with the reality of the torture that his body had been put through.

He was aware, however, that he could not rest on his laurels. Within a few short moments, he was running again, albeit this time in a less frenzied manner; taking the sensible route into town towards home.

As he turned the corner onto the road where his house was, his pace slowed down to a gentle jog. He made his way past the familiar houses, a relaxed and comforting feeling starting to spread through his body as he approached his own home, cutting across the grass and groaning softly in pain as he climbed the few steps to the porch, reaching into his pocket for his keys before he let himself in as quietly as he could, knowing his parents were most likely in bed asleep. Letting out a slow breath, he locked up behind himself again, and then made his way up the stairs to the bathroom, moving in the dark so as not to disturb anyone else in the house. He waited for the door to be closed fully before pulling the string just inside the bathroom, blinking at the harshness of the cold and bright light that filled the room. Once his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, he finally looked down at himself, choking on the tightness that filled his throat as he realised the state he was in.

His jeans, which had already been fashionably torn at the beginning of the evening, were completely encased in mud and glass fragments from where he'd fallen in the dirt outside the warehouse. The sleeves of his plaid shirt were just as bad – there was a hole in one elbow, and a tear that stretched down his back. Stripping the shirt off, he found the originally plain white tee underneath to be in just as sorry a state. Exactly below the tear in his shirt, there was a matching slash on the back of his tee, along with another across the front; both edged with a thin line of blood, and both having been caused by his mysterious torturer in the warehouse. With a grunt, he pulled the tee off over his head and dropped it to the floor, touching the thin mark across his stomach with his fingertips and sighing softly in pain.

Closing his eyes he toed off his once black, but now mud-coloured, Converse shoes, biting his tongue to muffle a groan of pain as he perched on the edge of the bath, lifting his feet one at a time to pull his socks off. He glanced down at his hands and sighed heavily, realising that he would need someone to help him get rid of the glass that was riddling his palms and fingers before he could do anything else. He pulled his phone from his pocket, biting his lip against the pain as he pressed a speed dial and lifted the BlackBerry to his ear, listening to the ringing tone.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice answered.

"Hey, Brie, it's me," he replied, his voice rough from the screams that had been forced out of him over the course of the evening.

"Troy? Babe, it's... it's twenty past three in the morning," his girlfriend rubbed her eyes as she looked at the time in disbelief. "Why are you calling me so late? Please don't tell me you and the boys have only just got home..."

"C-can... can you come around? Please?" he asked softly.

"Troy –" Gabriella started to reproach him again for the late hour, but something in his tone made her stop, and worry filled her. "I'll be there in five minutes, okay? You're home, yeah?"

"I'm in the bathroom," he told her quietly. "Come in the way you normally do... Gabi?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you..."

"No problem, babe, I'll see you in a minute."

Less than five minutes later, Gabriella was climbing through Troy's window, tiptoeing across the wooden floor to open the door into the hallway, and then knocking gently on the bathroom door, which was immediately opened to reveal her far from tidy boyfriend; his face streaked with dirt and tears, shirtless but with cuts marring the normally perfect skin, blood covering his hands and feet, and his jeans an absolute mess of mud, glass and even more blood.

"Troy!" she gasped, one hand covering her mouth as he ushered her into the room, locking the door firmly behind her. "What happened to you? Are you okay?"

"I've been better," he muttered, sitting down on the toilet lid. "I need your help..." he admitted, holding his hands out for her to see, revealing the fragments of glass that were embedded there.

"How did this happen?" Gabriella asked, immediately opening the cupboard where the First Aid kit was kept, grabbing it out before kneeling down in front of him and starting to tend to his many wounds.

"I... I don't even know..." he sighed heavily, letting out a groan as the antiseptic stung his cuts, while his thoughts went back to approximately half past nine that evening. "Me and the guys went out, like we were supposed to, we ended up at this bar – you know that Chad's got those fake IDs so we can get served – I had like, two pints, which I can normally handle easy... but I think there may have been something in the second..." Troy let out a groan, kicking out at the bath as Gabriella tugged out a particularly deep shard.

"Babe..." she chastised softly.

"Sorry," he muttered, resting his head back against the wall again. "So, after the second pint, we decided we were gonna move onto the next bar... but somehow I got split off from the others, and passed out. When I came to, I was chained up in the middle of this dark room by my wrists," he nodded, gesturing at the bright red marks just above his hands. "It was cold, wet, and stunk to high heaven. I could hear... laughter... just one person... it was creepy..." his voice trailed off as he sunk deep into the memory.

"Troy," Gabriella said quietly, shaking his hand, trying to rouse him from the trappings of his mind. "Talk to me, please?"

"Sorry," he repeated, shaking his head slightly. "Umm... yeah, laughter, creepy, one person... who had a knife of some kind. They kept slashing at me, sometimes missing me, sometimes, making contact," he gestured to his stomach. "Then the chains were tightened, and pulled up, so I was hanging from the ceiling by my wrists – my toes were just touching the ground. My shoulders are so sore, I swear, the muscles are shredded."

Gabriella kept quiet, just working on getting the tiny fragments of glass from his skin, and trying not to let the horror that was flooding her body at his words spread onto her face; instead just trying to be as supportive of him as she could. But inside, her heart and mind were fighting a battle of wills. Her heart wanted to leave Troy's wounds for now, and just hold him, comfort him through the painful tale he was telling, while her mind was telling her to keep working on getting the glass out, making sure to clean the abrasions thoroughly to reduce the risk of infection, and just let him talk it out, the same as he always has to with things that screw his head up.

"Then... it went cold... like they'd turned the air-con on really high," he continued. "But, I think it was more like an industrial freezer, cos it got so cold so quickly. My legs started to ache – I couldn't lift them up to bend them because I was balancing as much of my weight as I could on the tips of my toes. My arms started pulling more, but I couldn't grip the chains because they were too cold. I was just hurting so much, and I had no idea how to stop it... Gabi, I thought I was never going to get out of there..." his breath caught in his throat as his blue eyes, so full of pain and helplessness, fixed upon his girlfriend.

"You're safe now," she whispered, gazing up at him reassuringly. "But... I think you're going to have to go to the hospital. I can't get all of this out, I'm sorry," she looked at his hands weakly.

Troy followed her gaze, his expression emotionless as he took in the sight of his normally strong hands, all swollen and throbbing, covered in cuts from the glass. On the floor, alongside Gabriella, was a small tub that she'd found in the First Aid box where she'd been putting each shard and fragment she'd pulled from his hands; he inhaled sharply as he realised the tub was almost full.

"Perhaps that's a better idea anyway," Gabriella continued. "You need to speak to the police about what happened to you – monsters like that shouldn't be allowed to roam the streets... what if they'd gotten to Melissa?" she asked.

Troy's head shot up, his eyes dancing with fire in defence of his little sister.

"That would never happen," he hissed. "I would never let anything happen to her!"

"I know, Troy," Gabriella said quickly. "But you need to report this, you know that. Whoever this is needs to be caught, and they need to be punished for what they did to you!" she sighed heavily as she watched the stubborn look settle back onto her boyfriend's face. "How did you get away, anyway?"

"It doesn't matter," he mumbled.

"Yes, it does," she insisted. "C'mon, Troy, you've told me everything that happened to you, right? So please, tell me how you got here!"

"Fine," he huffed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall again. "When they eventually turned the coldness off, the chains dropped again, and I landed heavily on the floor, which, can I just point out – ow?" He rubbed his chin over his shoulder as he started to fight with himself to stay awake. "So, after laying there for a few minutes, practically praying for an end to it all, the voice came again, saying that this was the end of chapter one... and I had to leave to move onto chapter two of the story. A set of keys appeared beside me, and a door slammed shut somewhere else in the warehouse. I didn't ask questions, Brie, I just grabbed the keys, unlocked the chains and ran as fast as I could."

"Chapter two?" she asked in confusion. "But... how would he know where you would go? Surely he'd assume you'd go home to your parents?"

"Maybe he's not the brightest of sparks," Troy shrugged. "To be honest, I don't care right now. I'm just... grateful... and relieved... to be away from that place." He smiled softly at his girlfriend. "And here with you. I couldn't think of anyone else to call on to come and help me, but I'm sorry for waking you."

"It's okay," she smiled back. "Thank you for calling on me; I like how it shows that you trust me."

"Course I trust you, I love you," he murmured, before letting out a huge yawn. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so tired."

"It's okay," she repeated. "You rest, and I'll try and get the worst of the glass out of your legs. Just try not to yell, got it?"

Barely conscious, Troy merely nodded as his eyes fell closed again, and Gabriella was able to continue her medical duties in silence. She glanced up at him every now and then as she worked, a smile spreading onto her face as she realised he'd fallen asleep properly.

Once she'd completed her task, she put everything away as best as she could, then approached Troy again, resting a hand on his cheek as she tried to wake him.

"Troy? Honey, wake up, c'mon," she said softly.

"Mm... Brie?" he mumbled, completely disorientated.

"Yeah, sweetie, c'mon, bed time," she cooed, slipping an arm around him and helping him to his feet. "Lean against me, that's it... time for bed... we'll talk to your parents in the morning... but you need sleep for now..."

"Okay," he sighed, following her willingly out of the bathroom and across the landing to his bedroom.

Gabriella laid him down carefully on the bed, pulling his ruined jeans off and throwing them in the corner, grabbing a clean tee from a drawer to tug over his head, before somehow managing to get him into bed and under the duvet properly. Tucking it in so he was securely within the bed, she leant over, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"You're safe now," she whispered. "Sweet dreams, Troy... I'll see you in the morning. And babe? I love you too..."

"Ngh..." he grunted in reply, which she took to mean 'night'.

With a final tender smile, Gabriella blew another kiss in his direction on her way over to the window, climbing out of it to return home the way she came.

The following morning, when Troy eventually awoke, he let out a low groan at the deep pain and aching feeling that filled his body, like he'd run a marathon while carrying a ten-ton weight on his shoulders. Blinking against the sunlight that was streaming through his window, he turned his head to look at the clock on his bedside table, letting out another groan as he noted the time: 11.37am.

With a reluctant grumble, he pushed the duvet back and swung his legs out of bed, rubbing a hand over his face as he unsteadily got to his feet and stumbled from the room, heading towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, after returning to his room for a pair of sweat pants, he made his way downstairs into the kitchen where he found his mother standing at the sink doing the dishes.

"Hey Mom," he greeted, sitting down and dropping his forehead onto the kitchen table. "I'm so tired – I'm never going out with Chad and the boys again."

Troy bit his lip, hoping that his behaviour was as normal as it ever was after a night out; the last thing he wanted was to flag up that there was a problem that warranted further investigation in front of either of his parents, but especially not his mother, who had a habit of being far too interested in her eldest child's life.

After a few moments of silence, he frowned and forced his head back up off the table, looking over towards the sink.

"Mom?" he asked, standing and crossing to her, waving a hand in front of her face, at which point he realised there were tearstains on her cheeks. "Mom, what happened?" he asked desperately, reaching out to touch her.

A noise from the kitchen doorway caught his attention, and he turned towards it to see his father standing there, looking sombre.

"The police think it was an accident, babe," his father's gruff voice said gently. "There was nothing anyone could have done. Troy... Troy just got drunk, a-and fell... in front of the train... Chad and the boys said they had no idea he wasn't with them until they got back to his place."

"What about Gabriella?" his mother finally spoke.

"That's baffling them," her husband admitted. "There's a phone call registered as received on her phone from Troy's number... but after the phone was destroyed... and Gabriella was found in her bed, as though she were asleep. There are no logical explanations for what happened to her, Lucy."

"They were so young," Lucille whispered. "So young, and so happy together, Jack."

"I know," Jack crossed the room to wrap his arms around his wife, attempting to soothe her through the grief that now filled their house. "But they're together wherever they are now, that's all that matters."