A few weeks later, Phoebe found herself pregnant.
She roamed the streets alone for months, her belly growing larger day by day. She would beg for money, she'd get down on her knees if she had to, if it meant that her baby wouldn't starve to death. She'd sit on the sidewalk during midday, her head throbbing and her stomach growling from hunger. At the time, she was convinced she had hit rock bottom. How wrong she was.
Years later, Phoebe cringed at the memory. Her stubborn mind would always remind her of what happened after. She would never forget the sharp pain she felt on a particularly cold night during the fourth month of her pregnancy. She would never forget the trickling sensation of blood running down her legs followed by her own cries of despair. And she would certainly never forget what she was told.
"I'm so sorry, but you've lost your baby."
For years, she had managed to suppress the whisper in her head, the voice, those eight words. She could still hear them in her mind at times, haunting her, but she had learned how to quiet down her thoughts and forcefully move on. But then, her half brother had asked her to give life to his baby, and Phoebe being Phoebe had accepted. She thought she could take it, after all, it all had happened so long ago, and most importantly, Phoebe would make a loved one happy. So she was Frank and Alice's surrogate and she had had the triplets. Phoebe had given birth to not one, but three babies, and she could take none home. She wouldn't be able to feed them, bathe them, sing to them, love and protect them and watch them grow up. She was losing a child all over again. As she stared down at the babies on her arms the whisper became louder and louder, and soon tears were being spilled from her eyes.
The following nights were the most painful she had had in years. All the memories she had tried so hard to push away came flooding back, causing a turmoil of emotions in her mind. She dreamt about that back alley, reliving every single part of the experience. She still remembered exactly how it felt like, exactly where it throbbed, where it bled and where it bruised. She dreamt that she then lay in that same alley, pregnant. She sang and protectively rubbed her belly, but then, it was no longer there. Her baby was gone and she was covered in blood.
"I'm so sorry, but you've lost your baby."
Phoebe would wake up, tears rolling down her cheeks. She'd lay awake the rest of the night, her heart aching more than ever. But then, when the sun rised and the world filled with light she would put on her best smile and she'd be the quirky, happy Phoebe all her friends had known and loved. As far as Monica, Rachel, Joey, Chandler and Ross were concerned, there was nothing wrong with their friend.
Days went by and the blonde's heart throbbed more with each passing second. Phoebe couldn't help but wonder if she had the courage to make it stop, to make it all stop. But then, there came a time when she could take no more of her thoughts. She was Phoebe Buffay, the same girl who lived on the streets at only fourteen, the one who had learned to kick and punch when needed, the sixteen year old who managed to move on after she had lost her baby. She was the woman who fought her way out of homelessness and found a way to make a living. She was pained on the inside, but she was strong.
Now standing on the rooftop, Phoebe fondlessly thought of the days where she still believed in herself. Despite her broken heart and her quiet hurting, she had always thought she could make it. She would meet the love of her life, have children, grow old, but those thoughts had stopped crossing her mind a long time ago. As she stared at the emptiness beneath her, Phoebe knew she had no future ahead of her.
Months had passed since she had given birth to the triplets, and she was better, she truly was. The blonde was slowly pulling herself out of the dark hole she had fallen into and she was almost out, until it happened. Again.
She had been drunk, which is not unusual for a young woman partying in a nightclub located in the city that never sleeps. Her, Monica and Rachel had decided to have a girls night out. The usual, get in the first place with music and have stupid fun. That night, Phoebe felt particularly carefree, and she drank and danced like she hadn't done in a long time. Soon, the blonde one spotted a handsome man checking her out, and the following hours consisted of constant flirting and intense kissing. Phoebe had lost track of Monica and Rachel, but she couldn't care less. All she wanted was to have an unforgettable night, and damn right she would always remember what happened.
It was far past midnight when he suggested they'd go somewhere quiet where no one would disturb them. Part of Phoebe knew she shouldn't trust a stranger, but she had just the right amount of alcohol in her system to fearlessly follow the handsome guy out the back door. And there, in the back of a nigh club, Phoebe was forcefully shoved against the ground and raped for the second time in her life.
She felt his rough and violent touch against her skin as tears blurred her vision and soft whimpers escaped her lips. He no longer had to cover her mouth, as she felt too weak to scream. The familiarity of it all made it terribly worse, and for a split second she had seen the face of the guy she had once called her best friend forcing himself on her, smiling, enjoying it. She felt as if she had laid there for hours until her abuser walked away, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. Phoebe had taken her phone, texted Monica to let her know she was going home, and she had walked all the way back to her apartment. Once she was there, she shut the door, got in her bed and numbly stared at the ceiling.
Right then and there, Phoebe Buffay wanted to die.