Chapter 16 - Phoebe (Originally Published: 20 November 2015)

Phoebe rummaged frantically through her purse. Where is it?!

Her heart drummed painfully against her chest. If her hands could stop shaking, maybe she could find what she was looking for. In the back of her mind, a soothing female voice reminded her to take advantage of the breathing exercises she'd been taught to use in therapy. She curled up on the floor in a corner of the room, hugging herself tight. Despite her efforts to keep her breathing steady, it only came in sharp gasps. Phoebe felt sick to her stomach, like she might throw up. She rocked back and forth, clutching her head, trying desperately to calm her nerves.

I'm going to be ill.

Someone twisted the door handle, but it only wiggled noisily. After Leslie had walked in on her having a meltdown her freshman year, she locked the door behind her everywhere she went to avoid being caught by anyone else.

"Phoebe?" She should have known. Of course it was Leslie, always following her. Always hanging over her shoulder, reminding her of this dark secret she suffered.

She got to her feet and staggered to the door, opening it just enough to let her "friend" in. When Leslie was through, Phoebe slammed the door shut and twisted the lock back into place.

Leslie Peterson sat on the dressing room table; she crossed her legs at the ankles and swung them back and forth. A smirk grew over her face when she saw the way Phoebe stood there, hugging herself. "I knew I'd find you in here, losing your shit. You're such a freak." Leslie pulled something from her pocket, a transparent orange bottle with the label torn off. "Is this what you came looking for?"

Phoebe held her hand out. "Please," she whispered. Her shoulders hunched, and she was still shaking. She must have been a sight, but she didn't care in the slightest.

Leslie held the pill bottle just out of reach, knowing full well that Phoebe would never do anything to anger her. "Not yet. My father could get in a lot of trouble if anyone ever found out how you were getting your hands on these. You owe me." She rattled the bottle mockingly, clearly enjoying the way Phoebe's eyes focused on her hand.

"I won't hurt Marceline," Phoebe said instantly, adamant. There were a lot of terrible things she had done for a fleeting sense of freedom, and there were a lot of terrible things she would likely still do, but never that.

Leslie's face split into a big, wicked grin. "I'll keep that in mind, but no, that's not what it was about. I want those two fucking losers out of the play."

"O'Neill already cast them. I don't know what you want me to do," Phoebe said, steeling herself for the delivery of the impending command.

Leslie teased her by waving the orange bottle right in her face. "It's obvious that Finn's only doing this to get your attention… So, you're going to break his heart. He'll drop out, and that thing will go with him."

Without another thought, Phoebe held her hand out - signing away yet another shred of her dignity.

Leslie pressed the bottle into her palm before hopping down from the table. She made her way to the door, looking back at Phoebe's pathetic state before she left. "I'll go stall everyone. You've got fifteen."

Phoebe locked the door when it closed again, and quickly opened the bottle with shaky hands. She dumped out a few pills into her palm - not caring enough to count - and tossed her head back as she swallowed them, cringing at how dry her throat had been. For a moment, she thought they might come back up. However, she was lucky. This time.

She then went to her purse and hid the bottle at the bottom of the bag, fishing out her phone.

Phoebe sat on the floor and turned on the device. She scrolled through her contacts to Marceline's name. "I need you," she texted, hoping that Marceline wasn't busy at this time.

Thankfully, she received a reply in under a minute. "What do you call a bear with no teeth? … A gummy bear!"

Phoebe shook her head, a faint smile playing over her lips. When Marceline had witnessed one of her attacks, she'd been terrified that it would scare her away. Other than Leslie, Phoebe's parents, and her therapist, no one else even knew about her horrible affliction. The ones who did know all treated her differently because of it, but not Marceline.

Her phone lit up with another incoming text. It read, "I find it so hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs. They always take things. Literally."

Leaning her head against the wall, her eyes traced over the name in her phone. She wished that Marceline could be there with her right now. Everything felt… calm when they were together. The noise in her head subsided in a way that the pills couldn't seem to manage.

"Why can't you hear a pterodactyl using the loo? Because the "P" is silent."

It was at Ash's house party that her secret came tumbling out. Marceline was enjoying the company of some of her old friends, leaving Phoebe to navigate through a sea of strangers on her own. People kept trying to talk to her, kept recognising her, wouldn't leave her be. She had to excuse herself to hide out in her father's car for the majority of the night. Marceline found her though, thanks to Leslie's ever growing need to cause drama, and took her home. Phoebe never had to explain what had happened, just like she never asked Marceline to explain her own demons - the ones that haunted her in the form of pouring rain and thunder claps. They both hid away from the world that night, watching silly films together in Phoebe's bed. Marceline had held her in her arms, making Phoebe feel safe for the first time in forever.

"What do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary? … A thesaurus!"

Phoebe bit her lip. Thanks to Marceline's distractions, she'd almost forgotten how awful she felt only moments before. The medication had likely begun to work its way into her bloodstream. "I have to get back to play rehearsal. Thank you."

"Any time, Pheebs."

Smiling, she turned off her phone and tossed it back into her bag. Phoebe checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure there were no signs of her mental breakdown evident. Her eyes were cold, lifeless, and glossed over - a side effect of the pills.

After having a moment to fix her hair and take a few more deep breaths, she left the dressing room, returning to her spot on the stage.

"Are you okay, Phoebe?" Finn asked, darting to her side when he saw her.

She mentally berated herself for not being more careful. The other theatre kids had seen her storm off stage many times before, and she knew they wrote it off as just her having a snobby bitch fit. She hadn't taken into account that there were people who had never seen her run off before; people who would actually care.

Phoebe didn't have the energy to deal with Finn's enthusiasm at the moment. "Fine." She caught Leslie watching her, and remembered that she was supposed to be charming this boy. Phoebe put on a smile and turned to him. "I can't wait for you to get on the spotlight, Finn. I know you're going to do so well."

His face flushed, and he couldn't seem to look at her. "T-Thanks, Phoebe. I know you'll be brilliant, like always."

"You're so sweet, Finn." She waited until he was looking at her to bite her lip, feigning nervousness. This was just another role for her to play. She tilted her head down, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and touched her neck.

She could tell from his awkward smile that he was responding well to it. Finn left her to take his spot, and as Phoebe was walking off stage to take her own position in the wing, she caught Bea looking at her with sad eyes.

"I'm sorry," Phoebe wanted to say, "for everything."

Rehearsal went slower than usual, due to the tech crew learning their parts. There was never a more incompetent group of individuals tasked with doing an important job. In fact, the only two who seemed to have even studied the notes in their script were Finn and Bea.

Do we really have to get rid of them?

It was something she was going to have to put to Leslie later. Admittedly, she did feel bad for what her "friend" wanted her to do. She didn't even like Finn, and she was sure that it was obvious to everyone else as well. It especially seemed notable with Bea, who appeared to be uncomfortable every time Finn talked to Phoebe. To make matters worse, Bea was assigned to personally help Phoebe through all her costume changes and handle all her props, making it impossible to escape that sad smile.

When rehearsal was finally over, she left the stage to change back into her everyday clothes. It was a relief to drop the persona that she was assigned in the play, but switching into what she normally wore was just putting on another mask, getting ready for another act. Being herself felt so foreign to her now, but it was either that or be vulnerable to the world. When she exited the dressing room, she looked over the heads of people standing in the auditorium for the two blondes that would no doubt be standing together.

"Hey Finn," Phoebe said, being sure to crinkle her eyes properly and puff her cheeks just so. It took so much effort to fake a 'genuine' smile, and it was just exhausting.

He perked up, practically glowing when she said hello to him. Finn did his usual routine of awkward chuckles and repetitive compliments.

She glanced over at Bea, wishing she could just have this moment to talk to Finn alone… what she was about to say was going to hurt.

Phoebe tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, struggling not to slide into a grimace. "Do you need help with your cues, Finn? Perhaps we could go for coffee this afternoon and go over them?"

"Really?! I mean." He chuckled nervously. "Yeah. Cool. My brother can give us a ride."

"How about we just meet each other there? Leslie can take you home when we're done."

"Yeah, okay. That sounds great," Finn stammered.

Phoebe left the two of them to gather her things. She wanted to get out of there. She didn't want to wait for Leslie, who always spent more than a few minutes socialising with people after rehearsal. She just wanted to get out as quickly as possible, to go sit in Leslie's car and try not to fold in on herself again.

Pushing the auditorium doors open, she stepped out into the arts hall. Painted self-portraits watched her as she walked past, ridiculing her with their watercolour smiles. The trail to the car park felt dark somehow, despite the fluorescent illumination. She had to keep it together. Just for a little longer.

When she finally exited the building, she felt relief. There were no people in sight, but she kept her guard up nonetheless. Phoebe walked with a brisk pace towards Leslie's car, using the keys she'd grabbed from the dressing room to unlock the door.

Immediately upon shutting herself in, she searched through her purse for her phone. It took only a moment to power on, but each second felt like an eternity of imaginary walls closing in on her.

There was a voicemail waiting for her, and although it was from Marceline, she only felt more anxious.

Phoebe put the receiver to her ear and listened.

"Hey Pheebs. I know you're at rehearsal right now, but I figured since we're going to be hanging out tomorrow anyway, maybe… I mean, if you wanted, you could come over and stay the night."

The anxiety she'd previously felt had become a ball of warmth, spreading a calmness through her entire body. She called Marceline back, waiting for the line to pick up.

"Hey… uh… I can't really talk right now. Did you get my message?"

Phoebe felt a bitter twinge at the greeting. There was only one reason Marceline would be acting so strange, and that was if that girl was nearby. "Don't you already have plans for tonight?"

"I cancelled. You need me more right now. Do you think Leslie can drop you off later on?" Marceline asked. There was a voice in the background, and even though Phoebe didn't recognise it, she knew who it belonged to.

Phoebe cleared her throat, trying not to let the hurt show in her voice. "I'll be there."

She hung up just as Leslie got into the car. The other girl seemed rather pleased with her progress in talking to Finn.

"Take me to the café. I'm meeting Finn to go over his cues."

Leslie smiled. "He knows all his cues, I'll give him that. So, what are you really going to do?"

Phoebe made a face reflecting the bitter taste in her mouth. "Exactly what you want me to do."

"Good," Leslie said, taking the keys from Phoebe to start the car.

Finn was already waiting at the café when they arrived, standing awkwardly at the door.

"Give me an hour," Phoebe muttered. She grabbed her purse, not trusting what Leslie might do if she forgot it, and exited the vehicle.

Finn held the door open for her, greeting her happily. The pair queued up in the line to get coffee, and Phoebe made sure to lightly brush against him every time they came close - touching their hands together, leaning back into him, whatever she could do to make him as flustered as possible. When they got their drinks, Phoebe found them a spot to sit just outside the café.

He pulled his folded up script out of his back pocket, and opened it to a random page. Phoebe reached over and touched his hand. "Finn. You're doing a great job already. I just…" She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Needed an excuse to meet with you."

His mouth dropped open. "You wanted to meet… with me?"

She took a sip of her coffee, crossing one leg over the other. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

He sat at the edge of his seat, cupping his hands around his drink. "I don't know how I'm going to ask what I want to ask, so I'm just going to say it." Finn took a deep breath inwards. On the exhale, he blurted out, "Are-you-a-lesbian-because-everyone-thinks-you're-dating-Marceline."

Phoebe ran her tongue over her teeth, carefully developing some kind of half-truth in her head. "I like whoever I like, Finn. Marceline and I are just good friends."

He bobbed his head slowly. "Yeah, that makes sense… So, you like guys?"

"I like you," she said, feeling disgusted with her own answer.

Finn's nose crinkled, and a red blush crept across his face. "I like you too, Phoebe." He looked as if he might explode with restless joy.

"Would you like to maybe tell me a little bit more about yourself? I don't know you as well as I'd like to," she said.

Finn didn't pull any stops when telling her about his life. Of course he wanted to know about her as well, but she changed the subject when he asked something she didn't care to answer, always redirecting the flow of conversation back towards him with strategically placed gestures and flirts.

When Leslie finally turned up - almost an hour late - Phoebe was glad to get away from him. She sat in the back seat, letting Finn have the space next to Leslie so he could give her directions to his house.

"He's annoying," Leslie said when Finn was out of the car. "How did everything go?"

"It went just as you would want it to." Phoebe looked off into the distance, trying to avoid the eyes watching her through the rearview mirror. "Could you please drop me off at Marceline's?"

Leslie laughed. "What do you even see in her? You're nothing alike."

We're more alike than you think, Phoebe wanted to say, but it was pointless to ever try to tell Leslie anything that she didn't care enough to listen to. And if she did want to listen, then it was dangerous.

Thankfully, Marceline's house wasn't very far away. When Leslie dropped her off, Phoebe was glad to not see any other cars in the drive. She knocked on the door, waiting impatiently for Marceline to answer.

She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the anxious feeling that made her body weak.

"Hey hot stuff," Marceline said, as the door swung inwards.

It had been a long day, but just the sight of her made Phoebe's shoulders less tense. Happy little flutters ricocheted their way through the fog of despair in her mind. She felt so relieved to see Marceline again, even though it'd only been a few hours. Phoebe wrapped her arms around her, burying her face in the taller girl's shoulder. She couldn't have been sure how long they stood there, with the door wide open and their arms around each other, but Marceline finally pulled away.

"Hey. Come on. I wanted to show you something." Marceline took her hand and led her back to her room. The door made a soft click when it closed behind them, and Phoebe had to resist the urge to reach out and lock it.

"Your room's clean," she noted, sitting on the bed.

Marceline looked over her shoulder, her hands pausing their search for something in the closet. "Oh. Yeah. Bonnie cleaned it for me."

The pit of Phoebe's stomach twisted.

"Are you ready for this?" Marceline asked, pulling an acoustic guitar out from the spot where it was previously hidden. The only thing that looked new on the tattered relic were the strings.

Marceline sat next to her, not seeming to mind that their legs were touching. She plucked each string, adjusting the tuning pegs accordingly.

Then, without further warning, she picked at the individual strings, moving with flawless precision. The combination of notes lead into a song.

Her voice is beautiful.

Phoebe's eyes flitted over every contour of Marceline's face, committing her features to memory. Down the bridge of her nose, over her soft lips, down to the vein that throbbed with each syllable she sang.

Marceline's voice was a consistent, pleasantly deep sound, occasionally soaring high in sweeping grand notes before returning to the slow, mournful rasp. She tapped her foot to the beat, pounding her palm against the guitar every so often, but somehow never lapsing in her finger picking. During a portion of the song that held no lyrics, she even whistled along to the tune. Phoebe had to admire her collective sense of self. It took a lot, she knew, to concentrate on so many different patterns at once.

When the song ended, Marceline set the guitar to the side and turned to look at her. Phoebe smiled - a smile that didn't take any energy to muster, it just existed, almost as an instinctive reaction to Marceline's presence.

"You said you wanted to hear me play." Marceline toyed with the hair tie around her wrist, looking Phoebe in the eyes. "Was that okay?"

"Phenomenal," she said, mesmerised by everything about her. Phoebe wanted to kiss her, wanted to communicate through a medium that held more weight than words, but she couldn't. Marceline didn't want that, and Phoebe had to respect her wishes.

"You haven't been cheeky all day, Pheebs. Come on, what's the matter?"

Phoebe shrugged, looking down at the red hair tie that Marceline twisted around her wrist. "It's just a weird day."

Marceline took her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Well, I've got a tub of ice cream and a collection of bad films. Let's fix that day of yours."

Being with you has already made things better.

She followed Marceline out into the other room, watching as she gathered an assortment of ingredients from around the kitchen. "That doesn't look like ice cream."

"No, I know." Marceline brought out two plates and set them down. "I figured we could use some real food before we gorge on junk."

Phoebe hadn't ever really considered peanut butter and jam sandwiches real food, but she went along with it and accepted the plate she'd been given.

"So how did rehearsal go?" Marceline asked, her mouth full of food.

Phoebe reached her hand up and held it over Marceline's mouth. "Shhhh. No." She smiled, wondering what she was going to do with this incredibly tall child the universe had given her. "It went well."

Marceline started to speak again, but she covered her mouth and nodded instead.

When they were done with their sandwiches, Marceline pulled out a tub of chocolate ice cream and grabbed them each a big spoon. She handed it to Phoebe to hold and went to the lounge to set up the DVD player.

From the shelf of disarrayed cases, Marceline selected a handful of films. She put the first one into the appliance and set the rest aside for afterwards. Then, she laid down on the sofa, scooting back into the cushions to make room.

Phoebe set the tub and spoons down neatly on the coffee table and laid down in front of Marceline, shimmying so that her back pressed into the warm body behind her. She grabbed the tub of ice cream and set it in front of her, handing over the extra spoon.

When they had both had their fill of the cold treat, Phoebe moved to take it back to the kitchen, but was blocked by the arm around her.

"Just leave it on the table. I'll get it later." Marceline said, pulling her closer.

Phoebe turned around to face her, their faces mere inches apart. It was like their first kiss all over again, only this time, there was no kiss. Marceline just leaned further away, turning her attention back to the television.

It was such a small act of rejection, but it felt as if she'd been swallowed by a tidal wave. An invisible hand clutched her throat, squeezing the breath out of her. She stared blankly at the colourful screen, no longer paying any attention to the film.

By the end of either their fourth or fifth film - Phoebe had lost count - there was a quiet snoring coming from the body behind her. She grabbed the tub of soupy, melted liquid and the two dirty spoons and returned them to the kitchen.

She knew Marceline wouldn't mind if she borrowed a shirt, and she was feeling icky from the long day. Phoebe went to the other girl's room and grabbed a comfortable looking flannel shirt from the closet. Marceline's pyjamas would be too long on her, so she left that notion behind and wandered into the shower room.

The hot water relaxed her muscles, letting her feel for the first time that day that she was allowed to cry. As much as she hated feeling weak, she took advantage of this opportunity. Her tears mingled with the water droplets, washing away all the sadness of the day.

Phoebe finished her shower quickly and dried off, changing into her boy shorts and Marceline's flannel shirt. She took her dirty clothes back to the other room and sat them next to her purse, grabbing a fleece throw from the bed before she left.

Marceline was still asleep when she returned, snoring quietly in a deranged pile of limbs and saliva. Phoebe covered her with the throw and lifted her arm to curl up alongside her. It was cosy laying there with Marceline holding her, and Phoebe enjoyed just watching her sleep. She reached a hand out and gently touched Marceline's face. She looked so peaceful in her subconscious state, comfortable and with her guard fully dropped, clearly at ease with Phoebe's presence beside her.

Phoebe kissed the sleeping girl on the forehead and rested her own head against the arm of the sofa.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

Noise.

People talking. Three voices.

Phoebe regained consciousness before her eyes were ready to open. She listened in on the conversation as her body started to wake up.

"So wait, what's he doing?" Marceline's voice. She knew it well.

A chair slid across the floor. "He's got something to do with his folks, I think. I wouldn't worry about it too much." This one was that friend of hers. The girl with the lout for a boyfriend.

"I guess. It's just weird. He's never spent a Halloween with them before," Marceline said. "Maybe that's what it's like to get along with your parents."

"Hey!" This was the voice Phoebe didn't recognise. An older man's.

"Well, I mean like real parents. You're cooler than that, Simon." Marceline's voice grew closer. Phoebe finally opened her eyes to find the speaker sitting on the sofa. "Hey. Time to get up."

She blinked away the bleariness in her eyes and rolled over so that she could rest her head on Marceline's lap. "What time is it?"

"It's about midday. We stayed up pretty late last night though."

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Marcy?" The older man's voice drifted in from the other room.

Phoebe took that as her cue to get up. She followed Marceline back into the kitchen where Keila and Simon were sitting at the table.

"Phoebe, this is Simon. He's kind of like my dad, except that he's cooler than a parent. Simon, this is Phoebe Edan. My… friend."

"Nice to meet you, Phoebe." Simon said, taking her hand. He smiled in a way that suggested he knew more than he let on.

"You as well," she said. In her peripheral vision, she could see Keila rolling her eyes.

Marceline slung an arm around Phoebe's shoulders, speaking with Simon in some kind of made up ocular language. "Anyway, Simon. We've got to get ready."

"Be careful out there tonight. Don't be wandering around after dark. You don't know what kind of crazies might be about. It's Halloween and all."

"I'll take care of her," Keila said.

The three girls went to the other room so that Marceline could prepare for their small get-together.

"It's just going to be us and Guy tonight, by the way." Marceline pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it at the dirty clothes hamper. "Bongo's apparently busy or something."

"Are we still going to be at Guy's house then?" Phoebe was sitting uncomfortably next to Keila on the bed.

"Yeah. Simon's driving us there."

Marceline finished changing her clothes, reminding Phoebe that she should do the same.

The little get-together was tame in comparison to other parties they'd been to. For several hours they played drinking games together, and just talked. It left Phoebe with a bittersweet feeling to see Marceline in her natural environment. It was nice to see her laughing and conversing among her friends, but Phoebe was an outsider to them. She wished that she could belong, but she knew she never would.

The idea to watch bad eighties horror films was thrown around, and they eventually migrated from the kitchen to the lounge.

Professor Carson had already gone to bed, so they had to keep quiet, but Marceline and Guy had a hard time remembering that as they mocked the poorly-made classics.

The two of them were funny together, and a few times Phoebe found herself giggling. However, she wasn't accustomed to watching so much television in such a short span of time, and she began to feel restless. At least during the previous film night she was able to cuddle with Marceline, but around the other two she knew better than to be too openly affectionate. The lack of space between the four of them on the small sofa only added to how caged she felt.

In the small interlude between films, Marceline excused herself to use the bathroom. Guy left to go get popcorn, leaving Phoebe and Keila sitting awkwardly on the sofa together. It wasn't long before the uncomfortable tension became too much, and Keila left as well.

Phoebe was fine with that, until she drained the last of her beer. She wandered into the other room to retrieve another. Guy and Keila were facing away from her, talking quietly amongst themselves. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but after hearing the names being thrown around it was hard not to pay attention.

"Either way," Keila exhaled a breath. "We can't be totally sure that they're dating yet. One date doesn't mean they're going to end up together. I think we should wait to tell Marce until we know more."

"Trust me, babe. Bongo tells me everything. I think he and Bonnie really have something."

Phoebe made a point to make as much noise as she could when getting a new drink.

Keila spun around, realising for the first time that she was there. "What the fuck are you doing?"

She gestured to the bottle. "What does it look like?"

Guy furrowed his brow. "How long were you standing there? What did you hear?"

"Enough." Phoebe used a bottle opener to pop the cap off, ignoring the eyes boring into her.

Keila walked across the kitchen to her, shoving a finger in Phoebe's face. "If you tell Marceline anything you just heard, I swear-"

"Back off." Phoebe swatted her hand away. "Despite what you choose to believe about me, the last thing I want is for Marceline to get hurt."

Keila snorted. "Yeah, right! There's something wrong with you, and I can smell it."

Phoebe felt her heart lurch in her chest. She knew Keila couldn't know about her freakish abnormality. Marceline would never tell her. Yet, every time she attacked Phoebe, it sank talons into her chest.

"What's your fucking problem?" Marceline wedged herself between the two girls.

Keila looked at her best friend in disbelief. "Are you serious, Marce? Why are you always sticking up for her? She's playing you! How do you know she's not just using you to give Leslie a reason to fuck us over?" Guy put his hand on Keila's shoulder, but she shrugged it off. "What do you think is going to happen if she finds out about you-know-what? Do you honestly think that her head is really that far up your fucking arse?!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Marceline's voice was small. Scared.

Keila looked Phoebe directly in the eyes when she responded to Marceline. "She probably only cares about herself. Do you really think she could be interested in you?"

Even Phoebe was taken aback by that. She knew it was a poor choice of words, an easily misinterpreted sentence malfunction. It was meant to bring down Phoebe, but it was worded in a way that might imply that no one could love Marceline.

Phoebe didn't break eye contact with Keila. In front of her, Marceline shook her head and stormed off.

"Keila just cares about you a lot," Guy called after her, but he didn't follow. It didn't take knowing her long to know that Marceline had an explosive temper.

Stomping could be heard throughout the house. The front door creaked as it opened, and then slammed shut, rattling the walls.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "Grow up," she said, disgusted with Keila's behaviour.

She grabbed her stuff next to the sofa in the lounge and ran after Marceline, chasing her down the street. "Where are you going?"

The other girl didn't say anything. She just kept walking. To where, Phoebe had no idea.

"Stop. Please?" Phoebe pleaded. She tried standing in her path, but Marceline went around her. "It stresses me out to see you so upset."

Marceline showed no signs of stopping. Her destination was set, and whether it was to blow off steam or to go somewhere else - it didn't matter. Phoebe wasn't welcome.

She watched Marceline disappear into the night, fighting tears that threatened to break free.

Phoebe would call Leslie to come get her, she'd go home and think things through. Scold herself for letting herself be so fragile, and then vow to never let it happen again. Relationships were a pointless, fleeting thing, and she'd somehow let her guard down enough to get too close. She would rather be heartless, like everyone else presumed her to be.

She was Phoebe Edan, after all.