Chapter 20 - Phoebe (Originally Published: 18 December 2015)

Phoebe reached her arms up as high as they could go, taking a deep breath in through her nose and letting it slowly escape between her lips. She rather enjoyed having theatre first thing in the morning. It certainly woke her up.

O'Neill paced around the circle of students, watching to make sure everyone did their stretches correctly. With all the craziness that happened in that class, it would be dangerous for someone to disregard the simple warm-up routine. "Return to your starting position… Now, I want you to lie down and close your eyes," he began, speaking in a clear, soft voice. "Imagine you're in a meadow. Overhead, the clouds are little wisps drifting freely past the sun as it sits high in the air. The lush grass beneath your bare feet is a vibrant shade of green. It tickles your toes as you wander through the meadow. Inhaling deeply, you fill your lungs with the fresh, new scent of summer air…"

Phoebe imagined the meadow, and the individual blades of grass underneath her feet. She imagined standing in her favourite dress, the sun's warmth beaming down on her shoulders… and Marceline.

Her breathing hitched; she had to bite her lip to keep from breaking into an enormous smile. No one would see her, to be sure, unless O'Neill happened to be looking at her specifically. Still, it was embarrassing to think that he would see the uninhibited joy written plainly on her face and somehow be able to read her thoughts.

Several times she tried to return to the exercise, but each attempt led to failure. The image of a tree became the time that they'd danced around Phoebe's music room to nineties rap songs. A cloud turned into Marceline curled up with her in bed, leaving light kisses across the back of her shoulders. No matter what, her thoughts would always morph into the image of her girlfriend.

Her girlfriend. The very thought filled her with a fluttery warmth and gave her gooseflesh all at the same time. Life, for the first time in a long time, was good.

"I hope you're smiling because you've come up with a solution to our little problem," the girl next to her hissed.

Well, mostly good.

Phoebe's breathing became ragged. Try as she might, she could not seem to fend off the forceful anxiety creeping into her thoughts. It polluted her visions of Marceline, coating them in a dark ooze; her thoughts shapeshifted, until they were no longer the smiling face of her paramour but the mutated, downcast faces of Finn and Bea.

"Now open your eyes." O'Neill was looking at her when she sat up. He'd probably heard Leslie's voice amongst the sea of silence, but whether he was angry about it or not was lost in his naturally cross expression. "Since everyone worked diligently this week, I've decided to allow a break from your exam projects. Today we'll be playing a couple of acting games."

Some of the other students cheered to that. They'd been working for the past several weeks on writing their own short plays in divided groups. It was stressful to try working alongside so many people with so many conflicting ideas. The allure of tolerance and originality in theatre class naturally attracted all sorts of types - from loud, outgoing personalities to the stubborn and quiet. Either way, someone wasn't going to be happy with the finished product. The group that Phoebe worked with was fortunate enough to have one of the better playwrights in their class. It could have been worse. Phoebe could have been cast into one of the groups chaotically fighting for their own individual stories to be told.

O'Neill waved a hand. "Discuss what game you'll be playing first. Miss Edan, please come with me."

There was a brief silence as the class seemed to collectively process his words, all of them wondering what his star pupil could have possibly done to deserve being singled out. She could feel the eyes of all her peers on her then. Through the relative ease of many years devoted to carefully masking her emotions, she hid her insecurity and walked downstage to stand with the professor.

"Yes, sir?"

"Is there something bothering you?" O'Neill scrutinised her. "Or perhaps something you may wish to tell me about?"

Phoebe desperately wanted to. If she told him about Leslie and her plan to sabotage the play by removing two of the better tech hands, maybe he would know what to do. If she could somehow convince him to pull some strings behind the scenes, Leslie would never know that she'd gone to him for help. "There is someth-" she trailed off.

Behind O'Neill, she could see Leslie watching the conversation unfold. She was too far away to hear anything, yet any determination that Phoebe previously had flittered away. "I'm just feeling a bit tired. I think I'm coming down with something."

"Are you sure that's all?" he asked. Of course O'Neill would know there was more to it. He'd been trained over many years to dissect an act when he saw one.

"Yes, sir." Phoebe felt trapped under this terrible arrangement she'd made with Leslie. Had she known at the time that Marceline would soon show up to her house on a rainy night to confess untold feelings, she would have never agreed to it. Even if it meant being publicly ridiculed for everything she'd done for Leslie in the past. Maybe it was nothing, but she felt dirty for stringing Finn along while being with Marceline as well.

O'Neill exhaled heavily, his mouth tightening in disappointment. "Very well. Go to the nurse. She'll give you something to feel better, and then you can come back to class."

Phoebe nodded and left the stage. O'Neill's last ditch effort at getting her to tell him what was wrong failed. She wished she had told him, but knowing Leslie as well as she did, she knew that the other girl would have come up with some way to punish her through Marceline.

As Phoebe exited the auditorium, she took a moment to remember where the nurse's office was. She had never been to the school nurse before, but the door was a piece of scenery on her last semester's path to class. When she thought about it, she couldn't recall having ever even seen the woman before. The only thing she knew came from stories she'd heard - students taking advantage of the poor nurse's over-caring and oblivious nature to get medication they didn't need. She knocked on the door, entering when a cheerful voice called her.

The nurse's office smelled of an odd combination of antiseptics and freshly baked biscuits. There were two areas to her left sectioned off by sliding curtains hung from tall rolling racks. Across from the entrance was a unisex labelled bathroom. The nurse, a smiling woman with curly white hair, sat at a desk in the middle of the cramped room. A burning candle in front of her accounted for the combating smells.

"How may I help you, dearest?"

Phoebe pursed her lips. "I'm feeling just a bit ill."

The nurse stood from her desk to grab a chair from next to one of the curtained areas. "Have a sit. I need to ask you some questions before I can begin to treat you properly," she said, sliding the chair towards her.

Phoebe sat down, crossing one leg over the other. "Ask away."

"Name first, please." The nurse - Mrs. Livingston, Phoebe learned from the nameplate on her desk - pulled a document out from one of her desk drawers.

"Phoebe Edan."

The sound of something clattering to the floor from behind one of the curtained walls alerted her to the presence of another student in the office.

"Oh!" Mrs. Livingston jotted her name at the top of the forum. "I voted for your father last election."

"That's very kind of you," Phoebe said, faking a gracious smile.

Mrs. Livingston nodded, humming a tune quietly to herself. "First question - are you sexually active?"

"Yes," Phoebe answered truthfully. "With my girlfriend."

The nurse paused. "Well, that rules out any chance that you may be experiencing some type of morning sickness." She placed an 'x' in a small box on the sheet of paper. "Are you on any medications? Drugs or alcohol?"

Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest. "None."

Another nod, another 'x'. Her pencil hovered over the next question, but Mrs. Livingston flipped the paper over to the other side and steepled her fingers. "Well. What seems to be the problem, Miss Edan?"

"Stomach pains, and the like. I don't believe anything is truly wrong with me. I just missed breakfast is all." Phoebe waved a hand dismissively. "O'Neill doesn't want me to come down with anything before the play. You understand how he can be," she said, nonchalantly.

"Of course. I'd like to just take your temperature - as a precaution. I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it if I send you back to O'Neill unchecked." The nurse rifled through her desk and pulled out a mouth thermometer, as well as a box of disposable plastic covers. After slipping one of the protectors over the mouthpiece of the thermometer, Mrs. Livingston came around her desk to put it in Phoebe's mouth. "Just hold that under your tongue for a moment, please."

Her skin crawled at the thought that this device had been in the mouths of every student on campus. Protective cover or not, there were far too many undesirables at her school that she'd rather not share any sort of space with. She made a face, contemplating the questionable level of sanitary as she waited for the device to beep. When it finally did, she quickly sprung the thermometer from her mouth.

Mrs. Livingston took it and glanced at the temperature displayed over the digital screen. "You seem to be doing just fine. Make sure to take care of yourself. And get something to eat." She discarded the used cover into the bin. "I suppose if there's nothing else you need, you're free to go."

"Thank you, miss." Phoebe rose from her seat and gave the nurse a polite wave on her way out. The door closed behind her with a loud click.

As Phoebe walked down the empty hallway, her steps seemed to echo and meld with the murmurs of nearby classes. The merging of noise created a blanket of indistinct narrative, until new voices from behind her - louder and more clear than that of the ongoing classes - broke the monotony of sound. She turned to see what all the commotion was about, just in time to catch the door to the nurse's office swing open again. Eyes red and full of tears, Bea stood glaring at her. Their chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

"You're dating Marceline." An observation rather than a question.

Phoebe chewed the inside of her lip. Emotional turmoil roiled within her. Nothing she could say would satisfy what Bea had overheard in the nurse's office, so she said nothing at all.

Bea's eyes narrowed. "Why are you doing this to Finn? You don't even like him!"

"What makes you think I don't?" Truly, she didn't. Not in the way that he fancied her.

Bea rolled their eyes. "You know it's true. You're so obviously in love with someone else. Are you so selfish that you still have to have everyone grovelling at your feet?!"

The comment stoked the flames under her caged fury, provoking it to act. Phoebe crossed the hall to stand in front of Bea, lowering her voice. "Haven't you heard? I'm Phoebe fucking Edan. And I get whatever the hell I want. If I want your stupid little boyfriend, he's mine."

She pushed past Bea, nearly knocking them off their balance.

Phoebe didn't mean any of the harsh words she'd said to them. She didn't want Finn, she was being forced to take him. Perhaps she could have explained this to Bea, maybe even convinced them to take Finn and drop out of the play, but her reckless anger cost her that chance. Leslie's plan was still in motion, rolling faster now thanks to the one person who wanted to stop it.

When Phoebe returned to the auditorium, O'Neill was seated in the middle of the front row watching the current group of students performing. She walked down the aisle towards him, unnoticed by the rest of her class.

"Welcome back," O'Neill said when she took the seat next to his. "Did you get your ailments examined?"

On stage, Noah pantomimed a narcoleptic musician. "She just gave me some medication," Phoebe eventually said.

"For your stomach ache?"

"Indeed."

O'Neill laughed through his nose. "Except that you told me it was a migraine."

"Right. Sorry. It was both, really." Just as the words left her mouth, she realised he'd tricked her again.

"What's wrong, Phoebe?"

She heaved an exasperated sigh, weighing the pros and cons of telling him the truth. "I'd rather not talk about it," she said, watching Leslie on stage. "It's nothing I can't handle on my own."

"Very well… We're currently playing 'Surprise Guests'. Would you care to go on next?"

Phoebe chuckled. "Somebody needs to show them how it's done."

The improv game was a favourite among Phoebe's class. It involved four players: the host and three surprise guests. The host would go into the other room while the class decided on what the three mystery visitors would be. Often it would be something strange, like an astronaut with a fear of doorbells.

When the current game ended, Phoebe made her way to the stage. They had already picked the other players, and the host was hiding out in the dressing room.

O'Neill stood at the edge of the stage. "All right class, what is Phoebe's character going to be?"

Leslie raised her hand, smiling too sweetly to be innocent; that was her charm, and anyone older than her fell for it every time.

"Yes, Miss Peterson?" This wouldn't be good. When Leslie didn't get her way, she took it out on Phoebe.

The wicked grin that replaced the innocent smile only confirmed the notion. "I think Phoebe would be brilliant as…" Leslie tapped her chin as if she didn't already know what she was going to say. "A girl with a debilitating anxiety disorder who needs help, but the only person willing to help her… her only true friend - she's pushing away."

The underhanded confrontation made her feel light-headed, but she refused to waver. No one would believe that she, the drama club president, would actually be so terrified of people and the stage. So long as she didn't react, no one would realise that she was actually horribly flawed.

O'Neill's eyes darted back and forth from Leslie to Phoebe. "That's rather dark for this game. Perhaps someone else would like to pick?"

Phoebe played with the hem of Marceline's shirt, rubbing the soft fabric between her fingers. She wouldn't see her girlfriend until the last class of the day, and though it upset her, she understood that Marceline didn't want to see that girl in Phoebe's history class right now. It made these brief few moments before class all the more special.

"You have an exam in maths, don't you?" Phoebe asked, tilting her head to glance down the hall behind Marceline. She shared science class with Finn's older brother, and it would be hard to explain if Jake saw them talking.

Marceline yawned, not caring enough about courtesies to cover her mouth. It was endearing when she did it, at least. "Yeah. I think so. I didn't study though."

Phoebe gave her a look. "And why not?"

"Because, unlike you, I actually like sleep." Marceline grinned. "Besides, why study when I can do literally anything else?"

"You know, Abadeer, you could be smart if you applied yourself. I guess that's just another thing I have to top you at." Phoebe winked, biting her lip seductively. The flush that came over Marceline's face was rather satisfying. "Get to class. You're not allowed to get in trouble, remember?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Marceline opened her arms for a hug.

They weren't something Phoebe particularly cared for, hugs. She thought them rather pointless as far as acts of affection went, but she obliged nonetheless. As many times as she'd seen Marceline and Bonnibel do it, they had to mean something to her girlfriend.

Phoebe wished Marceline good luck on her test and waited for her to turn the corner before going into her own classroom. There was a lot about this semester that she was thankful for. First and foremost, of course, was Marceline. A close second was that for once Leslie wasn't in all of her classes. How anyone was supposed to concentrate on the lesson with toxic gossip dripping over their shoulder, she had no idea. It didn't fare well for her marks either way. She'd signed up for upper level classes to prove herself to her father, not to look merely "average."

Taking her seat, Phoebe caught sight of Jake already at his desk, watching her. She hadn't noticed him come in, but he'd surely seen enough to ruin her chances with Finn.

What if he realised what was going on? Not only would Leslie find out that she'd failed, but she would retaliate somehow. Yet… what if she was just overthinking things. What if Jake truly had no idea what was going on between them?

For a while, she found it hard to pay attention in class, her eyes always drifting back towards Jake to try to determine whether or not he knew too much. However, he only seemed to care about the girl seated next to him - Aeryn, or something. Phoebe didn't care enough to learn their names… None of them would ever call her their 'friend'.

When science class ended, she jotted down a mental tally mark. There was one class standing between her seeing Marceline again, and two classes before play rehearsal.

Her encounter with Bea earlier in the day had initially given her reason to worry. Finn was certainly interested in her enough to be wounded by Bea's discovery, yet Phoebe didn't feel that it would be sufficient to force him out of the play. Not that she truly believed he should be gone; he did a rather nice job with the spotlight.

However, her worries were erased during second period when Finn asked to see her after school again. She had to simply force a smile and tell him her schedule was tied up over the weekend, but she'd love to see him Monday after school. The thought of sitting through another one of his scatter-brained anecdotes made her shudder.

"Hey Phoebe!" She kept walking. The voice wasn't one she was accustomed to. Whoever called her would not likely be someone she would want to speak to, and as the recognisable figure came into view beside her, Phoebe felt a dull ache all over.

"I was wondering if you've spoken to Marceline today. She's been ignoring all my calls and texts," Bonnie continued. "I know she's upset that I didn't tell her about Bongo, but… That wasn't really my idea. You've been hanging out with her lately. You know how she can be."

How she can be? Phoebe felt her jaw clench painfully. You couldn't take responsibility for hurting her, so you let Keila do it? That speaks more towards your character, Bonnibel.

Bonnie made an audible breath. "I know you probably have your opinion of me already set. Whatever Leslie's said about me… I'm not some boyfriend stealer. That was just some silly mistake I made a few years ago."

Phoebe didn't respond to that either. Anything she wanted to say, she couldn't and anything she could say, she didn't want to.

Bonnie sucked her cheeks in, annoyed. "Okay. Well. You're going to have to have a real conversation with me someday, but for right now can you please tell her to call me? I know she's upset, but it's important."

Phoebe couldn't help the bitter chuckle that escaped her. Marceline wasn't just upset. She was heartbroken. It perplexed her that Bonnie could be so naïve. It would take an active ignorance to not see that Marceline was in love with the Bauers girl. Except in the case of Bongo - Phoebe had always suspected he was a bit touched in the head.

Even though they were going to the same place, Phoebe wished Bonnie would stop walking next to her. She wasn't sure whether her hatred for the girl stemmed from jealousy or wanting to protect Marceline, but Phoebe hated Bonnibel Bauers.

Of course, a part of it was due to the fact that Bonnie hated her for no reason. She wasn't so dense that she didn't know Keila and Bonnie talked about her behind her back. Maybe it was her association with Leslie that prompted it, but it was wrong. She'd never done anything to deserve their distrust and hate.

Well… She'd never done anything to them. The truth was, Phoebe was a horrible person. She was complicit. As the cost for feeling safe, she'd done everything Leslie had ever asked from her.

Phoebe walked to the gymnasium alone, avoiding eye contact with anyone at all, her eyes set straight ahead. The crowds of students seemed to pass as she approached, aware that she'd ruined people before for much less than bumping into her.

I am Leslie's puppet, and all her malevolence falls upon my shoulders to carry.

She stood at the entrance to the gymnasium, not particularly paying any attention to anything. However, it was hard not to see someone as big as Bongo Roland, especially when they were approaching you. "Hey Phoebe." Bongo's eyes darted around nervously, looking anywhere but at her. "Could I just talk to you for a moment?" She waited for him to proceed. "All of Bonnie's friends seem pretty convinced you and Finn Mertens are a thing. But it looks to me that you're back with Marce."

'Back with'? We were never anything in the first place. "Well it 'looks to me', Bongo, that you should probably mind your own business." If she was anything, she was intimidating. This was a trait she made sure to take advantage of whenever the opportunity presented itself, so when he tried to examine her expression she kept her jaw locked tight and her eyes hard as stone.

Bongo looked away from her again, the massive oaf of a boy shrinking under the intensity of her stare. "I can't let you hurt Marce. You need to either stop giving him reason to believe you two are dating, or tell her."

It came with the territory, she supposed. If you painted a certain image of yourself, people were bound to make assumptions about your character. "Like you told her about Bonnibel?" she asked, accentuating the remark with enough bite to cut through bone.

Water flooded his eyes. He blamed himself for the whole thing, she could tell. "That wasn't my idea. I didn't mean to upset her. I was just doing what Keila told me to do." Bongo's voice cracked, and there was a small twinge of guilt-ridden sympathy in the back of Phoebe's mind. "I always do what Keila tells me to do." He turned and walked into the gymnasium, his shoulders slumped.

Phoebe took a moment to compose herself after the harrowing encounter. It was surprisingly easy, she found. Was she really such a bad person that she could make a boy cry and put it out of her mind so quickly? As she saw Marceline walking towards her and felt the small, happy warmth at the sight of her girlfriend, she decided that yes, she was.

Marceline dropped her bag onto the floor by the chest of drawers. "I don't think your mum likes me all that much."

"Stepmother," Phoebe corrected. She slid her arms around the taller girl's waist and drew her closer. "And who cares? Her opinion isn't the one that matters."

Marceline gave her a quick peck on the lips and untangled herself from Phoebe's arms, suddenly interested in something on the other side of the room. "Whose opinion matters then?"

"Yours," she said quietly. The blatant rejection hurt, burning with the white hot flame of a slap to the face.

Of course, Phoebe knew she would have to be patient. It felt like a hundred years ago now, but Marceline had explained her situation on that long, rainy car ride home. A fluttering in Phoebe's chest dulled the pain of rejection, because despite her reluctance and general attitude about relationships - Marceline had picked her, and that was enough to keep her going.

She ran her hand over the boxes on Phoebe's chest of drawers, searching for nothing in particular. She settled on a small, ornately designed jewellery box. Before Phoebe could stop her, she flipped it open.

"Oh?" Marceline lifted a palm-sized glass pipe from out of the box. A sly smirk slid across her face. "I didn't realise you were the type."

"It helps me sleep," Phoebe mumbled, watching her pick up the little bag hidden under the pipe.

"You know, this is really bad for you," she said, but her tone implied that she had something mischievous planned.

...

The pillows propping Phoebe up were incredibly comfortable despite their odd arrangement. The way they were set up would likely leave her feeling stiff in the morning, and had she not been overburdened with fatigue, she would have rearranged them to a more suitable position. However, it required all her energy to even stay awake right now. These moments with Marceline were too precious to waste. She sometimes worried that if she went to sleep while Marceline was there, she would wake up only to find it had all been just a dream.

Phoebe pulled her legs inwards, wrapping them around the girl sitting in front of her on the bed. Marceline had been sifting through her purse for the past five minutes, determined in her hunt for a pack of gum. Several times, she looked as though she'd forgotten what she was doing. Phoebe wouldn't be surprised. The stash she'd kept hidden in her mother's - her real mother's - jewellery box was strong enough to put down an elephant, probably.

Marceline paused in her search. "Oh. What's this?"

An unmistakable rattling jolted Phoebe to her senses. She sat up quickly, reaching for the pill bottle, but Marceline was faster. She held it out of the way. "Where's the label on these?" she asked, her voice reflecting the seriousness of the situation.

Phoebe grabbed her arm, trying to pull it close enough for her to reach the bottle. "They don't come with one."

Marceline cut her off with a kiss. "Why not? What are they?"

She dropped her hand, defeated. It was going to have to come out at some point. At least if they had this conversation now, Marceline might not remember it. "They're to treat my… condition." Her voice broke on the last word.

Marceline threw the bottle back into her purse and set it on the floor next to the bed, chewing gum forgotten. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Phoebe stared at her trembling hands for a long time, trying to summon the courage to tell Marceline what she dreaded acknowledging. "I…" The conversation was sobering. So much so, that Phoebe no longer felt the hazy confidence she did before. The words that she'd been trying to carefully sort through became too swift for her to grab hold of; they slipped through the cracks in her walls and came bursting out all at once. "I'm not this- this perfect little princess that everyone seems to think I am." Marceline opened her mouth to try to say something, but Phoebe held up her hands, silently pleading her girlfriend to just listen so she could get through this unscathed.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Since birth, every single person I've met has had this preconceived notion of me, because of who my father is. No one even speaks to me because they want to know me. They just use me as an accessory to their image." She gasped, holding back a sob. Phoebe hadn't looked beyond the mask she wore in so long. Would there be anyone behind her walls at all? It terrified her. She didn't know who she was, or what to do with herself. The only thing that seemed certain was when she spent time with Marceline, none of that seemed to matter. "I'm not even my own person," Phoebe said. The despairing realisation hung heavy in the air. "There's nothing I can do about it either. Not without disappointing everybody. I just have to smile, and wave, and do what's expected of me. I'm so scared of saying or doing the wrong thing that every conversation I have turns into a kind of… psychological warfare."

Marceline lifted her chin to look her in the eye. "Even with me?"

Phoebe wanted to look away. She could feel her lip quivering, displaying more of her deplorable weakness, but then Marceline touched her cheek and whatever she would have done was lost. "No… No, not with you. You're the only thing that makes me feel sane." In a way, letting out the emotions that had been bottled inside for so long made Phoebe feel a sense of relief. At the same time, however, she felt more emotionally exhausted than she had ever felt in her life. "I'm barely struggling to keep myself afloat, Marceline. The pills just make me feel numb. I don't have to feel scared, or sad, or anxious. I don't have to feel anything at all," she said in a harsh whisper, trying not to let her voice crack.

The pregnant silence made Phoebe worry that she'd said too much, fucked things up with the one person that truly mattered. Panic set in, dousing her in icy cold fear. She felt hopeless, scared that Marceline would see her the way she saw herself. Scared that the one person that made her feel real, made her feel normal would be driven away by all the ugly imperfections that made her so sick and twisted. Phoebe considered locking herself in her ensuite for twenty minutes. Marceline would have enough time to call someone to come pick her up and they'd never have to talk about this or to each other again.

Phoebe moved her legs from around Marceline, but before she could escape to the other room, Marceline kissed her. Something about this kiss was different from all the others, somehow more intense. More meaningful. Maybe it was a lack of word prowess on the other girl's part, but Phoebe could feel what Marceline was trying to tell her.

"It's okay. You're okay. I accept you."

The kiss seemed to alleviate some of Phoebe's pain, smoothing over some of the smaller cracks in her psyche. It wasn't enough for her to feel totally normal again - not yet, at least - but the fact that there had been any change at all after feeling numb for so long was encouraging.