Chapter 27 - Phoebe (Originally Published: 5 February 2016)

Marceline Abadeer - now: You can do this. I believe in you.

Phoebe closed her eyes. It was only for fifty-five minutes, not even a full hour. There had been lengthier plays that caused her more anxiety than history class ever should have. Inhaling slowly, she tried to clear her mind, focusing only on the lesson. Miss Pearl could not have known what she was doing when she changed the class' seating arrangement, so Phoebe couldn't fault her on that, but it was an unfortunate circumstance to be sat next to Bonnibel Bauers.

The device in her lap buzzed quietly, drowned out by the teacher's far-reaching voice. Regardless of the volume, the girl next to her had likely heard the vibration. Bonnie had been watching her all week, reading Phoebe's text messages from over her shoulder. The pained wince that often came over her face was the only satisfying thing Phoebe found about sitting next to the girl. Knowing that Bonnie would be reading as well, she leaned back in her seat to expose her phone and glanced down, smiling when she saw what was written.

Marceline Abadeer - now: If it helps, just think about tonight. ;)

Bonnie forgotten, she swiped her thumb across the screen to open the message. Phoebe glanced up to see that her teacher was facing away before typing out, "Are you sure you still want to entertain guests? We could always cancel our plans for this evening."

Almost instantaneously, an ellipsis popped up under her outgoing message, indicating that a reply was being typed out. She would have to fuss at her girlfriend for that later. Marceline was in maths currently, which meant she was probably using Bea as a human shield to hide her phone from Mr. Glover. It also meant that she was paying more attention to the mobile device than the lesson.

"I haven't been to a party in forever, Pheebs. It'll be fun, I promise. Plus, I get to show you off to all my friends." Another text came in, just after the first. "We'll still have the rest of the weekend to ourselves anyway."

Perhaps it was selfish of her, but Phoebe preferred when the two of them were alone together over spending time with Marceline's friends. However, regardless of her own feelings, it wasn't her decision to make. "Just don't drink in excess like you did the other night. I know you had fun with Guy, but I would rather not spend our whole weekend nursing your hangover."

"I won't. I promise."

Phoebe held down the button on the side of her phone, waiting for the slider to pop up asking for confirmation that she wanted to power off the device. After history, she had Coach Thierry's gym class with her girlfriend. It was her favourite period of the day for that reason, and since the beginning of their relationship, they'd become sort of partners in class as well.

On days when they were told to run laps, the pair would jog side-by-side, enjoying each other's company and always providing encouragement to do better. On Fridays, they became an unstoppable duo in whatever team sport they'd been assigned - their only downfall being the boy on their team with two left feet. Despite how much he held them back, Bongo always picked the science teacher's son to join them.

Phoebe pitied Guy Carson. He was talentless and dull, and had he not been one of her girlfriend's best friends, Phoebe would not deign to talk to him. She wasn't so obtuse that she couldn't see he was hurting - she too had been running from something - but it was his methodology of coping that left her cold. Rather than deal with his problems in any other way, he resorted to acting like a child. I suppose I can't rightfully judge him.

A paper slid across her desk, glaring at her from under her nose. Phoebe's immediate reaction was to ignore it, to recede into the abyss of her own mind in order to gather the strength required to hold up her defences against whatever attack this note would bring. The girl next to her was watching, waiting, making it harder to concentrate on keeping herself together. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. Bonnie would not relent until she acknowledged the sheet of paper. There was always the option to avoid reading the note altogether. It would anger the other girl, but Phoebe wasn't opposed to doing that. Whatever Bonnie had to say was unimportant to her anyway.

It was the staring that bothered her - it felt as though spiders were crawling down her throat, restricting the air from reaching her lungs with thickly woven webs. Phoebe forced herself to look down, trying to appease Bonnie enough so that she would turn her attention away.

"I like you about as much as you like me - which is to say, not at all. We at least have that much in common."

Phoebe steadied her hands in her lap, staring at the words on the page, before finally picking up her pen. It was no great deal to her if Miss Pearl saw the note, so she didn't bother to hide it. "Aren't you supposed to be paying attention in class? Was it not your passing notes that landed us in this undesirable predicament in the first place?" she wrote, and flicked the paper back. It flew off both of their desks, making a noisy loop in the air. Phoebe had to hold back a smile when her classmate frantically scrambled to grab it before their teacher turned around again.

Bonnie's face was red, and whether it be from agitation or embarrassment, it didn't matter. Phoebe felt like she'd accomplished something worthwhile today.

When Bonnie finally found the courage to pass the note back, it said, "Does Marceline like that you're cheeky? Who would have thought that to be her type? I didn't start a conversation with you for no reason, Phoebe. I want to make it perfectly clear that I don't want to see either of you tonight. If you can keep Marceline away from me, I'll try to keep Bongo from dragging me in your direction as well. Got it?"

Phoebe's eyes scanned the text a second time, and a third, and a fourth. Knowing that Bonnie was still watching her only made it harder to keep from faltering, but she picked up her pen anyway. "Fine," was her terse reply.

It was a simple enough response, predictable even, but it would buy her some time to gather her thoughts. Phoebe stared emptily at the front of the room. How could this happen? Neither she nor Marceline had wanted to exclude Bongo from their party, but they'd decided it would be for the best if the details were withheld from him; no one wanted his girlfriend to show up uninvited, yet here she was, proclaiming that she would most definitely be there.

Images flashed before Phoebe's eyes - brief glimpses of the upcoming party, different facets of the same things being shown again and again and again. In her imagination, all the ways that things could go wrong came to pass.

If Phoebe wanted Marceline to cancel the party before, it was nothing compared to the extent she did now. There were too many potential mishaps that sprung from Bonnie's being there, and the knowledge that they couldn't possibly all be dodged stressed Phoebe out immensely. Truth be told, she wanted nothing more than to spend her evening quietly curled up with her girlfriend on the sofa. Or really, just the two of them doing anything at all.

Thoughts of Marceline never failed to calm her mind's whirling maelstrom of fear, and from that point on, the rest of history class passed much like any other - in happy anticipation of the next period, and being reunited with her girlfriend.

The dressing room door rattled on its hinges, cowering under the force of a balled fist. Every blow made Phoebe jump, startled no less by each subsequent knock than she was by the first. That door was the only way in or out of this room; she was cornered.

"Open the fucking door, Phoebe," the voice on the other side hissed, spitting her name with the same venom that dripped from the fangs of a hungry, poisonous snake. "I know you had something to do with this."

That was the truth, of course. It was Phoebe's recommendation, after all, that recast one of the understudies into Leslie's role in the play. O'Neill made the announcement today at the beginning of rehearsal, and at the time she found it monumentally gratifying to see the look on Leslie's face. Now, she wasn't so sure.

"Open the door!"

Phoebe took a moment to calm herself, steeling her nerves. She would have to deal with this at some point, and sooner would be better than later. The only reassurance she found was that Leslie could not physically harm her. If the lead of the play suddenly showed up beaten and bruised, there would be legalities to deal with. Students would be questioned, truths would come out - Leslie's entire world would come crumbling down. Knowing this, Phoebe reached for the doorknob.

Leslie's eyes were red and puffy from crying, likely from when she'd run off after the announcement. Her chest rose and fell with a tempo in tune to Phoebe's restless pulse. "What makes you think you can hide from me?" Leslie spat, shoving a finger into her chest. It might have hurt, except that right now she felt invincible. There was something internally fortifying about seeing the person she loathed so distressed. "What did you tell O'Neill?!"

Phoebe crossed her arms and looked away, more annoyed than anything else right now. This hidden reserve of confidence she'd found surprised even her. For once, it wasn't just a front to hide her true feelings. This was real.

Even Leslie seemed to notice, and her ferocity suffered because of it. Her strategy turned to petty name calling, the wit she normally utilised so well now overthrown and lacking. "Don't just stand there, you stupid dyke! What did you do?!"

Phoebe actually had a laugh at that. "Really? That's rather degrading, even by your standards. How sad that you can't even come up with a real insult. While you're at it, why don't you make fun of my hair?"

The other girl's face turned as red as a ripened, plump fruit. She looked as though she might explode from the pressure. Leslie ground her teeth together, too flustered to think of a comeback. "Who said you had any dignity left?" she finally said. "At least I can get sexual gratification, unlike you lesbians."

"Oh, Marceline satisfies me just fine, thank you," Phoebe said with a smirk, all the more amused at Leslie's failed attempts to wound her.

The other girl pounded her fist on the dressing room table, knocking over bottles of hairspray with the force. "You'll regret talking down to me like this. What are you going to do without those pills you eat like candy? You need me."

"Don't flatter yourself." It was empowering to finally face her demons, to finally look Leslie in the eye and stand up for herself. She felt like this one moment had taken back the years she'd spent cowering under Leslie's command - always doing as she was told, sacrificing every bit of her humanity for temporary reprieve. "If you'll excuse me, I have plans for this evening." Phoebe grabbed her bag from the dressing room table and walked past her tormentor, never looking back.

Before she knew it, a smile crept onto her face. Overflowing with pride, she walked to the front of the stage. I can't wait to tell Marceline.

"Hey, Phoebe," Bea called, hurrying over to meet her. They nearly tripped over their own shoelaces in the rush. "I wanted to talk to you about the play."

It was hard to decide which was more peculiar - that she'd actually fearlessly defended herself from Leslie, or that Bea wanted to have a chat with her. Today was full of surprises, and Phoebe's piqued curiosity would not allow her to pass this up. "Yes?"

Bea lifted their hands, gesturing wildly as they spoke; the oversized sleeves of their shirt hung like marionettes, animated by each frantic wave of their hands. "I don't know if this is a big deal or anything, but I've noticed that your mic is a different colour than your makeup." They shifted their weight to the other foot, still waving their hands about. "I was going to suggest that maybe you could put your makeup on over the tape that holds the mic to your face. Maybe I'm being nitpicky, but it might be a slight improvement… If you're willing to try it, I mean."

Phoebe tilted her head to the side, pressing her lips together. "That is… actually, rather smart. Thank you. I'll consider it."

In her world, there was no such thing as free advice. Everyone had their own ulterior motives when it came to helping others. That was just the way things were… but something about this person felt too trustworthy for the underhanded tricks that she'd learned to expect. In fact, Phoebe was more sceptical about the fact that she wasn't sceptical at all.

"Um… Finn's gone on. His brother takes us home from school every day." Bea nervously wrung their hands together. "I need to be out there soon, but would you care if I walked with you?"

"I don't see why not."

"Okay!" Bea jumped off the front of the stage, landing on their feet with a graceful thump. They waited patiently for Phoebe to take the steps down, smiling brightly all the while.

The pair walked up the sloped aisle together, neither of them saying another word until they reached the auditorium doors.

"By the way," Phoebe said, "what have you found out about Finn's situation with Ash?"

Bea looked away from her then, and the glow their face held grew dim. "I don't have a good feeling about it, but Finn isn't telling me anything." They fidgeted with the loose strap hanging off of their enormous backpack. "If I tell someone and it's nothing to worry about, then it'll betray his trust. I just need some more time to talk to him about it."

"That's well and good, but Ash would never be friends with someone like Finn unless he needed something out of the relationship. Whatever that thing is - you're running out of time." Phoebe put her hand on the door handle, ready to leave, but something else crossed her mind. "I've heard horror stories of what Ash is capable of. He's dangerous. This isn't some game anymore. If you truly care about that boy, you'll do more than just sit back and watch."

Bea wrinkled their nose, still unable to look at her. "We have plans for this weekend. I'm sure that whatever Ash wants him for, it'll be when he doesn't have to dodge around school. I just need one more week to talk Finn out of this. If I can't get through to him, I'll tell someone who will know how to deal with it better than me."

"Suit yourself." Phoebe pushed open the door, her eyes widening at the scene unfolding outside.

"It doesn't matter!" Keila yelled, swatting Leslie's hand out of her face. "You don't get to put on this self-righteous act now. Get the fuck out of my face!" The sight was gathering an audience. Most of the after school clubs were releasing their members now, and every student's eyes were glued to the spectacle.

Keila and Leslie continued to yell over each other, not at all fazed by the crowd surrounding them. Phoebe didn't know what they were fighting about, and the bits of dialogue she managed to pick up were too vague to allow for guesses, but from the look on Marceline's face it could not have been playful banter.

"I've never seen Marceline so angry before," Bea said quietly, their voice trembling.

Phoebe wanted to rush over to her girlfriend. She wanted to somehow, magically know the right words to say to calm her down, but she didn't.

"Fine!" Leslie shouted, throwing her arms into the air. "Don't say I didn't warn you!" The wall of students surrounding them parted, allowing Leslie to walk past. No one wanted to get in her way right now, and Phoebe couldn't blame them.

Marceline and Keila hadn't noticed her yet. She tried to gauge the severity of the situation, and whether or not it would be wise for her to go up to them now.

"It's okay," Bea said, taking her by the hand. "Marceline needs you right now." They gave her a reassuring squeeze. "I've got to get going, but I'll see you around."

Phoebe would have liked for Bea to stay with her until the why of everything was resolved, but they'd provided some support, even though she'd proven herself to be unworthy of anyone's friendliness. Shaking and nervous, she pushed herself forward. Bea was right about one thing - Marceline needed her.

"I cannot believe she thought we would care about her shitty opinion," Keila said when she was in earshot. "Who does she think she is?"

Phoebe cleared her throat to alert them to her presence. "Is something wrong?"

Both of them spun around, noticing her for the first time. Keila's expression softened, but Marceline's did not. Her jaw was rigid and grim, and there was something dark behind her eyes.

"Come on," Marceline said, her voice low. Phoebe didn't dare ask where they were going.

She felt the barriers she'd set up around herself closing in around her; the weight of appearing nonchalant and strong kept her from escaping. Panic set in, a sudden realisation occurring. She felt like a rabbit in a den of wolves at that moment. It should have been more obvious that what Leslie was talking about was her.

Marceline pushed open the heavy steel door to the ladies' bathroom. There were two other girls present, but when they saw the look Marceline shot them, they thought it better to leave. Phoebe found herself wishing that she could join them, but all of a sudden it was just the two of them.

Marceline held her hand out, expectantly. "Give me the pills, Phoebe."

The bottle in question was sitting at the bottom of her purse, hidden amongst cosmetics, her wallet, and a hairbrush. Obediently, she dug through her bag to produce the orange plastic container.

Marceline took it from her, opened the bottle, and dumped the remaining contents into the nearest toilet. The pills pattered against the porcelain like heavy rain against a window pane, the sound echoing through the empty bathroom. Her inner turmoil felt as though it'd been disturbed by the noise bouncing off the walls, the small pills transforming into the thunderous footsteps of insecurity.

Phoebe didn't argue when her girlfriend flushed them away. It suddenly seemed shameful to her, and the ghosts of her past finally caught up with her to make her feel guilty for what she'd done to obtain them.

Her eyes burned. It was not often that she felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and willing them away was hard work. How could she be so weak? She could not have known that Marceline would come into her life, but she was an Edan, and substance abuse was demeaning to her rank.

The thought of disappointing her family, her true mother, and Marceline made her eyes water more. She could not stop the tears that slid down her cheeks, streaking her makeup in long lines. Stop it! Why are you so weak? You make me sick!

A gentle hand cupped her chin, lifting her face to meet brown eyes. "Hey," Marceline said, softly. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at Leslie. She's a bitch for everything she did to you." Phoebe's brow furrowed in confusion. "She told us the things you did to get those pills," Marceline explained. "She tried to make it sound like she was a victim, but Keila and I know better than that."

Phoebe had never wanted Marceline to find out those things. The voice in the back of her head screamed insults, reminding her that she was never worth someone as wonderful as the girl standing before her now.

"It wasn't right of her to do that to you," Marceline continued. "It's not your fault that she took advantage of you like that. I just wish I'd known sooner."

"You're not… repulsed by me?" When Marceline appeared hurt by the comment, she added, "I'm such a terrible person. How can you react so calmly?"

Marceline shrugged, and the familiar shift of her shoulders gave Phoebe hope. "You needed an escape, and Leslie offered that. I don't think you're a bad person for the weapons you used to fight off your demons. I think you're brave for doing things that would affect the way other people saw you. Maybe a lot of those things were kind of fucked up, but you fought for your happiness. That's more than most people can say."

Phoebe blinked back tears, the new wetness in her eyes brought about by some emotion other than fear or sadness - something more positive. In a world where people never failed to disappoint her, Marceline continued to be the brightest light - never ceasing to amaze her, never giving her any reason to doubt. Single handedly, her girlfriend was rewiring the way she saw the world. It came in baby steps, but each heart-to-heart they had helped her to lower her guard just a little more. Phoebe wondered if, before long, she would be able to forgive even herself.

Marceline tapped her lightly on the nose, smiling when Phoebe did. "We should probably go back out there. Mr. Carson isn't going to wait around all evening."

"Certainly." Phoebe glanced in the mirror. Her face wasn't irreparable, or even that bad, it just wasn't the impression she wanted to leave the bathroom with. "May I have two minutes to fix my makeup?"

"Yeah. I don't think he'd really mind, to be frank." Marceline leaned against the wall, watching as she dug out the contents of her cosmetics bag for reapplication. "Why don't you just wash the rest off?"

"Completely?" Phoebe asked, eager to hear the reasoning. It certainly wasn't that she'd used the wrong shade or anything. She'd spent enough years in theatre to be confident in her cosmetic prowess.

Marceline ran a hand through her hair, suddenly too shy to look at her. "I mean, you don't really need it to look pretty. You're already really attractive."

Phoebe chuckled, a pleasant warmth washing over her from the compliment. "I don't wear makeup for other people," she said, flipping open the lid to her face wipes. "I do it for myself. It's sort of empowering in a way." She thoroughly cleaned her face off, colouring the moist towelette with every shade of her facial armour. "Do you want me to leave it off for now?"

"It's up to you."

Bringing up the party brought something else to mind - something she'd forgotten in the heat of everything else happening. "Are you aware that Bongo Roland is coming to the party tonight?"

Marceline lifted an eyebrow. "What? How do you know? He hasn't said anything to me about it."

"Bonnibel passed me a note in class saying that the two of them would be there. I'm assuming she's being honest, considering she shouldn't even know anything about the event." Phoebe closed her eyes, suddenly nauseous from the memory. When she opened them again, Marceline was on her phone. "What are you doing?"

"Texting Guy. If he told Bongo about the party, I'm going to rip him a new one." Marceline's jaw clenched visibly. "I don't want Bonnibel anywhere near me."

"Yeah," Phoebe muttered quietly to herself. "That makes two of us."

A miniature stereo system blared into the house at a surprising volume, the bass beat of a song pounding rhythmically against thin walls. Phoebe didn't know half of the people here; next to no one was a part of her particular clique. These were Marceline's friends.

There were a few faces that she instantly recognised, Noah being one of them. It surprised her that she and Marceline had shared mutual friends long before ever meeting each other. Would things have been different if we'd met at another time, in another place?

So far, Phoebe hadn't run into Bonnie or Bongo yet. If they had shown up to the party at all, they'd been lost among the other partygoers. No one had seen Guy either, even though his father was the one to drop them off at Marceline's house with Keila. She brought her bottle to her lips, still scanning her surroundings for the other couple.

When Marceline figured out that it was indeed Guy who'd given Bongo the details about her party, she was furious. Today just hadn't been going well for her. Phoebe secretly wished for the party to be over already. It was her job as girlfriend to cheer Marceline up, but that wasn't possible when they were surrounded by so many other people. She'd have to administer damage control later, but right now her own mental state needed some tender loving care.

"I'll be back in a moment," Phoebe said, placing a hand on Marceline's arm. This music was giving her a migraine, and she just wanted a moment to herself.

She navigated the sea of people, narrowly escaping several sharp rocks masked as drunken teenagers, until finally she reached the room at the far end of the house. Pushing the door open, she found that it had become a refuge for not only her, but Keila as well.

Phoebe was about to turn and leave, but Keila acknowledged her arrival. "Looks like you're not feeling the party either, huh?"

"Believe it or not, I'm the furthest thing from a socialite." Phoebe stepped into the homey room, closing the door behind her. "And you? This is your 'scene' isn't it?" she asked, gesturing vaguely.

Keila patted the bed beside her, raising the beer bottle she held in her other hand.

Phoebe clinked her own drink against Keila's, sitting down in the proffered seat with still enough space for a third person to fit between them. This was an odd change from the rude, abrasive girl she knew. Perhaps Keila pitied her for the things Leslie told her earlier on.

"Normally I like parties, but if you haven't noticed, my boyfriend isn't at this one." Keila picked at the soggy label on her bottle with her thumbnail, peeling it in small, bunched portions. "He's with Bongo right now. It's not that I'm worried or anything. I guess I'm just stressed out."

Phoebe sat awkwardly, straight and stiff. It wasn't a stretch to say that she was feeling ill-at-ease. Keila was the last person she would have thought to find herself trying to comfort. "Is there any reason for that?"

Marceline's friend stared at her bottle, turning it over in her hands. "I'm only going to tell you this because you have Marceline to deal with, but people like her and Guy - kids who come from broken homes - they never have happy holidays. The sting eventually fades, and some days are better than others, but there's always going to be something missing."

Phoebe's eyes narrowed. The raging flame within her flickered, growing brighter. "You presume that I come from a perfect home," she said, glowering. Keila opened her mouth to say something else, but she cut her off. "You know nothing about me. How dare you judge me?"

"Sorry! Geez." Keila tossed back the remaining liquid in her bottle before setting it down on the floor. "I didn't mean to offend you, princess. I just find it hard to believe that you know the kind of pain I'm talking about. Guy's mum chose to leave him. Marceline's an orphan. I'm having to help pick up where my deadbeat dad left off, and the only one of us who's even remotely normal is Bongo. All you rich kids are the same."

"Fine." Phoebe downed the rest of her beer as well, discarding the bottle into the bin on her right. "But at least you have friends." The pitiful look Keila gave her only fuelled the fire coursing through her veins, stoking her overflowing anger. "I've seen you interact with your mother. It must be lovely to be able to see her and talk to her whenever you please. I imagine it's nice to not have to worry about your father disowning you for not being good enough." Phoebe retained her eye contact with the other girl, her voice cold and calm. "I don't want to be popular or 'important'. I want to have a normal life without constantly sacrificing my own happiness just to prove that I'm worthy of my name. For you to have the audacity to sit here and judge me is ignorant. Don't you dare tell me that I don't know what it's like to come from a broken home, or to feel the kind of pain that anyone else is expected to feel just because of who my father is." She exhaled sharply, but by the time she'd voiced everything that was bothering her, she could feel how apparent the cracks in her walls had been.

Keila chewed her lip, never backing down from the challenge of eye contact. Phoebe could respect her for that. Most people were too intimidated to look at her directly. "Shit. I didn't think about it like that. I'm sorry for being a twat." She finally looked away, only to readjust Marceline's pillows into a backrest. "Leslie told us all that stuff about you. I should have realised something was wrong then."

"If you thought I'd been doing those things for fun, why did you stand up for me?"

She laughed, and it only confused Phoebe more. "Marceline fancies you quite a bit. I would be lying if I said I didn't do it for her." Keila scrutinised her for a long time, and Phoebe could almost hear the gears turning in her head. "So, everything that happened - all the guys you led on, and all those poor girls you faked being friends with just to ruin their lives - was there ever really a limit to how far you'd go?"

"Not really." Phoebe crossed one leg over the other, resting her hands in her lap. "Well, sex. That was the only boundary. Everything else would have merely damaged the way others perceived me, while exposing that much of myself to another person would have been too intimate."

Keila nodded slowly. "So, you did whatever so long as you didn't have to let anyone in?" Phoebe nodded. "Then why, of all people, did you settle on Marceline? Honestly. Because I've been wondering that for quite a while now."

Phoebe thought about all the things she loved Marceline for, trying to trace them back to the initial attraction. "I suppose," Phoebe said, choosing her words carefully, "the thing that grabbed my attention was that she never treated me any differently. She's beautiful, of course, and a fun person to be around… but what mattered to me was that there were no ulterior motives to our relationship. She was friends with me for me, not because she cared about who I was." She chuckled. "Thinking back now, I don't believe she even knew who I was when we met, or what I was known for."

"So… She treated you like a normal person. That makes sense." Keila nudged her arm playfully - a little too rough for Phoebe's liking, but the sentiment was there. "Don't go thinking we're friends now. I don't mind tolerating you for Marce, but that doesn't mean I like you." The smile on her face sang a different tune however, but Phoebe went along with the jest, saying that she didn't like Keila either.

The cacophony of music and distant chatter grew louder when the bedroom door opened again. A head of shaggy, unkempt brown hair poked in. Guy saw the two of them, and his grin morphed into a confused stare. "What are you girls doing holed up in here?"

"I was waiting for you." Keila stood to meet him, greeting him with a gentle kiss on the tip of his long nose. "I missed you so much today. Did you have fun hanging out with Bongo and Bonnie?"

"It was all right. They're gross together." Guy kept looking at Phoebe, as if she shouldn't be there.

Keila seemed to be unaware that he'd been paying more attention to her. "You haven't seen Marce yet, have you? She's bloody pissed that you told Bongo about the party."

"What was I supposed to do? He was my ride."

Phoebe left the room, ignoring the couple being reunited inside. If Bongo was the one who'd brought him here, it meant that Bonnie was there now as well. Her apprehensions warned her to find her girlfriend before Bonnie and Marceline could cross paths. Something about them seeing each other made her feel ill, even now when she knew she had nothing to worry about. However, when she found Marceline, she was relieved to see that - though Bongo and his girlfriend were standing there to talk to her - the two girls were invisible to each other.

Marceline spotted Phoebe before she could announce her arrival, and immediately snaked an arm around her waist to pull her closer. "Hey babes," Marceline said, before kissing her full on the lips. The taste of alcohol was strong on her. Of course she was drunk - Marceline would never express affection so openly in front of her friends if she were not inebriated.

"Come on, Bongo. I think I see someone I know," she heard Bonnie say.

When Phoebe managed to break away from her girlfriend to look in the direction of the receding couple, she could have sworn that she saw Bonnie's face heavily contorted. Is she crying?

Marceline pulled her back into an embrace, spinning Bonnie out of range of her vision. A small whimper could be heard as she buried her face in Phoebe's neck, holding tightly onto her as if seeking comfort from something painful. The unanticipated action threw Phoebe off, dumbing her wits down to a helpless level. She rubbed her girlfriend's back reassuringly, ignoring the shaky breath that tickled her skin in an unpleasant way. Suddenly, standing there with Marceline falling to pieces in her arms, she found herself feeling empty inside.