Chapter 38 - Phoebe (Originally Published: 13 May 2016)

- Good morning, sunshine!

- What?

- Dammit, Finn.

- Oh! Are you recording? Hi, Phoebe!

Phoebe giggled, snuggling into the stuffed bear. This was undoubtedly the second best way to wake up in the morning, and the plush animal was definitely the best Christmas gift she'd ever received. She squeezed the bear's hand again, listening once more to the pre-recorded greeting.

Marceline had clearly been dissatisfied with the voice-over mishap when they spoke on the phone, but Phoebe loved her gift exactly how it was. Not only could she now wake up every morning to the casual familiarity of her one friend and her significant other, but it smelled like Marceline - and really, what more could she want?

Reaching over to her bedside table, Phoebe picked up the card that she'd received with her two gifts. It had only been a day and she'd already read the note more than two dozen times.

'Hey, Pheebs. Sorry I can't be there to give this to you personally. I know we were supposed to hang out on Christmas day, but your dad was really strict about spending some family time with you and your step-mum without me there. I hope he doesn't forget to give you this gift. Anyway, yeah, don't worry - Simon and I aren't going to celebrate until you're here with us.

I hope you like the bear. It didn't come with any instructions on how to re-record the greeting, so I'm sorry about that. I slept with it once before wrapping it up though, I hope that's okay. I just figured… It'll always be there with you, even when I can't. That way you don't have to feel alone anymore when we're apart.

Before I forget to mention, the bear is wearing a bracelet that I made. I have one too. It's kind of lame, but I thought it'd be cool if we had a matching thing. I hope it fits you. Anyway, your dad looks really impatient so I've got to go.

I -

-M

Phoebe traced her thumb over the splotch of black ink - scribbles crossing out the one part of the note that sent chills down her spine. I know, Marceline. You don't have to say it.

Setting the card aside, she examined the bracelet her girlfriend had made for her: red and orange threads braided together, a symbol of their intertwining lives. She wondered what her counterpart was doing in that moment - if she too had already woken up, excited for the day that they were supposed to see each other again.

I should get ready, Phoebe decided. As unfortunate as it was to leave the comfort of her bed, she was more enthused to be reunited with her twin flame. Motivated by the thought of seeing Marceline again, she hopped out of bed and immediately went to work straightening her bed. She folded back a neat strip on the top sheet, just as her mother had taught her to do. Her stuffed bear watched her all the while, its lonely eyes digging pools of guilt in her stomach.

"Don't you give me that look. I'm not a child anymore," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Those beady eyes were relentless though, and as embarrassed as she was standing alone in her bedroom, she leaned over to kiss the bear on the head. "Right. I've gone mad."

She stepped over to her sleek black armoire, humming a little melody to herself. Marceline would likely want her to stay the night, but since they were going to come back here again in the morning anyway, she decided against bringing an extra change of clothes. Tapping her chin, she tried to put together an outfit in her head. Her usual attire would not do. No, today called for something warm and comfortable.

Eventually, she decided on a tweedy cardigan she'd gotten last winter, a sheer blouse, and a pair of purposefully destroyed blue jeans. Phoebe spread the garments out on her bed so that they wouldn't wrinkle and then grabbed a matching pair of lacy lingerie from her chest of drawers. It was still too early to get dressed, but years of theatre had taught her to always be prepared ahead of time.

"What do you think, bear? Will Marceline like these?" She tossed the lingerie onto her bed with the rest of her clothes and chuckled to herself. "Thank you, that's very kind. Well, I'm off to have breakfast."

As soon as Phoebe opened the door to her room, she was met with an ugly, scowling mug that wiped the cheerful smile right off of her face.

"Who are you talking to?" her stepmother asked, trying to look past her into the room.

She quickly shut the door behind her. "It isn't any concern of yours who I'm talking to, Mother."

"I see going to the madhouse didn't do anything for that nasty tongue of yours." Her stepmother looked down on her as if she was a filthy rodent, scavenging for food in a back alleyway. While Phoebe was in rehab she'd almost forgotten how miserable she was at 'home'.

She locked her jaw, biting back the words she wished to say. It wouldn't change anything to tell this woman that getting help for her mental health was perfectly acceptable, and it would only make her more proud if she were to know that a lot of Phoebe's problems stemmed from their existence in each other's lives. Her stepmother was just simply not worth her time. In fact, the only way to win against people like her was to fight back tactlessly. "And I see that years of cosmetic surgery has yet to fix that face of yours," she said proudly.

Her stepmother raised her hand, barely biting back her anger. It only made Phoebe stand straighter, almost daring her to hit her. They glared into each other's eyes for a long time, but eventually, her stepmother stood down. "You're lucky that I love your father so much. If only he didn't feel that way about you. Otherwise, we'd still be going on vacation this week." The older woman sucked her teeth, grimacing at her with utter disgust.

Phoebe cocked her head to the side. "I actually consider myself the most unlucky person in the world, to have a slag like you for a stepmother." Without waiting for a response, she angrily pushed past the older woman. It was all she could do to keep from slipping and showing weakness in the face of her nemesis. Had her father really cancelled his annual plans? What was she supposed to do then? This was supposed to be the first holiday break that she enjoyed in many years, but instead it'd been wrought with frustration. She'd already had so many fantasies about spending this time with Marceline - all the domestic things like shopping for food, or cooking together, or even just laying in bed with no time-sensitive demands to pry them away from each other. Not to mention, they could be as loud as they wanted if they were only left alone.

Her addiction would not ruin yet another part of her life; she would not allow it.

Phoebe pushed open the door to her father's office, determined to set this straight. "Daddy?" she said sweetly.

He looked up from a newspaper he'd been reading before she interrupted. "You're forgetting yourself, Phoebe. How many times have I asked you not to come barging in here like that?" His voice was stern and booming, with no evidence of the loving father he apparently exhibited in front of her stepmother. It made her stomach twist into knots every time he looked at her, contempt hardening his eyes.

"I apologise. You've told me more times than I can count."

Her father folded his paper and set it to the side. "Then why are you here?" he asked, speaking more calmly than he had before.

She cleared her throat. "Mother has informed me that the two of you are no longer going on vacation. May I ask why?"

He examined her for a long time, his jaw set grimly. Did she have this effect on others when she intimidated them? Or were her insides merely being pulled in different directions because this was her father—a man who had never truly made her feel loved? "Your therapist has instructed us to keep a keen eye on you." The word came out with such derision. Therapist. That's when Phoebe realised that he'd never planned to stay back out of concern. It was only to protect his image from her further fucking it up.

"Perhaps Marceline could watch after me? If I stay with her and Simon, then you won't have to cancel your plans." She lowered her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. I was wrong to believe that things have changed.

Phoebe could feel her father watching her for a long time, silently contemplating the idea. Still, she had no more strength to keep her head up in front of him. "Very well. Is that all?"

He never cared for me. She forced a smile, looking in the space just above his head so that she could feign eye contact long enough to appease him. "No, Daddy. Thank you." Without another word, or even so much as a courtesy farewell, she left the room.

"You'll be happy to know that your plans have not been ruined after all," she said as she passed her stepmother in the hall. Of course she was listening. She always was.

Phoebe made her way back to the kitchen, trying her hardest not to break down. For some reason, she thought that things would be different once she was released from rehab. She thought that maybe, just maybe her father would begin to value her existence - a miraculous silver lining to this whole shitty experience.

How very stupid of me, she thought, bitterly biting back tears. How could I have ever imagined that he would think of me as more than just an object to complete his image? And I can't even do that right. She stared into the refrigerator, an empty gaze scanning the inconsequential items in front of her. I'm not so hungry after all.

Phoebe closed the door and listlessly walked back up the stairs to her room. If it weren't for Marceline, she would try to move in with her mother. Her real mother. For once, she'd have the freedom to be herself without worrying that she was being a nuisance to someone else's happiness. Her father wouldn't be judging her every move. She'd be less stressed as a result, and maybe she could even get a job to help pay the bills. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Would her mother allow Marceline to live with them? … Would Marceline even want that? A new start in a new world an ocean away? She wondered if her girlfriend had ever been to America in her youthful adventures.

Just as she opened her bedroom door, she caught a glimpse of her cell phone screen going dim. She dashed over to the fading ray of hope and picked up the device from its spot on her chest of drawers. Already, she could see that she'd missed two text messages from her girlfriend; her heart fluttered, ecstatic that Marceline was up at this time. Phoebe held her finger over the home button, waiting only a few seconds for the device to unlock itself.

Marceline Abadeer - 6:59AM: I woke up early just for you. I can come pick you up now, if you're ready, but I'm going to want to take a nap as soon as we get back to my house.

Marceline Abadeer - 7:04AM: Okay, so maybe I didn't wake up early. I actually missed you so much and I couldn't stay asleep without you here. Can I please come get you now?

Phoebe looked at the world outside her window; the trees were still cloaked in an inky black shawl and the sky had barely given way to the surge of colours trying to burst through, letting only the darkest of blues become visible. She smiled.

Yes, please come get me, she texted back. Then, Sleeping alone cannot compare to the warmth of your arms wrapped around me. I miss you dearly.

If there was ever anyone who could cheer her up in the years since her parents' divorce, it was Marceline. She set her phone back down and examined the clothes she'd picked out for today. The arrangement was something she would have never put together before - the cardigan was a bit big on her, and usually she only wore it as pyjamas over a plain shirt; her ripped blue jeans had been an accessory to a play that she had only kept for the sake of sentiment. Together, they formed something that she imagined her girlfriend would have put together if asked to dress her.

Maybe, Phoebe thought, Marceline had gotten into her bloodstream more than she'd like to admit.

The burnt smell of cheap coffee was strong, lingering over the delicious aroma of breakfast foods. On the horizon, the sun peeked over the buildings with a spattering of multi-coloured hues. Phoebe smiled, holding a warm mug between her hands. Across from her, Marceline was folding the paper casing from her straw into a misshapen triangle.

These were the moments she looked forward to - the simple, beautiful moments in life that she got to spend with her other half.

"How's your coffee?" Marceline asked. She looked up from her project and smiled. Most of her face had healed since the incident with Ash and his ruffian friends, but there was still a bit of bruising around her eye.

"It's a bit… How should I put this? Terrible." Phoebe looked down into her dark reflection and made a face. She had never been too keen on coffee, to be sure, but what little she'd had before was gourmet stuff, not this sub par liquid parading itself as 'drinkable'. She almost wished that she enjoyed milk, or really anything that could lessen the taste a bit.

Marceline picked up the salt shaker that had been sanctioned to man their table in the event of a food emergency and reached across the table to shake it into her coffee. "I like tea myself, but when you're trying to wake up from a camping trip to drive home it's better to have coffee. Guy taught me this trick. He thinks it makes him look more manly to drink black coffee, but the taste is far too bitter for him to handle. Try it now."

Phoebe raised an eyebrow, but she obeyed nonetheless. Surprisingly, it didn't taste weird at all. In fact, it was less bitter to her, and though she didn't mind black coffee usually, it made the despicable taste of her beverage less intense. "That's odd. I would have never guessed to put salt in… well, any drink, I suppose."

"Yeah. Mr. Carson has a lot of science tricks that he used to teach us. I'm sure that's the only reason Guy knows about it." Marceline's eyes glazed over, drifting into the haze of a memory. "When we were kids, I used to really love science. I'm not that great at the academic side of it, it turns out. I guess I just like blowing stuff up." She chuckled, and the sound filled Phoebe's heart with joy. "History is just easier for me. I guess we all have our little things. Keila used to tutor us in literature and Bongo is… Well, Bongo tries. Guy's like some super genius with maths though. I know he looks stupid, but he can solve huge maths problems in his head just like that." She snapped, and as if she'd been under a self-induced spell, her face fell suddenly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ramble on like that."

"I enjoy hearing you talk," Phoebe said, truthfully. Gesturing to the leather cord wrapped around Marceline's wrist, she painted a look of confusion on her face - as if she'd only just now noticed it. "That's new."

"Oh! I forgot to show you." Marceline twisted the bracelet around to display the silver vampire bat charm. "Keila got this for me. Isn't it cool?"

"It looks just like something you would wear." Phoebe smiled. Inside, she was relieved. For a moment, she was worried that it had been a gift from Bonnibel - another reminder of the other girl in Marceline's life, just like the red hair tie that she never took off. She spared a glance at the elastic band around her girlfriend's left wrist. It had consistently been there since just after the first sexual encounter they'd had together, and was always painfully obvious when it was the only thing Marceline wore.

Logically, she shouldn't be jealous. That girl was hers, she knew… but how could Phoebe compare to someone who'd been prevalent in her girlfriend's own heart for longer?

"Speaking of Keila," Marceline said - reminding her that therapy had taught her to be present in the moment - "she and the guys wanted us to come over for a bit today. They really wanted to see you, if that's okay?" Phoebe's face must have slipped and spilled her bottled up inner workings, because she then added, "We can just stay for a few minutes. Long enough to say hi, at least."

"That sounds fine." She wiped her hands and face with a napkin and crumpled it, discarding it into her plate of half-eaten food. "I'm ready whenever you are."

Marceline smiled apologetically. "Great… Because everyone is looking forward to seeing you." She grabbed her car keys, took one last sip of her water, and slid out of the booth they'd been sitting at. "I'll be paying if you want to go wait in the car."

"Thank you." Phoebe took the keys and kissed her girlfriend on the cheek. The display of affection generated a few stares, but she couldn't be bothered to care. One day, she would whisk Marceline away to... well, anywhere. So long as they had each other, they would find a place that was open-minded enough for their combined presence.

She pushed open the door of the small diner, smiling to herself. One day, she would be big enough to proudly carry the both of them into a better life, one without the fear of loss or disappointment. Then, it wouldn't matter that her girlfriend was an orphan and she was unloved by her own father. She would deliver them into happiness, far away from here. Cradled by the warmth of her own thoughts, she embraced the chilly morning air with ease. Despite this, she was still glad that the car had been parked just outside the door. It meant a rapid escape from the eyes boring into her back from the window of the diner.

Phoebe unlocked the passenger side door and sat down. Marceline's car had been purchased used, but it felt homely despite the interior beginning to fall apart.

She reached into the back seat for her girlfriend's album collection - a leather bound book with plastic pages, made especially for holding CDs. Marceline was the only person she'd ever met who was a match for her musical mind, and that was part of what Phoebe loved about her. Although, as she flipped through the book, she decided that perhaps her girlfriend had even surpassed her own knowledge of obscure bands and artists. One of the pages caught her attention and she stopped.

That's odd, she thought, running her fingers over the random empty spot among an otherwise perfectly organised arrangement. It's probably in the disc player.

Phoebe reached across the console to turn the key in the ignition, and as soon as the radio started up, she pressed the eject button. A mechanical humming cut the music off, producing the CD they'd been listening to prior to breakfast. That doesn't go there either. Her jaw locked, clenching together to bite back the threat of anxiety. It's probably nothing. Remember what we discussed in therapy - not everything demands your attention. Exhaling heavily, she tried to let her worries exit in a breath. Stop being so paranoid about every little thing. She replaced the empty spot with the out-of-place disc and grabbed another one at random, inserting it out of desperation. Any sound would do, if it could just fill this void with anything other than her own frantic thoughts. Fortunately, her girlfriend was just coming out of the restaurant. Phoebe reached over to unlock the door for her.

"Sorry that took so long," Marceline said as she opened the door. "The woman at the till could talk for hours, probably. 'Oh, my kids never get up at this hour. I have to box their ears to even get them to wake up 'round midday,'" she imitated in a high-pitched voice.

Phoebe couldn't help but laugh at her impression. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're here now." She fastened her safety belt and reached out to place a hand on her girlfriend's thigh. "Can we get this over with then? I can't wait to get you alone."

"Definitely," Marceline said, smirking. It'd been far too long since they'd been able to make love - their private life had been put on halt, caught in the poorly timed space between Phoebe's stay in rehab and Marceline's broken ribs. They were both aching to feel one another again, she knew, and now that her father and stepmother would be leaving the house for a week, they would have plenty of time to… catch up.

Marceline rapped the door with the back of a closed fist and stepped back, taking her girlfriend's hand in her own. It was of little help to the growing neurosis that kept Phoebe from letting down her guard. Perhaps if their meeting place had been anywhere else she would have felt fine, but this was a place she'd been to once before.

This was Bonnie's house.

The front door swung inwards, finding them faced with a smiling girl of roughly the same height as Marceline. Being forced to actually thoroughly examine her, Phoebe noticed for the first time the light dusting of freckles across her face, and the barely noticeable scar just above her right eye that cut a thin line through her eyebrow. She wondered against her will if there was a story behind that scar that bonded Bonnie and Marceline in reverie.

"Come in! It's nice to see the two of you," Bonnie said, opening the door wider for them to enter. She was only pleased to see one of them, Phoebe knew, and the false courtesies lined her mouth with a bitter taste.

"Look at these kids!" Guy said, throwing his hands in the air. He grabbed Marceline up in a tight hug, hardly taking into account her previous ailments, or whether or not she was fully healed. Still, she didn't seem to mind. He set her down, albeit he'd never really picked her up very far—Marceline was a bit taller than him—and turned to Phoebe. "What's up, sugar cubes?"

Keila smacked her boyfriend on the arm, chastising him for his use of rude slang. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she said, offering a more sincere greeting.

It took a few seconds before Phoebe realised that the question was directed at her. "Better."

"Good." The other girl placed a hand on her arm. Phoebe's skin twitched under the touch, but her cardigan masked the reaction. She'd never been comfortable with such close contact, excluding her girlfriend. "The others are in Bonnie's room. Come have a sit with us."

"We won't be able to stay long, but I think we can spare a few minutes." Marceline's hand slid over Phoebe's back reassuringly. "Simon's waiting for us. We're celebrating Christmas a little late."

Keila appeared genuinely upset by the news, but she didn't protest. She was perceptive enough, Phoebe knew, to have understood their situation completely.

"Oh, Phoebe? Could I borrow you for a second?" Bonnie rubbed her arm, fidgeting nervously. "I made sandwiches for everybody and I would really like your help carrying them."

This was a ploy to get them alone together, that much was obvious. Even Guy seemed to notice, and he was hardly much more intelligent than Bongo. Phoebe looked at Marceline, her eyes begging for a way out, but her girlfriend merely shrugged, unable to provide a reasonable excuse for why she shouldn't help Bonnie. Phoebe heaved a sigh. "Fine." Then, for good measure, she planted a kiss on her girlfriend's lips - if only to emphasise the point that Marceline was hers, because whatever Bonnie wanted with her probably involved the one mutual tie that kept them forever bound to each other.

Bonnie led the way to the kitchen, pausing when they were out of earshot of the others. "Why do you always do that?" she asked, turning around. The friendly smile she wore previously was no longer there.

Phoebe knew what she was talking about, but she wanted to hear it. To be confirmed in her suspicions that Bonnie was something to be feared. "Do what, exactly?"

"You flaunt Marceline in my face." She waved her hands in frantic gesticulation. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am, Phoebe. I know you're trying to hurt me when you do that-"

"So, you are in love with her?" Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest. For months, she'd been trying to figure out whether or not she was being paranoid or practical in her worries. As it turned out, she had been right all along.

"No!" Bonnie quickly looked away from her, unable to meet her eyes out of guilt. "Marceline's just my friend. We've known each other since we were little kids. I don't… have feelings for her," she said, choking on the words. "And anyway, I have Bongo. He's the best thing to ever happen to me and I won't throw that away for anything. That's not even what I wanted to talk about when I pulled you aside."

"Good. Because I won't give Marceline up without a fight." She glared at the other girl, white hot heat pumping through her veins. "And believe me, Bonnibel, I will not lose to you." Her voice was calm, drenched in a hidden, deadly venom. In the other girl, Phoebe could smell fear perspiring from every pore, retiring the very notion of neutrality. If Bonnie wanted to take Marceline, there would be war. Satisfied, and certain she'd gotten her point across, Phoebe offered a clearly forced smile. "So, what was it you wanted to speak with me about?"

Bonnie held her arm, closing in on herself, vulnerable. "I-I just wanted to see how you were doing. You've been through a lot and-"

Phoebe laughed - one loud, single note. "Let me get one thing straight." She closed the distance between them, her stone cold face inches from Bonnie's. "Do not pretend that you care about me. We are not friends. We will never be anything. You are my enemy. These little civil gatherings? It's all show. Because at the end of the day, you're nothing to me. Got it?"

Tears formed in the other girl's eyes, held back by the last bit of strength she had. Bonnie nodded.

"Good." Phoebe backed away from her and picked up the tray of sandwiches that had been set out. "I can't wait to see you at the New Year's party," she said, raising a veil of friendliness in case anyone had been nearby and wondering what their whispering had been about.

"Yeah. Can't wait." Bonnie echoed, her voice weak. She was silent as she grabbed a kitchen roll and a couple of bottled waters.

Phoebe wondered if she'd been too harsh on her. Anger had always been her hardest emotion to control, but… it hadn't been that at all. It was fear - fear of losing Marceline, fear of not being good enough, fear of failure. Phoebe ground her teeth together as she followed Bonnie to her room. On the walls in the hallway were pictures of a loving family, arranged in a neat collage of memories. She found herself immersed in the disparity between pictured perfection and the gritty, painful reality of her own dysfunctional upbringing.

An unexpected chorus of people yelled out her name suddenly, startling her out of her trance and causing her to jump. She quickly masked her surprise through years of Edan training, gripping the tray tighter in order to find some sense of control. The little bedroom was cramped with everyone they knew, all of them turning to look at her with expressions of wonder on their faces.

Bea jumped to their feet, hopping through the spaces between the people sitting on the floor to get to her. "You're okay!" They took the tray and handed it off to Finn before throwing their arms around her. "I'm so glad you're okay."

Phoebe patted their back, her breath restricted by the discomfort of the situation. "That's very kind of you."

Bea turned to face everyone else. "Can I show her now? Pretty please?" Receiving affirmative confirmation from the others, Bea bounced over to Bonnie's desk with a spring in every step and picked up a yellow envelope and a large, plain box. "We all put our money together and got these for you." They handed both items to her.

Phoebe opened the box first. Inside was a package of high class import chocolates and a delicately arranged origami bouquet of bright yellow and white paper flowers. A small smile played tentatively at her lips. She set the box down to free her hands enough to open the envelope.

The card she pulled out was handmade from cardstock and decorated neatly with a catalogue collage of animals and flowers with the text 'We believe in you!' in beautiful, flowy calligraphy. On the interior of the folded cardstock was a series of handwritten notes, all in different styles.

- Hey, I know we don't ever talk but you make Marce happy so you're cool to me. Feel better. Life is shit, but keep your head up. I can't say it gets better, but we've got your back. - Guy Carson

- Hi, Phoebe! I hope you feel better! I'm not good at words, but have a good everyday! - B. R. Roland

- You have a very beautiful smile. I wish I saw it more. - Aeryn (This was the same hand that wrote the text on the front of the card, Phoebe observed.)

- Goodness, girl. What have you gotten yourself into? I have to say, in the time I've known you, you've gone from a petty rival to my arch nemesis. I swear, you're the worst. Oh, well. I guess you'll have to prove me wrong, huh? - Keila Harrison

- Get well soon so we can go on a double date or something. I'd like to get to know you. - Jake M.

- Hey Phoebe, I just saw you earlier today so I'm not really sure what to write. You look like you've been getting better, and that's good. I know you don't think anyone else likes you, but look at all the nice stuff they've said already! Except Keila. I'm uh… Not really sure if she's joking? Anyway, I'm just happy to know that you're getting help. You have my number if you ever need a friend. I promise I won't try to hug you again or anything. Haha - Finn Mertens

- I miss you! Being your personal stagehand in that play was really fun. I know you wanted it to go better than it did, but I got to see a side of you that I never knew existed. I look forward to working with you again if you want to keep doing theatre. If not, you really showed me how to be confident and not care about what other people think of me. So thank you! - BEA

The last section, she noticed, took up the entire second page. It read:

- This is a bit awkward, seeing as how we've never really gotten along. It's true, I've done my fair share of butting heads with you, but I never wanted you to get hurt. If I'd have known what you were going through then I would have offered help rather than bickering with you. For that, I'm sorry. I can't say we'll ever get along. We're too different, or maybe even too alike, but I know that sometimes just talking is a big help. You're welcome to call me. Marceline has my number still, I'm sure. (We couldn't get a hold of her to write a note in this card in time, but I'm sure she has something else for you anyway.) Just don't forget that there are people who care about you. Even if you don't necessarily know them. Not everyone is like Leslie Peterson. I don't mean to point fingers, but if she'd been a good friend in the first place she would have never let you get into that mess. Anyway, I hope you get better. Therapy has worked wonders for people before, and I hope it helps you. Sincerest regards - Bonnie B.

Phoebe closed the card and placed it back in the envelope. "Thank you. This is lovely," she said, although she felt a terrible ache consume her body. Just moments before, she'd verbally torn Bonnie apart, and for what? The paranoia that she would lose Marceline? Could she trust no one? Not even her own girlfriend? "I do truly appreciate this gesture, but we'll have to be leaving now. I'm feeling a bit ill and I haven't brought my medication." There was no medication, but they wouldn't know that.

Marceline, however, did. The look she gave Phoebe was one of utmost concern. "Right. Sorry guys."

"Aww," Bea stomped their foot and pouted their bottom lip out. She envied their childish innocence. "Can we all hang out again soon though? I really liked this, even though it didn't last long."

Phoebe patted them on the shoulder, unsure of what else to do to make them feel better. "We will. There's still the New Year's party to attend, and I'm sure we'll find other things to do together."

Marceline grabbed the gift box and waved goodbye to everyone. The two of them walked out to her car in silence. It was only when they were closed off from the outside world that she turned to Phoebe. "What's wrong, Pheebs? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just drive. Please." She clenched her fist, struggling to breathe through the weight on her chest. Why did she have to be so fucked up? Why couldn't she have one good thing in her life without worrying that it would go up in flames? Maybe, because everything I touch does. How can I entertain thoughts of a future with Marceline when I ruin everything good that happens to me?

Phoebe felt tears coming, but she would not allow herself to be fragile. Forget what therapy had taught her about weakness being okay - she was an Edan. She stared out the passenger side window, building dams behind her eyes to hold herself together, at least until she could get this situation under control… but then Marceline placed a hand on hers and she shattered.

For the rest of the ride, Phoebe squeezed her girlfriend's hand as if Marceline would float away if she didn't hold onto her as tight as she could. She couldn't stop herself from breaking and letting go of everything she'd been holding in up to that point; she kept her focus on Marceline's hand in hers, through wet and blurry eyes, holding on to the one bit of positivity she had as the car buffeted her with each turn it made. Her loud cries eventually dwindled into fractured breaths and quiet whimpers.

Eventually the car came to a complete stop, and Phoebe finally allowed herself to look up from their hands in her lap. There was Marceline, watching her with those big, loving brown eyes that she'd fallen so deeply for. She didn't say anything - not about the crying or Phoebe nearly breaking her hand in half. Marceline just waited for her to take the first step, whether in the direction of talking about things or away from it.

"I'm okay," Phoebe forced herself to say after a long time. "You're here with me, and that's all that matters."

"Okay." Marceline leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Then, she kissed her tear-streaked cheeks, never complaining about the salty taste on her lips. "Are you ready to go inside? We're home now. You're safe here."

The corners of Phoebe's mouth slowly turned up in a small smile. Home. This was her home - not in the place where Marceline lived, but wherever she existed. It didn't matter where they were, or whether or not they were surrounded by a perfect world. This was where she belonged, right next to Marceline.

She wiped her face on the long sleeves of her cardigan, thankful that she hadn't been wearing any makeup that day, and smiled. "I'm ready. Let's go inside."

Marceline turned off the ignition and retrieved her keys before coming around to Phoebe's side to get the door for her. Instead of words, she offered the renewed comfort of a hand to hold, and together they walked up the drive to the front door.

When they entered the house, Simon was already setting up the coffee table with mugs of steamy hot cocoa and bags of marshmallows. He looked up when he heard them come in. "Oh! You're here! Phoebe, your mug is the red one. I made it with that gross milk you like - the one that isn't milk at all?" He all but sprinted to the tree to grab a gift-wrapped box. "I have been waiting for you two since Marceline left earlier this morning. Is this mine? Can I open it now?" he asked, impatiently shaking the box near his ear.

"Simon, that's for Phoebe!" Marceline laughed, grabbing the box from him. "Yours is that one over there!" she said as she pointed to another box.

Simon crossed his arms over his chest and frowned dramatically. "Well, can't I open it for her?"

"What?! No! You have your own presents. Don't be greedy."

"But-"

Phoebe smiled as she watched the two of them go back and forth. They were both like little kids, and seeing them so happy to celebrate a holiday centred around family made a pleasant warmth surround her, like a good hug from someone she was comfortable around. Simon never once said anything about her bloodshot eyes, and he never treated her any differently because of her previous failures; she was relieved for that.

Phoebe watched the two of them tear into their respective presents, waving around the pyjamas they received every year as if they were the best things in the world, never once showing an ounce of dissatisfaction with such a simple gift. It was their enthusiasm that made her feel the same kind of excitement for receiving pyjamas of her own—dreadfully unfashionable, and yet all the more endearing because of it.

"There's one more thing," Simon said, rising from his spot on the sofa. He shot Phoebe a wink and disappeared into the other room.

Marceline looked at her, laughing a little bit. "What was that? Have you two planned something?"

"I haven't a clue what he's on about," she lied. Her attention was set on her girlfriend, waiting for her reaction.

When Simon came back into the room, Marceline's face dropped, replaced with total shock. "Look at what Santa brought!" he said, holding out a brand new bass guitar.

Every time Phoebe had gone into the store where Marceline worked, she could practically see her daydreaming about the guitar hanging from the wall in a glass display case. One time she'd asked about it, and Marceline ranted on for nearly her entire lunch break about how special it was, as well as all the bells and whistles of it that Phoebe just didn't understand. She'd hoped that it was something Marceline would want and, seeing her excitement when she jumped up to grab it, Phoebe was reassured that it was indeed the perfect gift.

She sipped at her hot cocoa, watching Marceline play with her new instrument and Simon thumping out a beat on the coffee table to match her bass notes. So this is what a real family looks like, she thought, smiling. For once in her life, she felt like she truly belonged.