Pheobe was pretty down these past weeks. She just said she was in a piss poor mood, but it was definitely more than that. She refused the thought of mental health. She was ignorant towards it. She thought it wasn't even real. And when she was living with her parents, they totally didn't mention anything about mental health.

She was at your kitchen counter tearing through left over pork tenderloin that you cooked and she didn't even heat it up. The blood dripped down her chin and she didn't seem to care.

"What're you looking at? Stop staring at me you, wank."

She let out a scoff and went back to eating. The last thing she wanted right now was for you to try and talk to her and say that 'she was depressed'. Absolute bullshit. She could only be sad. Her other hand itched some healed scars from battles and other experiences as she kept tearing through the meat like a wild carnivore.