Phoebe's day started off oddly. For one thing, she woke up to her mate gone and coffee made, but no note. She did tell Patch he could do what he wanted, but it struck her as odd that he wouldn't even leave a note. Still, she rolled out of bed, pulled on some jeans and a random tee-shirt, tucked it into her jeans and went to the coffee. It was good and strong, but it didn't feel right.That's when it hit her she was becoming to dependent on him. She didn't need a man to feel normal. Or that's what she told herself, anyway. For some reason Phoebe didn't want to admit she needed Patch as much as she needed food. She looked to the diamond ring on her finger and gave a smile.
Her morning got even more curious as she walked out of the apartment with her bat in hand. She wanted a fight, wanted to shake this stupid feeling off, but instead she saw a bunch of kittens running around freely, no mother or father in sight. Zane and Jude, she knew those two didn't have much of a family, but some of these others, the pure breed felines. They should be attended! That made her pause, too. Her maternal clock was ticking away, but she and Patch hadn't spoken of having children. At least, not seriously, right?
Sure, she wanted a few kids, but she wanted to get her life in order, some kind of income and to see the apartments fill up with other families first. She wanted to make sure Patch was happy and... when the hell did her feelings turn so girly? Her thoughts, to boot! Phoebe was a tough female; she'd been alone until about a year ago. It wasn't fair.
"How can one man make you into such a wuss?" She asked herself, swinging her bat randomly at a tree. Phoebe grinned at the crackling sound and then actually took the weapon up like she would do major damage to it. Both hands on the wrapped end, she took a wider, harder swing at the dead tree and was pleased to see bark flying off and the scratches made by the blood stained metal nails. Aah, that was feeling more normal.
That was how she ended up at the park, taking apart this tree swing by swing. She was sweating already, her face glistening in the late morning sun, her braided hair was coming loose and sticking to her sweaty neck and cheeks, getting in her mouth. Phoebe would occasionally pause to push the strands off her face, only to have them back there in minutes.
