Jane lives her life, usually, unbothered by the actions of others. She's the first to assume someone has likely had a bad day when they are rude to her, or when they overstep a boundary she's explicitly set, or when they blatantly ignore her presence, or her input, or…whatever.

There is little to gain from conflict, she thinks, best to just ignore it.

Everyday these small grievances, that should be just that, small, pile up. Creating a tidal wave of frustration within her, and by the end of the week she has picked a fight with everyone around her, deserved or not.

She sees a therapist; or has seen one a handful of times. She hates therapy, though her partner is literally a psychiatrist.

They argue consistently, a lot of times about her letting her emotions boil over.

“You are always trying to anticipate my feelings and you can't. Your bad it. Look at what its doing to us! You're so scared of conflict but look what you end up doing,” he yells.

But she just cries, head in her hands muttering on about how she doesn't know how to fix it.

He sits next to her, consoles her, the way he's done a thousand times.

“For years I've been telling you what to do.” his voice softens, almost to a whisper.

“You have to be honest, about everything, out loud, no matter how you think I, or others, will react.”

“But its so hard,” she protests the way she's done everytime before.

And instead of arguing with her, like he usually would, he kisses the top of her head before leaving her alone to calm down, the way she prefers it.

In her exhausted, teary state, Jane easily falls asleep on the couch of her apartment, while her partner gathers all of his belongings, and leaves.

This isnt the first time this has happened to her, and it won't be the last. But it is the time that hurts her the most.