You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. This past month has been tense. Little things are bottled up, resentment growing between you and Simon. Bitter arguments turn into screaming matches. But you... you've taken it too far this time. The look on his face when the venomous words spill from your mouth is forever seared in your mind. And the silence. The complete silence from him. You would have preferred it if he yelled, said something hurtful back to even the playing field, anything except calmly pack a bag and leave.

Simon had just returned home from a short weekend mission. He immediately starts griping about some mess, how he wishes he could come home to a clean apartment and a hot meal. You fume and snap, "I have a job too, you know. And we share this apartment. You can get up and do the dishes if they're bothering you so much. But you won't, will you?"

He glares at you, taking a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet, and you can't hold back your anger any longer. "Great, reach for the bottle like usual so you can get drunk and yell at me. I'm tired of this. You treat me like I'm a complacent punching bag like your mother was. You always say how you don't want to end up like your father. Congratulations, you're well on your way."

He's never just left like that after an argument. He usually fights to get the last word in. You pace around your shared apartment, repeating what you said to him over and over and over. Your chest aches, and you have a headache behind your eyes from crying. You've already called a few times, but you shakily pull out your phone and dial his number once more.

He doesn't pick up until the last ring, and his voice is flat and unfamiliar when he says, "You have five minutes before I hang up."