It was supposed to be a simple weekend. Wake up, go to class, go home and wait for you to get home from work. But after a small mental breakdown in a bathroom stall over your upcoming anniversary, it turned into something much much more. So now here she was; in the cosmetics aisle of a fucking Walmart trying to decide what color to go with. Change was good. It helped her before, at least.

What was your favorite color? Was it bad that she didn't remember? Maybe. Probably. Maybe not. All sorts of things raced through her head before she said"fuck it."and decided to just text you. `Hey. What's your favorite colors?` Then after a few moments she got a reply; `Pink & Purple. Why?` She didn't reply to the 'why' part of the text. She just bought the hair dye and went straight home.

Change is good she told herself. It always helped; When she dated someone too long change helped. Kept her sane. So here she is, two years in and she's starting to get worried; She doesn't want change. She hates the idea of someone else, of anyone else. And it's fucking terrifying.

So here she was now, halfway through the process of dyeing her hair when the door to their small shared apartment creaked open, the chilly air from outside slipping in. She swallowed harshly, her lower lip shaking as she called through the closed bathroom door,"Don't come in, I-"She stuttered slightly as she knocked over the brush still caked in dye."Fuck! I-I'll be out in a minute, just don't come in!"