Dysfunction

“Where have you been?! “ She shrieked, her arms folded across her chest.

“Out,” he mumbled, slamming the door behind him, throwing down his jacket.

“OUT?!” her bellow bounced across the walls, making the house shake as her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“That’s right,” he replied as he shuffled across the living room.

“I thought we talked about this kind of thing…” Her voice shot an icy chill through the air.

“We have,” he said, flopping down on the couch and thudding his feet on the wobbly table in front of him.

“And…?” She trailed off, her foot beginning the usual obnoxious tapping.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he muttered, reaching deep in between the cushions; yanking out a piece of stale pizza, a toothbrush, a dog collar and various other items until he finally found the remote.

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” she whined.

He pulled a wadded up booklet from his pocket and threw it at her, aiming for her face. “Go ahead,” he stated.

Smoothing it out, she gasped at the scantily dressed women on the gentlemen’s club program. “That doesn’t help,” she said with a giant, agitated sigh. She stared at him expectantly, and her foot tapping increased rapidly. After several minutes of silence, she held up the puzzle box and shook it in his direction. “You said you would help at least,” her voice slipped, if possible, into even more of a high-pitched whine that was sure to be the cause of many homicidal feelings and thoughts.

He shrugged. “Sure.” He began to approach her, hand outstretched for the puzzle.

“Ok,” she screeched, violently chucking the box at the wall; pieces exploding into the air like confetti. “That’s not what I’m talking about!”

He stopped dead, confused. “What’s what you’re talking about?”

“That I just can’t deal with this kind of…” she wavered, her hands flopping down from tearing at her hair, to limp at her sides.

He threw himself back down on the couch. “Forget it,” he pouted.

“What?” With a violent abrupt snap, her hands were back up to hair again, angrily pulling out large clumps.

“Forget it!” he spun around, his hand raised threateningly, about to strike her.

“Nothing,” she whispered. For a while, she stared at him, her eyes never leaving his except to steal a quick glance at the still raised hand. Finally she spun around, grabbing her keys and jacket from a hook on the wall. “I’m leaving.”

“Don’t,” he said, lowering his arm.

Slowly turning back, she looked at him, her large expressive eyes beginning to water. “Well?”

“Just...” he began in a voice barely audible. Slowly, he began to approach her; his steps steady and rhythmic. “…don’t leave.”

Her breathing began to get shallower; faster. “No?”

“No.” His lips found hers.

They shared a very unique relationship. Their way of life seems strange and different to many, however they are content. For five years they have lived this way, and, after time, they brought the gift of life into their homes with eight glorious and beautiful children; six of which who were recently committed to various psych wards, and two who remain happy, healthy, and married: to each other.