The thing is they don't want to be "happy."
Because to them happiness means settling.
Which contradicts what he thinks he wants.
Remember they're together for a reason.
Underneath the surface there are layers upon layers.
At the core he chooses her for who she is.
It's a daily choice.
And vice versa.
When he comes home the next evening the house is dark.
He stopped texting her a long time ago.
He thinks texting is "gay."
He has a complex about appearing masculine.
Texting: not masculine, no.
Saying "no," is masculine.
She's supposed to say yes to him.
But of course when she says no it's a huge turn on.
She can only say no when she has the power to say no.
Which isn't all the time.
Since he can't text her to see where she is he sits on the couch and looks at porn on his phone.
The house isn't filled with her warm, receptiveness, her presence.
He's hungry because he's been eating raw broccoli and chicken breast all week.
The thing that really pisses him off is that his stomach looks the same, but his face is older looking.
The porn that used to work for him isn't working.
He thinks about calling her, and then sees himself from a bird's eye view, and he looks like a big pussy.
He puts his phone away and gets out his hidden bottle of whiskey from the pantry.
He pours himself two fingers straight up.
After drinking that he feels angry.
He loses the usual tabulating control of his thoughts, and he starts to justify why he's always right about everything.
When she walks in he's on his third glass and the bottle is out on the oak table.
She's fresh from a run in the park.
When she steps through the door the breeze smells good.
It smells like pines and wind.
When she sees him like this she stops in her tracks, and he almost feels bad but he no longer has the ability to.
"Did you have a nice run?" he snarls.
"Yes, I did."
She heads toward the stairs.
"Come here," he tells her.
This is how it is.
She's in a commitment where she has to face her fear on a regular basis.
She's terrified of him and she should be.
Her awareness of how dangerous he is is part of the reason she survives him.
She walks directly over to him.
He roughly slaps her ass in black spandex.
"Damn, you are fine. You know that baby? You are fiiiine. What did I do to deserve a woman like you?"
He licks his lower lip and he looks cold-blooded.
She changes, it's like watching a chameleon.
She becomes dangerous in her own way.
She lifts her shoulders and shrugs.
His hand is gripping her hip where the bone protrudes.
She moves away and he pulls her back.
"What do you think you did?"
She knows she can't say anything about love, or sex, or anything cheesy.
And that easily she breaks and the tears rush out of her eyes.
He looks satisfied.
"Good. Get your ass upstairs and shower you smell salty."