A/N: This is part of a series of short stories I am writing all with a common theme 'What happens when people fall in love.' I wish to draw upon the highs and lows, the changes, the compromises that come with love.
Love, the Problem
They never really had time for a honeymoon. Phoenix was born and James had done the honourable thing. A small portion of his inheritance was sliced off and handed over for a 24 carats and a week later they were husband and wife. Today however, He wanted to do something special, before they moved.
With one arm around her back, James brought his other under the bend of her knee and up to his shoulders. The blindfold tied against her straight blonde hair. He pushed the door open and gently moved her up the staircase and into the bedroom, laying her softly on the crisp open sheet. He could smell the vanilla candles, hear the symphony come on through the speakers, feel his lips press into hers. One limb at a time she was revealed. He watched as rhythmically her breasts rose and fell and she threw her head back, her breath coming in shudders.
When they drew each other in, fingers spread, pressing, it was over and they lay limp. Waiting for sleep. He sat up, stealing a glance at her peach body loosely wrapped in imperial white. She was moulded and set, face sunk in the pillow, with one leg drawn up and arms spread like a swan’s wingspan.
“Where is Phoenix?” She said without moving.
“He’s sleeping in his crib.”
“Thanks for the surprise.”
She leaned over, her face slicked with sweat, and pressed her lips against his.
***
Since the move, they hadn’t had much time alone. He still couldn’t work; his back was bad and his right knee was as good as a rusted joint. He didn’t need to work, they had his money to fall back on and she was happy to win the bread so he stayed at home with Phoenix. He would stack and spark the fire, clean the house. She was working long days, and from time to time, long nights.
Phoenix was crawling now. A few teeth lined his pink gums and his blue eyes grew deeper by the day. James watched him moving about the carpet, he smiled and watched his son, studied the surplus skin folding over his wrists.
***
He still longed for her. Her fair skin, her pink lips. She had carried her youthful lust into middle age. His hair was now thin wisps, his eyes droopy and his gut bulged. But worst of all, it was his imagination that hurt. Sometimes he felt her eyes move about him with loath, scanning his body with a thinly veiled scowl. In his mind, he watched scenes of her meeting other men, looking at them the way she once looked at him, but he wouldn’t talk about these things. The thoughts came, flashed in his mind then he jammed them away in dusty shelves. Though sometimes he could barely control himself. Sometimes he would push her and yell and she would slap him but this would fuel it, bait the animal. He would find himself on her. She would succumb, a mess under his weight, clay beneath his hands.
Phoenix was now in school. He spoke like his mother, questions came in a torrent. He wanted to learn, but when James’ temper frayed, he fell silent, receding to his room with eyes averted. He opened books and delved into fantastical worlds, for just long enough to forget.
***
The problem came on a long night. He wondered if she really was working late, and he couldn’t shake the niggling suspicion, not with any of the usual distractions. He roughed his son’s head, who was now old enough to stay at home alone, with some stern words about strangers first, of course.
In the dark, the car sat near Sandy's office. It was a little after five when her silver Nissan rolled out of the building’s car park. He let another car go between them, before flicking his lights and following.
After fifteen minutes, they were across town, in a new subdivision. All tall wooden structures, blighted with glaring windows and no fences. Finally, she slowed, and parked. James hung back, lights off. He watched her tall figure cross a neatly groomed lawn, knock on a great oak door and when it opened, she disappeared inside.
His hands tightened on the wheel. He waited. He could feel his weak heart slamming against his chest and hear blood washing around the base of his ears. His thoughts were so loud he couldn’t hear his mouth, couldn’t hear his cussing, couldn’t hear his white fists bashing the wheel.
It may be a friend’s house, there is an explanation. It took half an hour and his body still trembled, his fists tightly wrapped the wheel. He started the Audi and let it ease along, back out towards home.
Peppered steak. The familiar scent wafted through the house as he stacked the dinner plates. Phoenix sat across from his father watching him. It was the way he roughly carved his steak, or the hard way he stared through his mash, but something kept the boy’s curiosity silenced.
Around nine, she entered and hung her coat. The anxiety seemed to foam from his chest, almost spilling out his mouth. On the couch, he sat pretending to be interested in whatever Phoenix was watching on TV. A kiss was placed on his cheek as she crossed the lounge.
“Sorry I’m late, I had to stay on at the office again.”
James held his hurt as though it was clutched in his fists.
“Thanks for dinner, Hun,” she called from the kitchen.
He was in bed early and once she had showered and brushed her teeth, she came too. Moving under the sheets, she lay next to him. All he could hear was his heart slamming against his hands, folded on his chest. Fiddling with the words, his mind toiled over the question. He couldn’t force it out.
She worked her hands into his, and rolled him over. He reluctantly nestled her and like that, they stayed, tongue and groove. Then, finally and suddenly, he turned in a brash assault of sheet and flesh. He kissed her, pressing his lips hard to hers. He pulled her nightgown up and forced his way inside of her.
“I’m not in the mood- James stop, please!”
He covered her mouth and worked his other hand over her body, he pushed her down hard. He sweated and cussed; he pulled her hair and watched her blank face rock, back and forth.
When it was over, she turned over, away.
“James, I’m not happy.”
It was a good bye and he knew it. He had lost. He had a problem. But, he wouldn’t respond, he couldn’t. She was committed and so he must commit too.
The bed was empty, sheets dishevelled when he woke. The day turned over like a cog. He chopped firewood and prepared dinner. He was calm, his mind reworked the scenes, but his hands were steady. Then, as five o’clock drew near, he left. By the throat, he grabbed the wood axe on his way.
Waiting outside of her work, he listened to music in his car and tapped his fingers on the wheel. He thought about her dressed in wedding white smiling, about Phoenix flashing his white teeth when she chased him across the lawn with hose in hand. He lived for Phoenix now, for that precious little man. Then when the Nissan came by, he followed.
She pulled up and crossed the neat lawn. He waited, tapping his fingers on the wheel. Then, he left the car running as he skulked to the great oak door. It was locked. The back door, he discovered, was left wide open.
Inside, he moved about the empty house, opening rooms with a steady grip. The bottom level was clear so he moved upstairs. As he approached the door at the crest, he could hear the bed sigh, her breath rising in heaves. He pushed the door open with one hand and in the other, he held the axe. In that manner, the problem was resolved.
When I scanned through the forums I saw "Romantic Fiction: For stories with romance and love as the main conflict", which kinda fits for your story. But, as you have carefully explained to me, you understandably don't want to post your work there! Out of interest, then, where do you think the failure begins: with YWS's categories or with the world's perception of the Romance genre? (I'm not trying to convince you to move the work, by the way! 
