How to recognize two psychopaths

Julia and Edward two wonderful spouses, psychopaths but terribly bored with married life, the battle begins

"Techniques on how to have sex," Edward said aloud, while in the living room his wife was leafing through a fashion magazine and having a drink. The phrase drew her instinctively. That final word had not yet convinced her, it seemed like one of those medical words that are found on the pharmacy boxes, but which you never dwell in front of in modesty.
"What do you say dear?" he asked, moving from the crumpled cushion of the sofa.
"No nothing, a frivolous article in the newspaper, nothing new," he replied, pressing his voice against his throat, sounding hard almost ready to gurgle to hide the words. The tram full of commuters passed by, pointing out the window, moving the windows and scaring the Andersons' dog. "Poor flea beast," the woman thought.
"But did you say sex?" she asked again, settling her long skirt, certain that she had heard that word. The intent as if only to have heard the three S lying in a ménage à trois with the E and the O reminded her of a vague thrill she had been able to look after over the years.
"nothing, you must have drunk too much as usual"
She rose suddenly and after beating her heels to get to the little room where her husband sat to read the newspaper, to take it with a quick gesture of his hand. She couldn't, her husband had been quicker, and the smile on his lips had angered Julia.
"But what do you do? don't you see I'm reading?"
"I want to know what you said"
"Nothing important, the usual newspaper advertisements for fools," he replied, carrying the now crumpled sheet in the kitchen. The large pot was muttering a rabbit stew and vegetables. Edward took a frozen beer from the fridge and opened it with a vulgar gesture aided by the ledge of the table and sent the cap flying into the ground.
"Look at you Edward T. Malone I don't want to fight tonight, my sister arrives tomorrow morning from Pasadena and I want to be close to her after everything she's been through"
"foregone conclusion" added Edward without specifying what he was referring to
"what?"
"Nothing, I was talking about that article" Every word and move was driven by a slight feeling that had to hide an intent that Julia could not understand. Until now, she had counted three things that had angered her. That something was hidden from him, that he was accused of drinking too much, and that method of opening the beer bottle using the edge of the table. At this point, however, that half-argument that would soon be born and of which Edward constantly pushed his shoulders inside to cheat had lit the fuse that sizzled with phrasings at an imperceptible speed. Edward himself had difficulty understanding every single word that came out of his wife's mouth. Over the years he had understood the trick to avoid quarreling, also because it was totally impossible to get out of an argument with Julia. But this time it was different. A certain tremor had shaken him trying desperately to upset that mute repression put in place by years of marriage.

He unwled the beer in a single vulgar sisrose, scattering drops throughout the kitchen. Then the least sonic and harmonious thing of Julia's entire life came out of her husband's mouth, a roaring, intense roaring that manifested itself as a tremendous omen.
"They make this beer heavy," Andrew said, pleased with his way of doing it, that he had completely untied himself to become his most grotesque form. The nerves began to shake, touching the electric madness that would soon be unleashed.
"You must be completely out of you," she yelled, pointing her finger at her husband. Previous outbursts were not enough, this one was more direct less frantic and energetically unchallenged.
"Don't point your finger at me, you know how much you remind me of your mother, the hag" She said to finally face the flames that flared like one and only flame with female shapes.
The first to fly was a silver tray containing rum chocolates, the noise he made against the wall, which sounded like that of an orchestra that only makes dishes exercise. In line to follow a lamp that tumultuted in the burst of the bulb and the glass ashtray that had all the similarities of a lethal weapon. She kept circling the couch looking for things to throw that didn't have a definite emotional value. He feared he didn't know how to stop the avalanche of objects and words poured on him.
"It's disgusting never to mention my mother again, a failed race," he added, trying to make himself heard by all the neighbors, "You talk then, you're so damned you can't do anything but judge others and live your miserable life."

"Our miserable life! Remember we are bound until death separates us my dear the viper" countered showing faith to the finger as one of those unbearable weights.
Julia ran into the kitchen and took the pot where her dish was boiling and threw it out of the kitchen window, dropping it from the fourth floor where the apartment was located.
"and tonight you don't eat so at least you drop that crazy belly you carry with you"
The madness had degenerated creating a subordinate layer of their marriage where each consistency took on the appearance of their own negativity. The war ground had been established, the drawing-room. sharp weapons as sharp words of a hemisphere shared only in part. Everything that until now seemed normal evolved into precise and targeted emotional glee. From the displeasure to the most imbued torpor that from the stomach expanded towards the throat. And the tears, loving, sweet, then again shale on Julia's cheeks that she did not understand the heinous psychological instinct. Did she love him? Did she hate him? Why put up with it again? Could he leave him and live without it? Without his smile, the brutality of the movement to throw the briefcase on the newly returned armchair. Without his shameless sense of subordinate masculinity that often dragged them through the night in a battle with no outbursts. "God," he said within himself, wanting it at all costs. Her husband, how the hell she wanted him between his legs. She would throw her fishnet stockings in to the air and get on top of any shelf that could support them. One thought, one of those viscides had just run through her back, fearless as a war hero who parades in front of the other emotions disoriented for his own lack of the big party over the years. He absolutely had to hold back, it was not possible to give in so hastily and easily to that lust announced by forms marked by repressed anger and sexuality held caste.

Andrew meanwhile was bringing the battle to another front. He was in the room packing his suitcase by sticking everything he could carry.
"what do you do? and where are you going?"
"away from this house, away I said! you get it!" he said in a passive aggressive tone, and the use of his voice first stumbled into that room.
Julia upcharged the position of the suitcase from the mattress with a stinging gesture, grabbed her husband by holding it from the soft handles that popped out from under his shirt and pulled it to himself. They took themselves in a completely animalistic way, pushing, squealing, enjoying and kissing all over the body, scaring the neighbors and letting the dog bark again. The laceration of the clothes had been the second act of that postponed encounter in time. Missionary her, devoted him to a passion pitted in the encounter of two bodies. Julia was proving herself as wild as a lioness and as agile as a gazelle. Edward stroked his face by palpating every corner of flesh as he had never had enough, he felt like an octopus, he was sure a Japanese engraving had seen it. The animal kingdom had finished in a couple of hours all possible adaptations to their bodies. The imagination flew free of interpretation, resulting in individual moments of sheer vain madness that were touching edges and anthries of sexual perfection that gave Edward the satisfaction of having succeeded in the work. They were perched above the bed with bedside drawers wide open the fluttering curtains and the constant howling of the neighbor's dog that seemed to have reached an intonation of envy. Tiredness snorted from their mouths like industrial chimneys, sounded the siren outside the palace. He didn't mean anything, it was just a loud noise. They stood with their adorms facing upwards panting and rejoicing in what had proved to be a perfect sexual union without any inhibitory restraint. They looked at each other, recognising each other.

"What was that newspaper saying at the end?" asked Julia, snorting a tense asymmetrical laugh.
"He used to say how to make love to his wife, but I think he didn't really mean anything"
"whose article is it?"
"of a p.J. Carraldo, a Sunday scribe, nothing important"
"recite it," he politely asked, letting all repressed anger disappear completely.
"not worth it, trust me"
1: Fight violently with your wife and for no reason
2 pretend to leave the house
3: If you make love soon after, you will be sure to be two psychopaths.
P.J. Carraldo

Author's Note

I am not a native English speaker and I hope I have not failed to respect your language