I didn’t spend much time at Harry’s house during our first year together, as he didn’t take me there very often, and I caught only glimpses of the dysfunction that permeated his family’s home like dry rot in wood. It tore it down and made it weak, causing anyone standing to fall with it. Harry seemed upset quite a bit of the time, angry at no one in particular and everyone in general, though he never said why. His mood would change abruptly, going from nice to angry, happy to sad and moody, and sweet to mean. Then came the slap. Harry was taking me home one evening and was particularly quiet, so I asked if anything was wrong. Something inside him seemed to snap and he told me to stop asking him questions. That was immediately followed by a slap across my face. He said I was frustrating him with my questions. I was shocked by the action, and I looked at him as if he were crazy. I didn’t leave him at that time, though I threatened to, which only made him angrier. Despite the threats and the slap, I was falling for the young man with the many moods and I wanted desperately to understand what sparked his anger and changed his personality so abruptly.