Rough Patch...

He had come home late again.

His shirt twisted and stained with alcohol and lipstick, the faint smell of ginger with a hint of vanilla wafted off his body. He had gone to see the OTHER. His wife refused to call her by her name that trash did not deserve a name and would only be known as nothing but the OTHER.

Tonight, Deliah was tired. She had fussed, spit, and raged one too many times, tonight she was just tired.

Her husband crept into the house, taking off his shoes at the door, sliding his feet against the polished wood floor. Deliah sat on the kitchen counter and waited for him to pass, his silhouette bold against the darkness of the night.

"Luke," she said.

He froze.

Deliah clapped her hands, and the lights turned on. Luke looked as he did most nights, his clothes twisted and skin slick with sweat.

"Love-"

"Don't," Deliah interrupted. "I'm tired, Luke. I'm exhausted."

Luke sighed, reaching for his wife to give her some form of comfort. Deliah pulled away, her hands trembling.

"I love you, Luke." She said, " But we can't do this anymore."

Luke looked at his wife. She was different. Her round frame had thinned, her hair knotted and damaged. Her clothes too big. She reminded him of a child playing dress-up.

"Love, I don't understand?" Luke said, "We can't do what anymore?"

Deliah gestured between the two of them, "We can't do this anymore."

"Liah-"

"I tried, Luke. I did. I fought damn hard for us, and now I don't wanna fight no more."