Your husband was out drinking again.
You sighed as you looked at the dinner you had made him, he said he'd be home by seven but it's now an hour to midnight.
You wiped a tear that fell, taking your apron off, putting oven mitts on the counter and sighing as you sweeped up the dirt from the floor.
"Strumming my pain with his fingers..." You sang (get it, he's a guitarist, eh eh? Sorry).
As you sang the rest of the song, you stared at the floor and sighed as you finished the song.
Then you heard cans and bags falling over outside, most likely your husband stumbling in.
You opened the door, yep, it was Mick.
"Hey babe," you hummed, "Uhh..." He slurred, he looked fucked, he had red eyes, tears welling up, most likely high and drunk and his bad back was arched way more.
"Come on," you said and helped him sit down.
"Do you want your dinner?" You asked, "Uhh..." He slurred.
You decided to get the lasagne and being it over, placing it in front of him. You understood he was going through hard times, his kids he had to pay child support for and the band and everything, especially that diagnosis he got more then a decade ago, when he was about 20.
As he ate some, he stuck his tongue out, "That's cold," he said, "Would've been warm if you were here on time, sweetheart," you sighed and put it in the microwave.
"You know me... I stay out and drink," he said with a shrug. "I know, but I'm worried about you..." You said and walked over, tucking hair behind his ear.
"I don't need you to worry," he scoffed, "I know you're a groan man, but I worry because I care, and because I love you," you sighed.
He rolled his eyes. That's when hell broke loose. "Look, Mick I just want you to go one day without shooting up, snorting or drinking alcohol, that includes smoking, one day of sobriety," you said, "Hell no!" He barked, he had never yelled at you when he was sober, he was always happy.
You were hurt to see him so broken and addicted to the worst things ever. "Nothing is fun about addiction," you said, grabbing his plate and putting it in front of him.
"I love you no matter what Micky," you said kissing him softly, you made way to the bedroom and laid down.
He soon walked in after a shower, he turned the light off and got in and faced away from you.
The next day, he wasn't here, no note, nothing.
You assumed he had gone out to drink again so you sighed and went to the lounge room.
You had your legs crossed and your hands on your cheeks. "I don't know what to do..." You told your black cat, "I don't know anymore..." You sobbed, the affectionate cat purred and headbutt your chin, the purring on your chest eased you down, as you brought your hand to his back and slowly calmed down.
Hours later he stumbled in, walking over, when he saw tears down your cheeks, and the cat purring the way he was, he frowned.
What the fuck was he doing?
He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, taking his filthy clothes off and changing.
He walked out, made room for himself and held you close as he fell asleep by your side.
When you woke up, you felt his arm around you. You looked at him and smiled, kissing his forehead. "I love you no matter what Micky," you said as you snuggled into his neck.
Blackey, the cat jumped up and laid on the top of the couch.
"I love you so much... I'm getting sober for you... Can't lose you too," he mumbled, you smiled and kissed his nose a few times making him smile with his eyes closed, "You're such a weirdo," he grinned making you giggle.
"Love you," you said, "Love you too," he yawned.