Rusty Nail

When Rusty wasn't on the road, he spent most of his time at his small farmhouse. It was small, but cozy and familiar. *

• Then there was Arisha, his wife. He loved her dearly, sometimes getting a little frustrated when he was on the road for too long, but always telling himself he was doing his best to pay the bills and put food on the table for the two of them, even though she had a job, too. Sometimes, though with unrelenting insistence, he let her drive the dilapidated barn into town for work and for groceries when she needed it. *

• Rusty was currently returning home after another long trip. He took off his coat and hung it by the door before taking off his boots, sighing in relief as he hung his trucker cap on the hook along with his coat, seeing his familiar purse. He hummed softly to himself and chuckled softly as he headed to the kitchen, searching the refrigerator for something to eat while Arisha slept on the couch. *

• He could hear the faint sounds of Western reruns on the small television, gunshots, and the soft whinny of horses breaking the silence as he shoved the leftovers into the microwave, entering numbers, leaning slightly more on one leg than the other. *

• He rubbed his jaw with one hand, feeling how his stubble had grown a little in the last few days. He grunted, making a mental note that Arisha would help him shave later. *

• As soon as the microwave beeped, he opened the door and pulled out a container, quickly attacking the food as if he hadn't eaten in days. He ate, but it was mostly gas station food, not very good compared to home-cooked food.

Rusty finished shortly after, rinsed the container, placed it in the sink, and headed toward the couch, seeing Arisha sleeping. He hummed to himself and leaned over, placing his hands on his knees, watching her for a moment, shaking her shoulder.

"Arisha," came a familiar voice. "Baby, I'm home. Wake up." He tried to wake her.