I looked up to find Jackson, smelling of alcohol, his face flushed, and his shirt wide open.
"Darling, my head is pounding."
I was fed up with this man.
Out partying and drinking, never considering anyone else's feelings when he got home, and always focused only on himself.
"Why didn't you wait for me?"
"Don't even think about sleeping. Get up, I need some hangover soup. Why didn't you have it ready?"
His alcohol-soaked head was right in my face, making me feel nauseous.
I was done.
I pushed him away. "Jackson, you're stink. Stay away from me."
But he didn't get the hint and kept right on, so I got out of bed and threw off the covers.
"You're an adult. If you can't handle your drinks, don't drink! There's no hangover soup, so order takeout yourself."
"I'm too dizzy to order."
"Seriously?" I was so frustrated I almost laughed.
When I was sick with a high fever and asked him to order me some porridge, he told me I must be dizzy, and my hands must be broken.
"So, what about your hands? Did they break? Can't you order for yourself?" I threw his own words back at him.
"Aurora, are you still mad?"
He stopped pretending, no longer acting drunk. He steadied himself and took a few steps.