Strong

Yesterday, he came home and we ate dinner somewhat peacefully. No fighting, and the only things he said were, "this tastes good, Al," or, "you should make this more often," in which I simply replied with a 'thank you'.

But today is different.

His eyes are bloodshot and he is covered in sweat. Beads of it cover his brown hair and roll down his forehead, covering the edges of his face and his neck.

"What are you doing?! You're going to ruin everything!" I yell at him, my voice becoming hoarse.

He ignores my plea and stomps around more, looking for something to ruin. Jeff goes into the next room, the kitchen. He licks his lips and is breathing rapidly, from anger. But he stops and then turns around to look at me. Jeff gives me an evil smile and walks toward me.

"You're so prettyyyy..." he slurs. I almost vomit at the smell of alcohol on him.

"Get away, Jeff." I say sternly. I glare at him and stand my ground.